Unbreakable

by Harlow, Melanie

  “You don’t have to tell me,” Henry went on.

  “No, it’s okay.” I looked at him again. “It can take me a long time to reach orgasm. My ex used to get impatient.”

  Henry’s expression plainly conveyed his disgust. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

  “No.”

  “I already knew he was a dick, but Jesus. That’s a whole new level of assholery.”

  “Yeah.” I bit my lip. “After a while, it made me really self-conscious about even trying for one. I used to fake them.”

  A smile ghosted his lips. “I hope you told him that eventually.”

  “I wish I had.”

  “I cannot believe the way he treated you. Or his kids.” Henry gathered me in his arms and pulled me back against his chest again. “It makes me fucking furious.”

  “Me too.”

  He pressed his lips to my wet hair for a moment. Then he abruptly picked up his head. “Wait, you weren’t faking tonight, were you?”

  I had to laugh. “No, I assure you, I was not. Those were all real. I could hardly believe it when I felt the first one building. I haven’t had one in so long—at least not one that I didn’t give myself.” It made me blush to admit it in front of Henry, but it also felt so good to be this open with him.

  “Oh, believe me, I get it. Mine have all been self-service lately.”

  “For how long?” I asked, curious if there had been anyone since his wife left.

  “Maybe six, eight months?”

  I sat up again and looked back at him. “Eight months? Didn’t your ex just leave you last fall?”

  “Yeah, but things had been pretty terrible throughout spring and summer. Once that final round of IVF failed, she wanted nothing to do with me. And even before that, sex had become a chore for both of us.”

  “Oh.” I settled back against him again.

  “What about you? How long had it been?”

  “God, I don’t even remember. He lost interest in me sexually years ago. We’d go through the motions every once in a while, but like I said—it wasn’t like I got any real pleasure out of it. I was always left feeling lonely and unsatisfied afterward. It was physical, but not emotional. We had no real connection.”

  He kissed my head again. “I get it.”

  “But tonight.” I grinned, flipping over and bringing my knees astride his thighs. “Tonight was very different.”

  “Yeah?” He gave me a cocky half-grin that riled me up inside, even though we’d already had sex twice and it had to be nearly one in the morning.

  I nodded, the strands of my wet hair dangling between us. “I’ve had more orgasms in one night with you than I’ve had in the last five years of marriage.”

  “Good.” He looked smug. “Well, good for me, anyway.”

  “And good for me too.” With my hands on his chest, I leaned forward and kissed him, soft and honey-sweet at first, gently plucking at his top lip, his bottom lip, caressing them both with my tongue. Between my legs, I felt his cock stir, and it made me smile.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked, sliding his hands over my ass.

  I slid my hands up his neck and into his hair. “Nothing. I’m happy. I told you earlier that I came here tonight needing more than distraction—I needed validation. I needed assurance that I’m still sexy and alive. I needed to feel noticed and appreciated and desired. I never expected to feel this kind of . . . reawakening in myself. I didn’t expect my own sexual drive to be so hungry and demanding—or so easy to indulge.” I’d begun to rock my hips over his, sliding back and forth over his hard length. Already my stomach had that weightless feeling, and my blood was rushing faster. “But I’ll come again for you. I’ll come for you all night long.”

  “Jesus Christ,” he said, his voice deep and gravelly. “Tell me this doesn’t have to end in the morning, or I might actually have to tie you up in my bedroom just so I can give you orgasms every night.”

  I laughed, rubbing my lips against his. “But I might want you to tie me up in your bedroom.”

  His cock jumped beneath me, and he gripped my ass even harder. “Fucking hell, Sylvia Sawyer, what are you trying to do to me?”

  “Right now, I don’t exactly know,” I said, lifting myself up slightly, then reaching between us. A moment later I was sliding down his long, thick shaft, hearing him groan with pleasure, taking him deep. “But it sure feels good.”

  * * *

  Later—much later, since we got hungry and foraged for snacks at two A.M.—we fell into his bed, and snuggled up close.

  “I can’t remember the last time I slept naked,” I told him, resting my head on his chest.

  “Me neither.” He wrapped his arms around me. “Are you warm enough?”

  “Yes.” The temperature outside had dropped below zero, the snow continued to fall, and an icy wind whistled against the windowpanes, but I’d never felt so warm and safe and cozy. It had been years since I’d fallen asleep in someone’s arms this way, knowing there was no place else he’d rather be and no one else he’d rather be with.

  I had no idea what I was doing, whether Henry and I sleeping together was a terrible idea or the best idea in the world, or how this was going to play out. Nothing had really changed. We were still two people fresh from bad relationships that had damaged us in ways we might not even be aware of yet. Neither of us knew what the future would bring. And I had two children that needed me to love them enough for both parents. This wasn’t the time for me to go looking for romance.

  My judgmental voice, the one that loved to speak up just when I was enjoying an unexpected moment of bliss, threatened to lecture me, not only about parental responsibility, but believing the lies men told and trusting someone with my body, my secrets, my feelings.

  To shut it up, I listened to Henry breathe as he slept, focused on the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of his chest.

  It was deep and even and peaceful.

