Ian: Actually, don’t answer that. I want you to tell me to my face.
Disappointment seeped into my bloodstream, a gushing river of despondency and discontent. Because I wanted to confess it all. Tell him what I was going through. Pray that he wouldn’t run.
But he would.
He should.
I couldn’t expect anything different.
He didn’t deserve to get mixed up in my mess. And there was no chance I could trust him around my kids.
Me: That’s not possible. You aren’t going to see me again.
Ian: I think you’re wrong. I think you want to see me every bit as badly as I want to see you.
Ian: I want to touch you.
Ian: I’ve never wanted to touch a woman as desperately as I want to touch you.
Ian: Would you let me? Would you let me touch you, Grace? Touch you until you forget whatever it is you’re going through?
My chest stretched tight, body rigid with shock and that blistering attraction that burned like a firestorm.
I pressed my thighs together, that river of disappointment turning into rapids of desire, sending me plunging right over a cliff.
A waterfall.
Pounding and throbbing and crashing.
Deeper and deeper.
God, this man was too much. And I was shaking . . . shaking and shaking as I fumbled to form a response.
Me: I don’t want to forget. But if I didn’t have all of this going on in my life, you’d be the one I’d want. But it’s for the best if you let this go. I don’t want to hurt you.
Ian: Funny, I was just going to say the same thing to you.
I could almost hear the self-loathing in his words. A shock of angry laughter ricocheting through the air. Those eyes going dark and dim, flashing with something wicked.
Regret had me typing out my response.
Me: Then I guess we’re even.
Ian: Yeah. I guess we are. We’re the perfect match.
Air puffed through my nose. The man was nothing but ridiculous.
Me: I think I was right about you. You don’t like to be told no.
And I had this glowing problem between my thighs begging me to say yes.
To give in.
To let him tempt me and touch me and make me forget.
It would feel so nice to be held in those big, powerful hands. Hands that would chase away the emptiness. Fill my broken spirit that was littered with debris.
But there was no question that this man would break what was left of my fragile heart. Hell, he was already breaking it now. Making me crumble with every word.
Ian: I think the bigger issue is that you want to say yes. Tell me I’m wrong.
I couldn’t respond.
Ian: Don’t you? Are you touching yourself, Grace, just thinking about it?
On all things unholy.
I could feel sex dripping from his fingertips, and he wasn’t even there.
Want clamored through my senses, every nerve alive. I shifted on the bed, my body on fire, so needy I was close to panting.
So close to touching myself and telling him that’s what I was doing. That I was wishing it was him doing it to me.
I knew exactly how that would end.
I really had to put an end to this conversation. It was heading down a path of no return. One where the two of us were gonna collide, and the result of that was not going to be pretty.
He could so easily crush me.
Wind me up and leave me spinning.
Chasing after something that I could never have. But my heart had taken control, and my fingers were tapping out a reply.
Me: No. I’m not. But I wish you were.
It took a couple seconds before another text came through.
Ian: Is that an invitation? Because you know I am. My cock is so hard, I can barely see. You should feel it, Grace. What you do to me.
Me: I wish it was my hands.
Ian: Let’s forget these wishes and make it a reality. I want inside of you. I bet your pussy is just as perfect as the rest of you.
Oh goodness.
There was nothing I could do. I was touching myself. Imagining exactly that. That gorgeous man crawling over me. Pushing deep. Taking me.
Three texts blipped through, I had no idea how much time in between, my mind lost to the vision of what that would be like.
Letting myself go in a way that was so out of character for me.
I shattered. Body jerking as I bit my lip to keep myself from calling out his name. I was panting by the time I made it back to the waiting messages.
Ian: You are, aren’t you?
Ian: Touching yourself?
Ian: Fuck. That’s so hot. I want to see it. Your fingers dipping inside your body while I watch. What could one night hurt, Grace?
Reality slowly seeped back into my consciousness, and I struggled with what to say. How to end this when really, I wanted everything the man was offering, even when I knew it was going to hurt me in the end.