He felt so good, he knew me too well, was too intimate with the canvas of my body because he’d been the original—and the only—artist of my desire. I loved how he wanted me.
And this was especially true, and heady, during the first few weeks after his return.
“You have three minutes.” I spread my legs and draped one over the back of the sofa, trying to keep my tone light. “You really think you can make this happen in three minutes?”
“No.” His mouth dipped to my collarbone, nipping, licking; his hand, already between my legs, his softest touch making me instinctively arch against him. “I think I can make this happen twice in five minutes, and sprint to the school instead of walk.”
“You’ll be out of breath.”
“So will you.”
I started to laugh again, but then stopped, gasping as he touched me. My chest and stomach were now tight, my limbs growing heavy with warm tension. I gripped fistfuls of his shirt and suddenly needed—needed—to feel his skin. Therefore, I clawed at his clothes, tugging the fabric from his pants and moving my fingers to his stomach.
He bent slightly away from me and grabbed my wrists with his other hand. “No, darling. We’re concentrating on you right now.”
“I need to—”
“Later.”
“No, not later—”
He covered my mouth with his, swallowing the rest of my demand, and driving away all intelligible thought. His hot, languid tongue taking and giving in an echoing rhythm. As we kissed and he worked his Greg voodoo, my breath hitched, and I was caught in the twisting beginnings of my orgasm.
He was right, of course. Five minutes, two orgasms, one right after the other. It was always this way when he came home.
Over the years I’d learned absence doesn’t make the heart grow fonder. The heart becomes wary, somnolent and cynical during periods of prolonged absence, burdened with cares and fears borne in solitude. However, absence does make the body greedy and irrationally amorous with frustrated need.
Greg must’ve felt or recognized the signs of my precipitous completion, because he pulled his mouth from mine and whispered harshly against my lips, “You belong to me. Say it.”
“I belong to you.” I repeated the words he craved, believing them as I always did when lost to the moment. I shut my eyes and gave myself over to it, craving the singularity of sensation, the brief halting of time and thought.
In the back of my mind I knew he would leave again and I would be alone. But for now, for better or worse, my wary heart awoke. No longer lethargic, but alive to this man, and how much I loved him.
“I need you, Fiona.” The dark desperation had returned to his voice, and the sound cut through my lingering fog of fulfillment.
His words sounded like the tip of an emotion iceberg, so I twisted my arms around him and held on tightly. “Hey, I love you.”
Greg shook his head and breathed out, ragged and fatigued. He pressed his face to my skin for a long moment, then abruptly released me.
Pulling my arms from his torso, he turned and sat on the edge of the couch, glancing around the apartment. “Right . . . here’s what we’ll do: I’ll get the kids. You take your shower. After homework and playtime, I’ll challenge them to shots until they pass out. Then we’ll eat the rest of their Halloween candy while binge-watching Game of Thrones.”
I sat behind him and wrapped my arms around his shoulders, still trying to pull myself together. “The Halloween candy is long gone. And what kind of shots are you talking about?”
“Apple juice.” He squeezed my arms, then stood. I watched him cross the room with long strides to where he’d dropped his duffle bag; he retrieved a coat from the floor and faced me, his eyes giving my body a quick perusal, like he was taking a mental snapshot. “Or, the hard stuff, if you prefer.”
I narrowed my eyes and stretched. “We don’t keep Kool-Aid in the house, you know that. It makes Jack hallucinate.”
“He doesn’t hallucinate; don’t be so melodramatic.”
“He talks to the walls.”
“Only because they talk to him first.”
He was right; Jack didn’t actually hallucinate. The one time he drank Kool-Aid he did talk to the walls, then he laughed uncontrollably until he passed out. Basically, Kool-Aid made the kids crazy and loopy and caused them to run around like sugar-high savages.
“Although your plan sounds delightful, we can’t do that tonight. I have Ashley’s going-away party at four, and you’re invited, of course.” I yawned, my eyes flickering to the mantel clock. He needed to leave in the next thirty seconds and I needed coffee.
“Is that tonight?” Greg zipped his winter coat, frowning like he was disappointed.
“Yes. Why? What’s wrong?”
He studied the gloves he’d retrieved from the pockets of his jacket. “No, nothing.”
I pulled the corners of the towel back around my body. “She’s leaving on Wednesday, for good. I’m bringing the cake. I had no idea you would be home and this isn’t something I can miss or skip.”