Page 51 of Faking Forever
Her throat went dry at the sight of that chest. The sprinkling of fine golden hair on his pecs that trailed down between his abs and thickened a little as it approached his groin.
In the beginning, before the pregnancy and their marriage, she’d loved running her lips, then her tongue down that trail. Had enjoying taking little bites of the sensitive flesh of his abdomen on her way down to his beautiful, straining cock.
His body had been her very finely crafted instrument and she had played it to perfection.
After their marriage, though?
No intimate contact until after the miscarriage. And then when they’d had sex again, it was different. The intensity and urgency were missing.
His lovemaking had been skillful, diverting, and ultimately—as she’d now realized—lacking in any real passion.
All these months, Smith had merely been going through the motions. She cringed and died a little inside as she recalled him implying that he’d gotten more pleasure from his own hand than he had from their so-called “lovemaking.”
She now understood why.
She traced her gaze over his features once more and turned away. So familiar to her, she knew them like she knew the back of her own hand.
She winced and froze when her cane hit the coffee table with a muffled thump. He snorted softly and shifted with a quiet groan.
When he didn’t wake up, she released the breath she’d been holding, took another step and slammed straight into the side table, sending the tall lamp wobbling precariously.
“What’s happening?” Smith’s sleep-roughened voice asked. He sounded groggy and confused.
Kenny screwed her eyes shut. She squared her shoulders and turned to face him.
“Sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to wake you. Why are you on the couch?”
“Because you were on the bed,” he grumbled without a hint of irony. He sat up. “You okay? In pain?”
“I’m okay. It doesn’t hurt as badly today. I don’t think the painkillers have worn off yet.”
“Okay.” He paused as if trying to gather his thoughts and pushed his fingers through his already messy hair. “I’ll get breakfast started and?—”
“No, Smith. Stop it. Please. You don’t have to do anything. It’s bad enough you…” She stopped abruptly and shook her head.
“Bad enough I what?”
“You’ve done too much for me already. You didn’t have to move me to the bed. Why did you do that?”
Her question seemed to discomfit him and his shoulders shifted restlessly, drawing her eyes to the play of muscles beneath all of that beautiful golden skin.
“You looked uncomfortable,” he said, sounding a little self-conscious.
“I was fine. Thanks to those painkillers I was out like a light. I could have been sleeping out on that porch swing last night and I wouldn’t have known it. There was no need for you to be uncomfortable in my stead.”
She stopped, considered her words and recognized how ungrateful they sounded.
“But thank you. It was thoughtful of you.”
His eyes flickered and he averted his gaze before nodding.
“The bed is free now. Why don’t you get some more sleep?” she suggested. “You still look tired.”
He yawned, as if her words had reminded him of his interrupted sleep.
“Maybe just a couple of hours,” he acquiesced.
He got up in one lithe movement and brushed by her on hisway to the bedroom, one warm hand grazing lightly over her elbow as he turned sideways to scooch by her.
