He took my mouth in a punishing kiss. He knew me intimately, familiarly. He knew exactly how to kiss me. Exactly how to make my body respond. It only took one second for me to kiss him back.
I had so much emotion bubbling inside me. I had been through too much trauma over the last few months, spent too much time alone. I didn’t have a prayer of denying Nick this kiss.
If only it would have stopped there.
But it didn’t.
Our mouths warred with each other, his tongue chasing mine, his lips moving over mine with greedy need. I took his bottom lip in a sharp bite, pulling it between my teeth and truly tasting the soft fullness of his mouth.
His hands slammed on my waist before diving beneath my black sweater. His skin seared mine; my burning lungs stuttered with the effort to breath. I found my own hands clutching at his shirt, balling it up in my fists and holding him to me.
God, this was too familiar.
Too good.
It had been too long.
His body pressed against mine with a possessiveness I had never felt from him before. It was like he was declaring that I was still his, that I was still his wife.
Until every last paper was signed, I still belonged to this man.
And I knew it was a bad thing… that this made us completely dysfunctional and turned us into every embarrassing cliché out there, but I could not stop.
I could not get enough of him.
I didn’t want to get enough of him.
His hands moved over my body, remembering every curve, every inch of me. My cat ears headband was pushed off, landing in a muffled thud on the wood floor. My shirt came next. He practically tore the sweater from my body in his effort to get to more of me.
I was equally desperate to get to his chest. I threw the hat somewhere on the staircase, the mask went next and finally the t-shirt.
As soon as his chest was bare, he pressed his body against mine and we both moaned into each other’s mouth. The feel of him, with his skin against mine, his heart pounding against mine… it was too much. Too much sensation. Too much sweet anguish. Too much of everything good and right about our marriage.
There were so many reasons that we shouldn’t be together.
But this wasn’t one of them.
This was one of the reasons we had stayed together for so long.
“Kate,” he groaned, tearing his lips from mine to explore my neck and chest. His tongue licked and his teeth nipped at the top of my breasts. I pushed my chest up for him, anxious to have more of him touch me and more of me touch him.
The high-pitched whimper I couldn’t hold back pushed him over the edge. He was wild, savage, completely frenzied with lust and desire. He pushed his hips into mine and my eyes rolled to the back of my head. God, this man.
This man that I couldn’t stand.
This man that I was divorcing.
He made quick work of my bra, flicking it open with his deft, practiced fingers. He yanked it from my arms without an ounce of gentleness or consideration. It was like he couldn’t help himself. He had no self-control. No restraint.
And his wicked energy did nothing but make me hotter.
Our pants came next. We tore at buttons and kicked them frantically from our legs. My hands slipped into the waistband of his boxer briefs and I moaned again at the feel of this familiar area. My hands skated down his legs, taking his underwear with them, relishing in the delicious heat of his body.
My panties were next. But he did not worship my legs or touch me reverently. He tore at them; he shoved them down and desperately fought them off my ankles. He wasn’t in the mood to be adoring or sweet. He was primal with his need, completely lost in this ferocious want.
For a short second reality flashed in my mind and I knew we were making a huge mistake. I tried to voice my objection. I tried to remind him that we weren’t together anymore and that this would only set us back.
But it was like he could read my mind. As soon as I started to say something, his mouth took mine again in another consuming kiss.
Soon, I couldn’t think of anything rational. There was no such thing as logic or good choices.