The S Before Ex

by Mira Lyn Kelly

  And then he was pressing her into the mattress and following her down. Kneeing her thighs apart and holding her gaze as he notched himself against her. “What do you want, Claire?”

  For one fleeting second, time touched back upon itself and Ryan was the man poised to take her virginity.

  That night, he’d held himself in relentless check, working himself into the snug hold of her body with infinite care and patience, using his every sensual skill to bring her to climax even as he breached her fragile barrier.

  She’d given him her body those years ago, and now, tonight, he gave it back.

  “You. I want to feel you inside me.” She met his eyes and slid her fingers over the taut skin of his chest. “Please.”

  He thrust—not with the slamming force she’d imagined, thought she’d wanted—but with a steady, driving pressure. Inch by inch he pushed inside her, forcing her awareness of his growing claim through the sensual onslaught of each nerve bursting to frenzied life.

  It was too much. Too good. More than she could bear and everything she wanted.

  “Can you feel me, Claire?” he demanded through gritted teeth, the sound of his voice rough like gravel, as the head of his penis nudged her womb and his groin met the kiss of her feminine flesh.

  “Yes.” Like the first time, it hurt. The sheer size of him, even after he’d prepared her, stretched with a pressure that left her torn between begging him to stop and pleading for more. And like the first time, he filled her with something beyond the physical. Made her wonder at how she’d managed to go so long without.

  “Tell me,” he growled against her ear, angling his hips to penetrate deeper.

  “Yes,” she cried out again. “I feel you.” So good. So deep, she seized around him, her inner muscles clamping down against the blessed strain.

  A harsh curse sounded at her ear and he drew back, the wet friction spurring her oversensitive nerves to scream in rioting pleasure even as her lips parted on a soundless gasp. Another full-length thrust, another shattering response, another retreat and then all of it again. Harder.

  Not slow. Not gentle.

  Ryan’s jaw clenched as he held fast to the restraint threatening to snap under the agonizing pleasure of each movement. She was so tight. So hot and wet and good around him that forgetting he’d been the only one was impossible. With each torturous thrust into the snug hold of her, with every hilt-deep plunge, every mind-blowing grip of her body winding impossibly tighter around his, he felt it.

  She was his.

  He didn’t want to acknowledge it. Didn’t want to revel in it. But the claim was there.

  Mine.

  In every moan of pleasure. Every shuttle in and out of her slick grasp.

  Mine.

  No one had touched her.

  Mine.

  No one had stirred her to want.

  Mine.

  Every sound she made. Belonged to him.

  It was insanity. And she’d brought him there as easily as she had nine years before.

  Mine. Mine. Mine.

  He pumped faster, groaning at the clingy grasp of her inner walls. Angled deeper. Thrust harder, until her body pulsed with need, her thighs clutching at his hips even as her fingers dug into his shoulders. It was so good, too good, and then she was coming around him, her neck craning back, her lips parting in gasping, breathless pleasure, until at last she managed a single word.

  “Ryan.”

  And tumbled over the edge.

  Beautiful. She was breathtaking in her release. And as fired as his blood was to give in—more, he wanted to savor this moment. Synch his stroke with the waves of her climax and draw it out. Watch her as she came apart and forged together anew.

  For him. Only him.

  Her breath steadied, eased. And then beneath the pale wash of starlight that spilled through the unshaded windows, he saw the tears streaming from her eyes.

  “Ah, Claire,” he whispered, shifting to his elbows to brush the glittering moisture from her temples. “Don’t regret this.”

  Blinking up at him, she ran her hands over his jaw with that butterfly touch and shook her head. “I don’t. I couldn’t.”

  “Then what are the tears?”

  A tremulous smile touched her lips, a fragile thing that made his response to it all the more powerful.

  “Relief. Joy… Freedom maybe?” She swallowed, holding his gaze, revealing her emotions in a way that knocked the breath from his chest. “What you’ve given back to me tonight…I thought I’d lost forever.”

