“We were married for three days.”

“It doesn’t matter. You’re still married and until we can take care of that I think we should keep our distance.”

“Please, just stay with me. Just lie down with me until I fall asleep.”

Tired, worn, and so in love with her, I give in, against my better judgment. Seeing her lying on the bed, I feel like my willpower has already crumpled and being this close to her is crushing it. I bite down on my lip to keep from stripping her clothes off and fucking her right now. She pats the bed next to her and I give in and crawl in beside her. She rests her head on my chest and I wrap my arm around her. I squeeze her against me and she’s right where she should be. I close my eyes and finally find peace.

The bathroom light illuminates the room a bit when I wake up to her fingers trailing down my stomach. I take a deep breath. “No, Ivy, I told you. Not while you’re married to him. Don’t make this any harder.” Her touch is breaking me down. I have to find whatever strength I have left to deny the need to bury myself in her. I want to slide inside her and just let time slip away. But I’ll hate myself if I do.

“Even if we can’t be together, we can be close in a different way,” she whispers.

Her fingers brush the side of my cheek. “Xander . . .” She shifts her body so she’s lying on her back.

My pulse races as her hands drift down her own body.

“I’m going to touch myself and I want you to do the same,” she says in a soft, quiet voice, and even in the barely lit room I can see her cheeks flush violently. I’m shocked by her words, but it’s her actions that floor me. I sit up, but don’t say a word. I’m mesmerized by the look on her face. She stands up and I watch her every move. My breathing is so accelerated I’m not sure if I can ever catch my breath. She lifts my T-shirt over her head and runs her fingers over her pink bra. She reaches behind her to undo it and she slowly lets the straps fall down her shoulders. I lick my lips at the sight. The bra falls from her body and her perfect breasts are all I see. I want so much to touch them, squeeze them, suck her nipples into small peaks, but I can’t—I won’t.

Instead I continue to watch her, captivated not only by her actions, by her beauty, but by her body language as well—by the way I can tell she wants me to know she loves me. She moves her hands to her panties and I hold my breath. Exhaling, barely able to speak, I ask in a hoarse, low voice, “Fuck, what are you doing?”

She reaches inside the lace and her back arches as her hand disappears. A low, slow groan slips from my lips. “I told you. I’m going to touch myself. I’m going to make my hands yours the way we talked about so many years ago,” she says. “You can stay or you can go take a cold shower and come back after, but I need you, even if I have to imagine you’re the one getting me off.”

“Fuck, Ivy,” is all I can say.

“Join me or don’t,” she whispers so sweetly and so full of seduction. I can feel the sound echoing in my cock.

When she hooks her thumbs into her matching pink lacey underwear, I chew my bottom lip. Fuck, do I look like a pervert if I do this? When I was eighteen it sounded hot—now I’m not so sure. But I want to do it in the worst way. No, what I want in the worst way is for her hands to be my hands, but I’m not giving in. I’m not fucking her when she’s married to him—I won’t be the other guy.

Her eyes close and she strokes and tweaks her nipples. I can see them harden and my cock grows harder with each passing second. The room is so quiet, I can hear my heart pounding in my ears. “Use your thumbs,” I tell her, and her eyes open but remain hooded. She smiles and does as I tell her. I’m almost panting at the sight. “Lie down,” I direct her. But she doesn’t do it right away. Instead she slides her panties off and her whole body flushes everywhere. Once she’s naked, then she lies on the bed. Her head rests on a stack of pillows and my body molds into the mattress. When she spreads her legs and lifts her hips, I want so badly to be the one to fill her that I have to close my eyes.

“Xander.” She calls my name, and my eyes fly open just in time to see her hand cup her pussy. She runs her fingers through her folds and all my muscles clench with need. It’s an urgency unlike I’ve ever felt before—it’s a need for her.

Her hands continue to move. Fuck, she’s really going to do this. I have two choices: enjoy it or leave and endure the torture of wishing I’d stayed. It’s an easy choice. I unhook the button on my jeans and shove them down just enough to free my cock. I kick them the rest of the way off, then whisper, “Are you wet?” and she lets out a small whimper while nodding her head.

