Another Younger Man (Tryst Series Book 2)

by Mia Fox

Surprisingly, the moment he held me, my heart stopped racing with nerves and instead, a calm washed over me. We fit together with ease as if no time had separated us.

  Yet, we didn’t rush like lovers returning to each other after a trip away. The way we made love began with our mouths gently touching, but not quite kissing.

  We whisper our desire into each other’s mouths, all intention but no action, until we can’t help but solidify our desire with the most perfect, soft kiss. Romance at its best. Everything I want and more.

  This time is so much better than even that perfect weekend. That time is memorable because it was new and hot; it made us feel alive. Now, I feel more grounded. We share the warmth of familiarity, but because it’s new once again and oddly due to our long separation, we haven’t experienced the trap of complacency. He knows what makes me tick both mentally and physically.

  When we make love, it’s with a passion I’ve never known from him. His mouth never leaves mine. His hand only drifts away from my body to weave into my hair and rest behind my head, serving to pull my mouth closer to his.

  It’s as if the accident aged him and made him realize that life is short. I cling to the hope that he will realize that love is something to be seized and treasured. He kisses me as if savoring the moment and then, with a devilish look in his eyes that I don’t recognize, he is in total control.

  “Lie back,” he says, propping up on his elbow and tracing a finger from my collarbone down my rib cage, taking a slight detour to weave around my breast.

  “But it’s so nice kissing you,” I pout.

  “Lie back.” His voice is stern.

  He was never inexperienced, but he was more tentative when we first got together. Now, he knows me so well. He’s confident and in charge. I do as he asks and he moves to the foot of the bed, standing over me.

  At first gently and then with a firmer grip, he wraps his hands around each of my ankles. I look up at him, questioning what he has planned, and then he answers silently by pulling my body toward him. Fast.

  My breath catches from the surprise and I laugh. He slides me down the bed until the part of me that he most wants is right up against him. I know what to do when he releases his hold over my ankles; I wrap my legs around his waist and he leans into me.

  His body teases me, just touching me enough to be tempting. I think he’s about to enter me when instead, he pins my arms down, kisses me hard, and without another word, he flips me over. Without warning, he gives my bottom one firm slap, making me gasp from the surprise of his action along with the shock waves it sends through me.

  I turn to glance at him over my shoulder and the look in his eyes is hungry.

  “God, I want you.”

  “I’m yours,” I reply.

  With one easy motion, he flips me onto my back once again. We kiss with intention and want. He slides into me easily and his hand finds mine, holding it above my head, weaving his fingers between mine, and never letting go.

  And when it’s over, finally we sleep, but this time nestled against each other in the same bed, just as we should be.

  Chapter Seven

  Cole

  I was starting to feel an internal panic with each passing day. On the one hand, it seemed like we were a couple and it felt great. There was nobody else I’d rather spend my days with, let alone my nights. No need to check my phone, my social media. Word had spread that I was out of the hospital, but I didn’t want to receive any messages from any other girls. Yet, I wasn’t sure it was right to make Kat my girl again.

  When she loved, she gave with all her heart. Mine was torn. I could tell that she was falling back in love with each day we spent together. Truth be told, we had never been this close. I had practice during the day and she returned to the online magazine and took a few meetings with the college. Then, we would meet at her house, make dinner, spend some time watching television the way settled couples around the world do every night. But after… we weren’t anything like old married folk. We tore each others’ clothes off. We memorized every inch of each other’s bodies. We loved each other until we would fall asleep in each other’s arms.

  It was perfect. And it wasn’t.

  Every day that I got stronger I felt more of a pull to get my life back on track with the goals I had set before my accident. I had a limited time period when I could play professional soccer and if I wasn’t focused, that chance would slip through my fingers. Jack was talking about playing in Europe for a year to get experience with one of the more competitive teams over there and I liked the idea as well. But the thought of seeing Kat’s face when she learned of Jack’s plan filled me with dread. He was everything to her and not seeing him regularly would be hard. If she then found out that I was going to… I didn’t even want to think about pulling the rug out like that on her.

  I wanted the best for her, and sometimes I felt that would mean not getting attached to me again.

  After dinner, we retreated onto Kat’s couch as was our pattern, but tonight felt different. I could tell that Kat was anxious. Little comments had escaped her lips about the doctor’s orders of a two week watch period nearing an end.

  I was certainly strong enough to move back home and take care of myself. It’s just that neither of us really wanted the end to come, but it was unavoidable. The question for both of us was what would become of our relationship when we were no longer living together.

  “I bet you’re going to miss my cooking,” she joked.

  Kat had many talents, but cooking wasn’t one of her strong suits. “Of course I will.” My voice dripped sarcasm in an attempt to keep things light.

  “Well, you could still come over after practices. I’m closer than your place.”

  “I need to get back to my old routine.” I was trying to be gentle.

  “Does your ‘old routine’ mean the way it was when we were together or when we weren’t?” She wasn’t mincing her words. She wanted an answer, but I didn’t want to give it.