  After taking so many things he could never return, it was about time he’d found something he could give back. Something that meant more to her than half the damn fortune he’d amassed and she couldn’t seem to care less about.

  How was it she could still make his heart beat like this? Make him feel like a king rather than a thief, when all the evidence to the contrary was scattered in the years behind them.

  “You can’t understand what it means to me.”

  Looking down into her eyes and seeing the trust, the joy, feeling her body respond around his. Knowing that in this moment, she was truly happy, he understood, more than she could imagine.

  Claire’s knees skimmed higher on his hips, her fingers drifting across his shoulders. She arched a brow at him, teasing and pure Claire. “You aren’t done.”

  “No.” Targeting those lush lips of hers for a quick nip, he began to move his hips with renewed purpose. “And neither are you.”

  Claire stood at the terrace door and watched the ocean roll and churn, spitting froth against the midnight sky. She’d woken a half hour before—heart racing, mind instantly alert, body…alive. Unable to return to sleep and too restless to lie still, she’d slipped from the warm hold of Ryan’s arms and fumbled through the semidarkness until she’d found something to pull on. One of Ryan’s enormous suit shirts, it turned out. The fine cotton caressed her from shoulder to thigh, teasing her sensitive skin in a luxurious reminder of what they’d done. Of what Ryan had given her. And how pure that gift had been. What they’d done had been about pleasure. Not debt or obligation or responsibility or any of the other too heavy burdens that had been so much a part of their past together.

  She shook her head wishing she had the words to make him understand how this single night had changed everything for her. But how could he? He’d been living a life that was whole from the start. Or the end. Whatever it was to him when they split up. But she hadn’t. No matter how far she’d come, no matter what she accomplished building her career, her life, there had been this glaring hole in the middle of her existence—a dark void that prevented anyone from getting too close.

  And now the kind of life she hadn’t even dared to dream of was within her grasp. There were still limits on what she had to offer, but she wasn’t irrevocably broken. She wasn’t missing that singular piece of herself that she could never ask a man to live without. She could move on. Finally let someone else in.

  Though even as she thought it, she found herself glancing over her shoulder at the sleeping man behind her, resisting the ache that built in the depths of her chest.

  She couldn’t afford to give in to that ache.

  This time they had together was, after all, about closing the door to a long overdrawn chapter of their lives. Even making love—especially making love—was about moving on. Ending their marriage with a bit of the beauty it began with.

  But tonight she still had Ryan.

  Crossing to the bed, she slipped out of the shirt, wanting only the skin on bare skin between them. The mattress shifted beneath her as she kept an eye on Ryan’s sleeping form. There’d been a time when her return to bed would have had him reaching for her in his sleep.

  Not tonight.

  Silly. That twinge of disappointment.

  Pulling a corner of the sheet to cover her, she laid her head on the pillow—and felt the heavy pull of Ryan’s powerful arm wrap around her, drawing her into the hold of his body.

  A slo
w sigh escaped her lips and she closed her eyes amid the sensation of warmth and intimacy.

  Half asleep, he probably wasn’t even aware of who she was beyond a female body in his bed. But it didn’t matter. She knew who he was, and the heat of his arms surrounding her felt so good, she’d take it.

  And then, as she drifted down into the bliss of oblivion where even the wildest, most forbidden dreams could be realized, a breath teased through her hair…carrying the sleep-thickened murmur of her name.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  RYAN woke to the faint glow of purple leaching night from the sky as dawn readied to break.

  He’d slept with his wife.

  Slept! As if the actual sex hadn’t been bad enough, he’d pulled her into his arms. Taken the sweet curve of her body against his own and let go.

  Sure. Just a couple of minutes to catch his breath. Soothe any anxieties or fears Claire might have had. The last thing she’d need after nearly a decade of celibacy would be the first man she gave it up to, to hop out of bed with a wink and salute. “Thanks for the great time, babe. You were dynamite.” He’d had to stay a while.

