“I rely on your friendship to get me through the days.”
His stark confession touches me deeply.
“Likewise.”
“So maybe we shouldn’t do anything to screw that up, huh?”
I’m not sure where the courage comes from, because my buzz has worn off, but I slide across the bed so I’m only a few inches from him. “If we both agree not to let it screw up anything, we should be fine, right?”
His hand lands on my shoulder like the hottest of brands.
I shiver under his touch even as I try to project calm coolness.
“I haven’t been with anyone since Natasha.”
“I know.”
“How do you know?”
He never speaks about his personal life in our group meetings, so I don’t know anything for certain. It’s more of a guess. “I just do. I know you.”
“That makes this a bigger deal than it would be otherwise.”
“I get it.” He and the other Wild Widows know I had sex with a random guy shortly after Mike died so I didn’t have to dread the first time with someone else. I regretted it almost immediately, but right now, I’m glad I did it. “We can just sleep together. Nothing has to happen.”
His hand slides down my arm to take hold of my hand, which he places on his erection. “You did that.”
I lick lips gone dry at realizing he’s big all over. “Did I?”
He nods. “What do you plan to do about it?”
“What do you want me to do?”
Shrugging, he says, “Whatever you want.”
Gulp. We expected to spend the rest of our lives with other people. No matter how well we know each other—and I know him better than people I’ve known for decades—it’s still strange to be intimate with anyone other than Mike, or for Gage to do this with someone other than Natasha.
I move so I’m on my knees.
He sits up, his back against the headboard.
I consider asking him to kill the light but decide against it as I reach up to caress his face. He’s always so serious, so buttoned down, so heartbroken. More than anything, I want to give him some relief from the constant grind of relentless grief.
Something that would’ve been no big deal back in the day is the biggest of deals as I straddle his lap and lean in to kiss him for the first time. I keep it simple, just lips touching lips, waiting to see if he’s with me.
His hands land on my hips to pull me closer as he tips his head to kiss me back.
The second his tongue brushes against mine, I’m sunk.
How many nights have I sat at Wild Widows meetings wondering what it would be like to be with him? How many times have I pondered what he was like before an unspeakable tragedy changed him forever? How many times have I wondered if it would be weird to do this with a friend I met through a group of widows?
Too many to count.
PS, it’s not weird. It’s hot.
He’s like a man unleashed with years of pent-up desire directed entirely at me.
But then it hits me. Is it for me, or is it the end of the dry spell that has him so turned on?