  “Let’s just see how things go. We’re both busy.” I knew it wasn’t the answer she wanted and her response proved it.

  “What does that mean? Too busy for each other?”

  “I don’t want to talk about the future. After what I went through, I’m just holding on to what’s in front of me.” I hoped that she understood, but I quickly learned that people will grasp onto what they want to hear.

  “That’s what I meant,” she said with a new smile on her face. “I’m right here. We are here together and it’s good. We can’t risk losing what is right in front of us. Not again.”

  “Kat, that’s not what I meant.” I ran my hands through my hair in frustration. It was a repeat of what happened last year. I couldn’t give her what she wanted and it made me angry with myself. I couldn’t understand how being with her could feel so right and at the same time fill me with feelings that I wasn’t deserving of her love. I just couldn’t let her down again. She wanted the picket fence dream and she deserved it. But I wasn’t the guy to give it to her.

  While she looked at me, she could see I was unwavering in my decision. A single tear fell down her cheek. She wiped at it angrily, not wanting me to see it, but I did. It killed me. I was hurting her all over again and I couldn’t stop it. Our lives were on two different tracks regardless of how well we fit together. She was ready to play house. I was thinking about my future. Being with Kat would be like a dream, but I had another one — getting to the Olympics — and that would not permit me a girlfriend. We were in two different places and whether we wanted to admit it or not, our difference in age was becoming an issue.

  Chapter Eight

  Kat

  How could he get angry simply because I bring up the future? Men and their commitment issues… will they ever grow up? Suddenly, it hit me. When it comes to a relationship, grown-up doesn’t mean you’ve reached adulthood. It means you place the other person’s needs in line with your own. And, that applied to myself as well.

  I couldn’t fault
him for his decision. It was petty to call him names in my head. Terms like commitment phobic came to my mind, but that didn’t fit Cole. He had shown me in the past that he could commit to one person. What he wasn’t willing to do, and what I couldn’t ask of him, was not to explore where he was in life.

  Our age difference was the issue. Now was the only time when he could pursue his dreams. Being with the right person is only one aspect. For him, there’s also professional dreams. I couldn’t label him afraid of commitment. In fact, he had shown a commitment to his team and goals well before he met me.

  Whether I wanted to admit it or not, like always, he was the one in the relationship who was thinking. It made my stomach hurt and my heart ache, but I couldn’t be angry. The realization that I would lose him again started to weave its way through my core, opening the door to an unattractive desperation that I needed to banish.

  Over what would be our last breakfast under the same roof, I tested what lay ahead. “Cole, what if we just see where life takes us?”

  “What are you asking?” He looked at me with tentative eyes.

  “Keep things casual.”

  He gave me a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding expression. “What does that mean to you?”

  “I’m capable of just being. No demands, no thoughts of the future. We just let whatever happens unfold between us… without any other need beyond the physical.”

  “Kat, you know as well as I do that your body is not going to give your heart and mind time off.”

  I took a sip of my coffee. It was the smallest sip ever and still I could barely swallow it down. A lump swelled in my throat caused by the threat of tears that wanted to rise to the surface.

  “I need to take a shower.” Cole saw the look in my eyes and did a great job of ignoring it as he washed out his cup and then headed toward the bathroom.

  The second he left the room, my anguish left me and tears poured down my cheeks. I stared at his empty chair. Then, I shook my head in response to my overwhelming emotions. It’s not even “his” chair. It’s my kitchen and my chair. He wasn’t even living here until two weeks ago. But so much happened in that short time span. We came back to where we once were as if no time had passed. The long separation between us was forgotten and in its place, we had not only picked back up where we left off, but made strides as a couple. We fell into new routines together under the same roof.

  I started cleaning the kitchen, even parts that weren’t particularly dirty. I scrubbed the sink, sprayed down the counters, put dishes away. Putting my things in order gave me a semblance of control, and with it a calm settled over me.

  I blew my nose and took a deep breath. I knew he needed time to pursue his life. He felt that had to be done on his own, but plenty of couples date with no ring, no talk of the future. I thought to how quickly we evolved together once he came back from the hospital and knew that it was stupid to deny us our relationship when we fit so well together.

  I heard the shower turn off down the hall and decided to march into the bedroom. I’d show him that I could do calm. The one great connector, a commonality of sorts, between a 40-year-old women and a younger man is their sex drive.

  When he emerged from the bathroom, Cole had a towel wrapped around his hips. He no longer showed any signs of weakness from the month in the hospital. Once he moved in with me, he had returned to the gym and the muscle memory of his body responded quickly. A strong line divided his torso, accentuating the series of ripples that bowed to each other on either side of his abs. His biceps snapped to attention when he merely took a comb to his hair. His legs were equally strong and tanned in a stunning contrast to the white towel that grazed them.

  He nodded to where I lie on the bed, just a quick lift of his chin, before inquiring, “You okay?”

  I nodded back and smiled, testing my own resolve and ensuring that I had banished my tears. “I’m good,” I assured him. “But, I seem to be a bit over-dressed.” I nodded my head toward him and gave a slight lift with my eyebrows, my eyes dancing with intention. I could show him that we could still be together in some manner.