  Twelve

  Henry

  It was early when I woke up, the silvery morning light barely starting to slant through the blinds. I knew if I looked out the window, I’d see at least half a foot of fresh snow, which meant my first order of business today would be shoveling the driveway so Sylvia wasn’t stuck here.

  Not that I’d mind so much if she were.

  I propped my head on my hand and looked at her. She’d rolled away from me during the night and lay on her side, facing the opposite direction. Her golden hair fanned over the white pillowcase, and her body was curled into a ball. She had the sheet tucked against her chest, but her naked back was exposed, her skin luminous in the shadows.

  I was tempted to do so many things at once—run a fingertip down her perfect spine. Lean over and bury my face in her sweet-smelling hair. Move closer and curve my body around hers like a comma. Kiss the back of her beautiful neck.

  In the end, I waited too long and she stirred, rolling onto her back and blinking at me. “Hi.”

  “Hi.”

  Her smile was shy and seductive at the same time—an irresistible combination. “I stayed the night.”

  “You did.”

  “We broke all our rules, didn’t we?”

  “And then some. But wasn’t that the point?”

  Smiling, she turned onto her side and faced me, tucking her hands beneath her cheek. “It sort of feels like it might have been a dream.”

  I reached beneath the sheet and pinched her ass, making her yelp.

  “Ouch! Guess it was real,” she said, giggling as she rubbed the sore spot.

  “It was real.” I put my hand on her lower back and pulled her closer. “It was unexpected, and it was even better than my fantasies, but it was real.”

  Her eyebrows went up. “You fantasized about me?”

  “Many times. But only since you’ve been back and we’ve been talking.”

  She smiled. “I like that—being your fantasy.”

  “I like the real you even better.”

  The smile widened. “Thank yo
u.” She tucked herself into my body, her head beneath my chin.

  I held her like that for a few minutes, gently stroking her back. It had been a long time since I’d wanted to be this close to someone, since I’d felt this protective and possessive.

  “Henry?” Her voice was soft and tentative.

  “Yes?”

  “So what happens now?”

  “Well, first I have to shovel a fuck ton of snow. You probably have to pick up your kids, and I need to go into work at some point.”

  “No, I mean . . . what now for us?” She pulled back and looked up at me, her eyes uncertain, her expression concerned. “I didn’t really think about that when I came here last night. Do we pretend this never happened?”

  “That’s up to you,” I said. “Your situation is more complicated than mine. You’ve got children to think about.”

  She nodded, biting her lip. One of her hands crept up my chest, and her eyes dropped to where her fingertips brushed softly over my skin. “I think it’s too soon to make anything . . . public.”

  “I agree.”

  She met my eyes again, her expression guileless and sweet. “But I don’t want it to stop.”

  “Me neither.”

  “Henry, are we crazy?”

  “It’s possible.” I kissed her forehead. “But let’s not worry about it for now, okay? We’ve both been through a rough time, and I think we deserve something for ourselves that just feels good. The more we overthink this, the worse we make it for ourselves.”

  “Okay.” She started to say something else, then stopped.

  “What?” I prompted. “You can say it.”

  “I just want us to always be honest with each other. If at some point, things don’t feel right and we need to take a step back, I want us to be able to say it. I don’t want either one of us to be blindsided or hurt.”

  “You have my word—I will always be honest with you. I know trust isn’t easy for you right now, but my word is all I can offer.”

  “Your word is good enough for me.” She looked relieved and cuddled in closer to my chest once more. “And I promise to always be honest too.”

  Holding her that way felt so right, it was hard to imagine either of us wanting to walk away from the feeling. But I wasn’t an idiot—the circumstances were complicated. The timing was rushed. There was a lot at stake.

  It was impossible to know what the future would bring, and for now it would just feel good to simply take each day as it came and enjoy one another’s company.

  Naked.

  As often as possible.

  * * *

  While I shoveled the front walk and driveway, Sylvia made coffee, scrambled some eggs, and sliced some fruit for us. Since she’d arrived wearing only that red dress and high heels, I’d loaned her a T-shirt. It was huge on her, hanging nearly to her knees, but she looked adorable in it, moving around in my kitchen in her bare feet, hair in a messy pile on top of her head.

  I could get used to that so easily, I thought when I came in from the cold and saw her look up at me and smile. It was enough to keep me from going to her and tearing the shirt right off. Sylvia in my kitchen on a Sunday morning was not something I should get used to. In fact, it would probably be a really long time before it happened again—if it ever did.

  After breakfast, she put the red dress and heels back on, buttoning her coat all the way up to the top. “I should have brought a change of clothes—and some boots,” she said at the door, shaking her head as she looked out the front window. “What was I thinking?”

  “You were thinking about fucking me,” I reminded her, helping her with the top button.

  “True story.” She sighed. “Oh well. I’ll live.”

  “I could carry you to your car,” I offered, only half-joking.

  That made her smile. “No, that’s okay. The walkway is shoveled, and I can pull right into the attached garage at Cloverleigh. Hopefully no one is in the kitchen and I can sneak up to my room.”

