tipped a little lower than normal. ‘I’m trying to hold it together.’
Annabelle’s relieved sigh was full of pure joy. He wasn’t having second thoughts. He wanted this just as much as she did. ‘Then why don’t you come over here and let me hold it for a while?’
‘Did I call you a witch yet?’ His laughter came out sounding choked, but at least his voice had lost that weird edge he’d had moments earlier.
‘Yes.’ She leaned up on one elbow and crooked a finger at him. ‘Time to stop stalling and let me help you finish.’
‘That’s exactly what I’m afraid of, Anna: that you’ll help me finish before I’m ready.’
‘Hmm...we can take care of that on the next round.’
‘Next?’ He came forward until he was close enough for her to go into action. She sat up and scooted her butt to the edge of the bed until he stood between her thighs.
‘Yes, next.’ She said the word with conviction, reaching again for his waistband. This time the zipper went down, and he made no effort to stop her. Pushing his trousers down his legs, she let him kick them out of the way. ‘And now, Maxwell Ainsley, we’re finally even.’
They both still had their underwear on.
‘You first, then.’ Max leaned over her, planting his hands on the bed on either side of her thighs, but he made no effort to strip her bare. Instead, his lips found hers, his touch soft and sweet and somehow just as erotic as the more demanding kisses had been. She tipped her head up, absorbing each tiny taste, each brush of friction as they came together over and over. Soon, though, the V between her parted legs began to send up a protest, a needy throbbing making itself known. She pushed herself even closer to the edge of the bed, her thighs spreading further. It didn’t help.
Well, his ‘you first’ might mean she was supposed to strip him first, right? So that was exactly what she would do. Hooking her thumbs in the elastic band on his hips, she gave a quick tug before he could say or do anything, pushing them down to his knees.
‘Cheater,’ he murmured, not moving from his spot, every syllable causing his lips to brush against hers.
‘We never set any ground rules, if I remember right. And if you’ll just stand up, I’ll finish the job.’
‘I don’t trust you.’
‘No?’ She gave him a smile full of meaning. ‘Well, there’s more than one way to skin a cat...or undress a man.’
With that she lay back on the bed, kicked off her high-heeled pumps and slid her bare feet up the backs of his calves. When she reached the spot where his boxers were still clinging to his legs, she pushed them as far down as she could. Max still hadn’t moved a muscle...except for the one currently ticking away on the side of his jaw.
What she didn’t expect was for his hands to whisk up her sides and cover her breasts, the warm heat and promise of his touch making the nipples harden instantly. He didn’t stay there, however; his fingers were soon travelling down the line of her belly until he reached her own underwear and dragged them down her thighs, moving backwards as he inched them over her legs, across her ankles and finally pulled them free of her body. He stepped out of his boxers while he was at it. Or at least she assumed he did, since she couldn’t actually see him do it.
This time when he parted her legs, there was no mistaking his intent.
‘You want to play with fire, Anna? Well, you’ve got it.’
With that, he put his hands beneath her bottom and tugged. Hard. Hard enough that she slid forward to meet his ready flesh. ‘Is this what you want?’
The part of her that had been throbbing in anticipation clenched, thinking he was going to give it to her right away. Instead, he slid up past it, eliciting a whispered complaint from her. It ended in a moan when he found that nerve-rich area just a little higher.
He repeated the act. Words failed her, a jumble of sensations eclipsing her ability to think, much less talk.
Her eyes fluttered closed, the release she’d sought just seconds ago now rushing at her much too quickly.
His voice came from above her. ‘I think it is.’
His fingertips found her nipples once again and squeezed, the dual assault wracking her body with a pleasure so sharp it made her arch up seeking him. ‘Max.’
He gave her what she wanted then, thrusting forward and finding her immediately. The movement was so sudden it made her gasp, her fingers clutching his shoulders as he set up a quick rhythm that didn’t give her any room to catch her breath. Instead it tossed her high into the air and held her there for several seconds, and then she was over the edge, her body spasming around his. Max groaned, his mouth finding hers as he plunged again and again before finally slowing, the sound of his heavy breathing wonderfully loud in her ears.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him tight as the emotions she’d been holding back finally bubbled over, tears slipping silently down her cheeks. Annabelle came to a stunning realisation.
She loved her husband.
She didn’t just love him. She was in love with him. She’d never stopped being in love with him. She’d submerged the truth—buried it far out of sight—and tried to lose herself in caring for sick children instead. Only it hadn’t worked. Not entirely.
Because here it was. In plain sight.
Annabelle loved him. Deeply. Entirely. And she had no idea what she was going to do about it.
IT HADN’T FELT like goodbye sex.
The deep sleep that had finally pulled Max under in the early hours of the morning released him just as quickly.
He blinked a couple of times, trying to bring to mind exactly what had happened last night, but it all blurred together to form a scene of decadence and exhausting satisfaction.
Annabelle.
He turned his head to look at her side of the bed only to find it empty—the nightstand bare of anything except a clock. No note. He frowned before remembering that they’d come to London together, so it wasn’t likely that she’d slipped out and caught a train back to Cheltenham. So she was still here. Somewhere.
She was here.
He relaxed and rolled onto his back, settling into the pillows with his hands behind his head. It was just seven in the morning. They might even have time for another session before they had to be on their way.
And do what afterwards?
He wasn’t sure. But maybe they could start again. In the crush of timetables and thermometers and ovulation charts, Max had forgotten just how good sex—real sex, not something with a goal in mind—had been between them. Last night had brought it all rushing back. Their first year had been out of this world. They’d been so in tune with each other’s needs that it had seemed nothing would be able to come between them.
Until