  He approached slowly, not able to ignore my flirtation, but still leery of upsetting the delicate balance between us. He ran his fingers over the thin straps of my nightie, letting the silk slide between them until he reached the lace section that grazed my breast and then he stopped, seemingly debating whether to continue.

  I made the decision for him. I rotated my shoulder, allowing the flimsy garment to fall off my torso and drape around my hips. “If you’re undressed, it seems only right that I should be equally comfortable.”

  He looked in my eyes. Desire showed in his own. He dove toward me. His mouth went to my breast, his tongue circled my nipple, and I wrapped my arms over his shoulders and pressed my hands to the back of his head, encouraging him not to stop.

  He felt amazing. He filled me completely, my body and my heart. I wrapped my legs around his waist and we moved in concert. I responded to every motion of his until we both lie next to each other fully satiated. We moved like one and our timing was one. In a word, it was perfection. The knowledge brought a single tear to the surface and as it weaved its way down my cheek, he saw it.

  “We can’t do this. You can’t do this.” He rose from the bed, his anger visible.

  “How can you be angry at me for feeling something?”

  “I’m not angry with you. I’m mad at myself. I should’ve known better.” He turned on the shower once more and entered before the water had a chance to heat up again.

  I was foolish to think that being intimate would change our situation. As readily as we moved away from each other, we launched forward, only to retreat once more. It was a horrible seesaw of love —up and down until we came to a steady standstill.

  With Cole’s week of recovery now over, all I had to hold close to my heart were the memories of these past days because he couldn’t offer any hope for a future, or even when we might see each other for just a brief moment.

  Chapter Nine

  Cole

  Last night was amazing, but in my gut I knew it was also a huge mistake. And then, I go and make that same mistake again this morning. It’s as if Kat is a drug and I wean myself off only to find the temptation again that I’m powerless to turn down. For both of our sakes in the long run, I need to.

  I get dressed after my second shower of the day, wishing the entire time that she was in there with me. When I come back to the bedroom that I had stormed out of I’m somewhat relieved that she isn’t still on the bed, looking delicious. I throw the last of my things into my bag and take a minute to steady myself. I have to say goodbye. It just sucks because I feel like I never want to say goodbye to Kat.

  I find her nursing her coffee at the breakfast table. It’s the same one she poured hours ago, and I note that she seems to have trouble swallowing it down. Her back is turned to me, but I can hear a faint sniff and sob emit from her mouth as she settles the cup down on the table once more. This is where we ate breakfast and dinner for the last week. This is where I allowed myself to look out the window and imagine a future with her.

  It’s the table that I laid her down and kissed her head to toe because we couldn’t waste time getting to the bedroom. On most days when we did make it down the hall to the bedroom, it was here at this table that we would come to afterwards to sit, eat, and just be with each other. It’s the place that felt like a home. But today, the invitation to sit down with her doesn’t come, rightly so. It wouldn’t after what I’ve done and said earlier. Or more to the point, what I can’t bring myself to say to her.

  Instead of telling her that I love her, I’ve pushed her away and told her that being together is a mistake. It was raw and hurtful, but it’s for the best. Her life was in danger because of me. Her reputation will always be marred by me when people with their judgements observe us. I take a deep breath, and know that my leaving is for the best.

  She turns when she hears me; her eyes are red. For a moment, we
just stare at each other. Do I simply leave? Do I sit for a minute?

  She makes the decision for me with her next question. “Did you mean what you said?”

  “I’ve said lots of things,” I muttered, wishing this was easier — for both of us. “Which one?”

  “Before you were shot.”

  She stared at me hard. I knew what she was referring to, but I remained silent.

  She continued. “Before he pulled the trigger, you said you loved me.”

  Her voice choked at the word ‘love’ and it triggered its own effect. She didn’t try to stop the flow of tears this time. They fell easily and it killed me. She pushed her coffee cup away. It was only now that I noticed a plate of scrambled eggs on the counter as she stood and moved toward it. But she only spilled them down the sink. I knew that the mental pain I inflicted would lead to her not taking care of herself, but I also knew that time would heal her. She would heal just as she had before… before I so selfishly set her back on this course again.

  “Well?!” She returned to the table and stared.

  My words were softer than hers, but just as angry. I had to be strong for both of us. Of this, I was sure. “At the time when I said that, I meant it. But now, I still think my decision to move away from us before the accident… and now, is the right one.”

  I paused to gauge her reaction. It wasn’t good. She covered her face with her hands, dropped her head and her shoulders shook.

  “Kat, you see this? You deserve something better, someone better. Someone who can give you everything. I can’t.” I hoped she didn’t notice that my own voice was catching in my throat.

  She wiped her eyes and looked up at me, scrutinizing my face. I crossed my arms and shook my head, willing her to accept my words.

  “Cole, I don’t want ‘someone better’ because you can’t tell me how I feel about you. I just want you. I’m not thinking of the future. I don’t care about permanence.”