  Yeah, right.

  Except then she’d gone lax in his arms, her breath falling into the quiet rhythm of sleep, and still he’d held her. Let his mouth rest against the slope of her shoulder, his nose bury into the silky sheets of her hair. His arm band across her so the soft puffs of her breath whispered over his knuckles where they rested at her pillow.

  Of all the damn fool things to do, falling asleep like that topped the list.

  As if the years apart, years of lost dreams, separate lives, different cities, different women, for God’s sake!—as if none of it had happened.

  And why?

  Because he’d made her want…made her come…because he’d given her something she’d been missing, and the look in her eyes had made him feel like a god?

  What a laugh.

  He had to get out of there.

  Gently disentangling himself from the intimate embrace of Claire’s limbs, he was ready to roll away, when her sultry purr stopped him short. That sound. Damn if it didn’t get under his skin…slip into his veins and ride a hot trail of possession through the very heart of him.

  “Where you going?” came the groggy inquiry.

  Break’s over, kitten. That’s what he should say. Call it one night. Kiss her long and slow, sweet and tender. Give them both a nice pretty bow to wrap around the remnants of a marriage they’d agreed more than once never should have been, while sending a nice clear message about distance and expectation.

  Except he couldn’t say a word. Couldn’t do anything but follow the contours of her body beneath his sheets and think this was where she belonged.

  In his bed.

  The disturbing reality settled around him. Now that he’d had her, he wouldn’t be able to leave her alone. As long as that sleek fall of black hair was within reach, he’d be wrapping it around his fist to pull her closer.

  Which didn’t mean they’d suddenly be calling off the divorce. Hell, no. This wasn’t some kind of second chance at the wildfire that had nearly destroyed them the first time. This, now, was a controlled burn. The very ashes of their past together serving as the limit on its destructive potential. Because fire couldn’t feed on what no longer existed, and all those old expectations, emotions and youth-fueled fantasies were gone now. For both of them.

  Ryan leaned on one arm, looking down at Claire half asleep beneath him. He stroked a few dark strands from her face, and then trailed the tip of his finger across the rise of her cheekbone, into the soft divot behind her ear, and then lower to the swell of her breast. Tracing slow circles around the shell-pink areola, he watched her nipple bead tight beneath his touch. Her breath hitch and stall. The dark fringe of her lashes flutter open to reveal sleep-heavy eyes, already hazed with arousal.

  Her lips parted for the wet tip of her tongue and Ryan’s groin hardened to the point of pain.

  “One more time?” she murmured, her knee sliding against his thigh in silky-soft invitation.

  Another revolution around the berry-hard tip, teasingly close, but not yet closing in. “Is that all you want? One more time?”

  “What are you asking?”

  Lowering his head, he took her into his mouth and tested her ripeness against the curl of his tongue. The sinuous arch of Claire’s back and press of her breast, coupled with her soft cry, was satisfying surrender. His fingers skimmed low over her belly and into the notch between her legs where she was warm and snug.

  “Until the divorce is finalized, Claire.” Gently he pushed a finger inside her, watched as her eyes glazed even as she struggled for clarity. He stroked into her. Groaned at the tight hug as she spasmed around his intrusion. Slipped his hand free and painted her moisture around her opening. “No expectations beyond that.”

  “We’d have a week.” Her thighs fell farther apart, opening her to him completely.

  Ryan shifted so his knees were between her legs, his shaft nudging at the entrance to her body. Slowly, he pushed home.

  “Not enough,” he said through clenched teeth, bowing his head against the mind-blowing pleasure of their fit, pulling out as far as he dared, and then pushing back in deep.

  Claire cried out, clutching at his shoulders as her heels sought purchase on the backs of his thighs. “How long?”

  He thrust again, rotating his hips before pulling back and then doing it again.