She presses the heel of her palm against her clit and then I watch as her fingers circle it over and over. I start stroking myself; concentrating on the fact that it’s her hands, not mine, bringing me closer to exploding. I bite down on my lip and let my head tip back as I feel the intensity of her stare on me and the sounds of her rapid breathing. Once I start and I know she’s watching I don’t stop. I’m doing this for her, for me, for us. Stroking myself, I push my hips forward and thrust my cock into my closed fist.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“More than okay.”

“Talk to me. Tell me what you like me to do to you and then do it.”

“I want your fingers inside me,” she says shakily.

“Inside you where?” I ask, stroking myself faster. Pumping in and out, wishing it was her I was thrusting into.

“I can’t say it,” she says.

I grunt at the sound of her voice. The innocence in it and the thought that she’s doing this with me almost sends me over the edge.

“Add another finger,” I tell her. “Then with your other hand rub circles around your clit, massage it. Find the spot and when you do, pretend my tongue is on it.”

“Oh, Xander,” she moans and lifts her hips, pressing her heels into the mattress. Watching her fall apart makes me come hard with a shuddering release. After a few seconds, she collapses to the bed, and I do the same.

“I need to jump in the shower, alone,” I tell her and she nods at me.

Just as I hit the threshold, she purrs, “Thank you.”

I turn around. “You never have to thank me for that.” I grin.

When I get out of the shower I throw a pair of sweatpants on and head back into the bedroom. She’s back in my T-shirt, under the covers and half asleep. I climb in beside her and find her hand, lacing my fingers in hers and pulling her against me, my front to her back.

I hear her give a sigh of contentment.

I squeeze her tight.

“Good night, Xander. I love you,” she says.

Leaning over, I whisper into her ear. “Good night, baby. I love you.”

I allow myself a soft, sweet kiss to her cheek and slide my mouth to her lips before throwing my body back on the mattress. I close my eyes knowing she knows I’m right—us being together before her ties with him are severed will just muddy up the relationship that we’ve worked really hard at. But knowing this doesn’t make any of it any easier.

* * *

Fingers creep across the pillow and push my hair away. I open my eyes to peer into her beautiful ones. “Good morning.” I grin.

“Good morning.” She smiles, inching closer to me.

I glance at the digits on the old clock radio on my nightstand and hop out of bed.

“Where are you going?” she calls softly, her sleepy eyes gleaming.

“I’m going to take a shower.”

“No, don’t go yet. Come back to bed,” she says, rolling over onto her stomach and rising on her elbows.

“I can’t. When I lie next to you like that, all I can think about is being inside you. I need to take care of the Damon situation.”

She rolls back over and tosses the pillows off the bed. “I’m going to have to touch myself again. Aren’t I?”

“Fuck, Ivy. Don’t talk like that. The shower can’t get cold enough for me already.”

“You could let your crazy thoughts go and spend the day in bed with me.”

“Ivy, stop. Please.”

“Xander, his father is being buried today. My attorney said he’d take care of it as soon as he could.”

I look at her. “Ivy, I’ll take care of it much sooner. I can promise you that.”

* * *

Looking out the car window, squinting against the brightness of the sun, I think I have to get my fucking car back. And what is Bell doing without a car anyway?

Turning the corner to my mother’s house again, I resolve not to be so emotional. I need to know what she knows about Damon and his family.

I step in the back door again. This time Brigitte is in the kitchen. Her shoes clatter against the floor as she runs to greet me. “My Xander. My Xander,” she says, hugging me.

“Brigitte. How are you?” I respond.

“Very well,” she answers. “Your mother will be so pleased to see you.”

I kiss her cheek and make my way through the house. I find my mother sitting in her leopard-print chair at the oversized desk in her office. This room is her domain. The carpet is the lightest of beiges. The walls are a deep red with three large shadow boxes strategically placed behind her desk. They are lit from within. One houses my first basketball jersey, another River’s pint-sized first guitar, and the third one holds Bell’s pink ballet slippers. Our most prized possessions that she just couldn’t part with. Photos plaster the walls. On one wall, photos of the three of us kids are hung, and on another, photos of her parents and sister. There is one large photo of my mother and Jack on her desk.

She looks up at me from over her reading glasses. She opens her mouth to say something, but I’ve already crossed the room and planted a kiss on her cheek. “I love you, Mom,” I tell her, because I know I don’t let her know this often enough.