  “Okay. Hey, I was thinking about something you said last night while I was outside—about your kids being disappointed about not skiing. What about taking them skiing here? It’s not Aspen or anything, but the drive to Crystal Mountain or Boyne isn’t bad.”

  Her face brightened. “You’re right. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that before.”

  “You were thinking about fucking me, remember?”

  She blushed and swatted my chest with her gloves. “You’re making me sound like a fiend. But that’s a great idea. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” I planted one last kiss on her lips, resisting the urge to ask when I might next see her. “Drive carefully, okay? The roads are probably still a mess. Hey, will you let me know when you get home so I’m not worried?”

  “Sure. But you’re going to have to give me your number for that.” She pulled her phone from her purse, opened up her contacts, and handed it to me.

  I put my information in and gave it back to her. She glanced at what I’d entered and looked up with a smirk. “You really want to be in here as Big Dick DeSantis?”

  “A hundred percent yes,” I told her.

  She was still laughing when she went out the door.

  After she’d gone, I cleaned up the kitchen, took a quick shower, got dressed, and headed into work. Since it was Sunday and the roads were shitty, traffic wasn’t bad at all. There were cars in the employee lot at Cloverleigh Farms since the inn would open up again today, but the winery wouldn’t open again until tomorrow, so I had the place to myself.

  My mood was the best it had been in a long time—go figure—and I went about my work feeling upbeat and optimistic. Normally when the temperatures dropped below zero, I lost sleep worrying about my vines, but last night I’d slept like a baby.

  Around noon, I ran out for a quick lunch, and when I came back, I saw Sylvia’s kids plus Mack’s three girls out on the lawn between the inn and the winery playing in the snow. It made me smile—I remembered how much fun my brothers and I used to have outside during winter, until one of us took a hard-packed snowball in the face and went in crying to our mom. Since none of us would ever admit who had thrown it, we’d all get sent to our rooms. But then she wouldn’t be able to stand the noise in the house, and she’d send us outside again.

  After parking my truck, I walked by the kids and gave them a wave. Then I noticed they were having trouble pushing a massive snowball that would undoubtedly be used as the bottom third of a snowman.

  “Mr. DeSantis!” cried Mack’s oldest daughter, Millie. “Can you help us? We made the butt too big!”

  I laughed. “Sure.”

  Once I managed to push the giant snowball where they wanted it, we went to work making the rest of the body. When all three snowballs were stacked, we went hunting for things to use for his face and clothing. On the ground we found two shriveled crab apples to use for his eyes. In the stables, someone found half an abandoned carrot. Mack’s daughter Felicity thought of using small stones for the mouth, so we trudged through the snow toward the creek to find some. Whitney found sticks for the arms, and in the barn, Keaton spotted an old hat on a hook in the wall. I lifted Mack’s little daughter Winnie up so she could place it on our snowman’s head.

  “But he’s going to be cold,” she said in dismay. “He needs a scarf.”

  “He’s a snowman, dummy,” Felicity scolded. “He doesn’t get cold.”

  “Then why would he need a hat?” she said, giving her sister the stink-eye. Then she turned to me. “Mr. DeSantis, could we use your scarf? Then he won’t be cold.”

  One look at her big eyes peering up at me, and there was no way I could refuse. “Of course.”

  “Yay!” The younger kids jumped up and down as I untied my scarf and tied it around his neck.

  “Now let’s make a snow lady,” Winnie suggested. “We don’t want the snowman to get lonely.”

  Everyone agreed, so we started rolling a large snowball for the bottom. I was helping to push it a
long when I heard Keaton yell, “Mom! Come see our snowman!”

  I looked up to see Sylvia walking across the lawn toward us, all bundled up with her hands tucked into her pockets. My body warmed despite the cold.

  She smiled at me. “Hey, guys. Hi, Henry. Playing hooky from work?”

  “Mr. DeSantis gave us his scarf to use on the snowman,” Whitney said excitedly. “Can we have yours for the snow lady?”

  “Sure,” she said, laughing as she unwound it from her neck. “That was very nice of him. Did you say thank you?”

  “Thank you,” Whitney said to me with a guilty smile. Her lips were neon pink, and she wore eye makeup too. I recalled what Sylvia had said about Whitney painting her face and felt sorry for them both. This was exactly the kind of parenting issue I wouldn’t want to navigate as a single dad.

  “You’re welcome,” I said, rising to my feet. “Is this where you guys want the bottom of the snow lady?”

  “That’s good,” Millie decided. “Let’s make the middle and top of her now.”

  “And then let’s give them some kids!” Felicity shouted.

  The kids got busy rolling more snowballs, and I moved closer to Sylvia. We stood elbow to elbow, but not near enough to touch. “Hey.”

  “Hey.”

  “Kids have fun at their sleepover?”

  “Not as much fun as I had at mine,” she murmured.

  I laughed. “They seem like they’re in good spirits today.”

  “I think they are. They loved the skiing idea.”

  “Good.”

  “I booked us a weekend at Boyne in January.”

  “Excellent. You’ll have fun. Lots of snow this year.”

  She was quiet for a minute, and when she spoke it was nearly a whisper. “I can’t stop thinking about last night.”