  How long could he have her—have this—without someone getting hurt? A week wasn’t going to be enough. He knew it without a doubt. With a limit of five more days, the only time he’d let her out of bed would be to take her in the shower. Or on the table. The floor. The ocean. The beach. Beneath the sheared-off cliffs at the tide pools.

  If all he had was a week, he wouldn’t let Claire even get close to divorce headquarters. And he took his commitment to secure her future too seriously for that. They needed more time to let this run its course.

  “As long as it takes.” Thrusting again, he stilled, buried deep inside her. Her sea-blue eyes stared up at him as he rocked his groin against her pelvic bone, catching her clitoris between them. She seized around him, sucking in her breath on a gasp as she pulled her knees higher against his ribs.

  Oh, yeah, she liked that.

  “We’ll work around our schedules.” He rocked again. “Meet weekends when we can.” Ducking down for a kiss, he thrust his tongue in sync with his hips for a single deep taste. Then, “Go through the assets one by one.”

  “It makes sense,” she half moaned, rising beneath him to match his every stroke. “We wouldn’t have to rush.”

  “No rush,” he agreed, rocking against her again. Her fingers wound into his hair, holding him tight as she strained upward, begging for more. She was close.

  “We’d have time to be thorough.” Her breath was coming in thready gasps now. The color high across her cheeks and chest.

  “Meticulous, Claire.” Another hilt-deep thrust. Another spasm. Another slow grinding rock of his body against hers and she broke. Came apart around him, crying out his name as he followed her into bliss.

  Moments later, still buried inside her, he rolled to his side, bringing Claire with him. “We both know what this is. Just like we both know what it isn’t.”

  “Temporary. An affair.”

  An affair with his wife. Crazy, but accurate. “And when it’s over—”

  Her fingers smoothed over his lips, following the contours in a seductive study that had him stirring where he was still connected to her body. How was it like this with her?

  Claire’s gaze met his, a soft smile playing at her mouth. “When it’s over we go our separate ways, leave the past behind, and take something beautiful away with us.”

  And then the blaze between them would simply burn itself out.

  No expectations beyond that. No one hurt.

  That was the biggest thing. In his life, there’d been nothing worse than the impotent rage he
’d experienced watching her suffer. Knowing, ultimately, he’d been at the root of it, but that nothing he did could make it better. He’d gotten her pregnant and she’d lost her parents over it. And then she’d lost the baby and all she’d had left was him. A twenty-two-year-old jackass who’d thought he knew how to be a husband, but didn’t have a clue. Nothing he’d done was right. Nothing helped.

  He wouldn’t go through that again. No matter how badly he wanted her.

  But they weren’t shooting for forever here or looking to build something lasting or solid. Claire didn’t need that kind of shelter. She’d healed and was stronger than she’d ever been before. She knew what they were getting into and she wanted it. Their cards were laid plainly on the table. What you see is what you get. No surprises. No opportunity for heartbreak.

  Safe in that knowledge, Ryan reached for Claire’s hip and, groaning against the rising need between them, he took her again.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  SNOW was falling outside her window. Bits of downy chill chasing through the New York night air in what seemed a shocking contrast to the California sunshine Claire had left behind that morning.

  Pulling the thick terry of her robe around her, she turned from the window and crossed back to the couch, dropping into the overstuffed cushions as Sally’s outraged voice spilled across the miles and into her ear.

  “You never make this kind of bad decision, Claire. What were you thinking?”

  What indeed. Only then she realized, for the first time in five minutes Sally had stopped talking and a response was expected at that point.

  There was only one thing she could say.

  “I wanted him. I know that sounds crazy, but I honestly couldn’t stop myself. I didn’t even want to.” Tucking her feet beneath her, she snuggled back into the corner and sighed. “It was like there was something unfinished between us—”

  “And now it’s done? Now the reasonable woman I know and love like she was my very own blood has returned, ousting the sex-crazed imposter who took over her body these last days. Is that right?”