Page 193 of The Professor's Wife
“You’d have left.”
“You looked at me like you hated me.”
“Hatedyou?”
“I deserve it.”
“Don’t tell me what I feel.”
“Tristan, I hurt you—”
“I’m furious with you.” His voice shook. “I’m furious because I fucking love you. Every day I think it might be the day you decide this life with me isn’t enough. Then I find out there’s another man searching for you, and you were packing before I even got the chance to decide whether I could forgive you.”
“Please listen to me. I don’t want to go back. I left because I planned never to go back.”
He looked away.
“I don’t want to be him,” he said. “I don’t want to wake up and find you gone and turn into a man who hunts you down.”
“You won’t. You stopped the second I went still.”
His eyes returned to mine.
“You asked me what I wanted,” I whispered. “Ask me now.”
His jaw tightened. “Do you want me?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
I pulled my dress over my head and reached for him. “I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.”
The anger did not disappear, but it stopped being something happening around me. It became heat between us, chosen by both of us. Tristan reached for a condom with shaking hands, and I helped him tear it open because neither of us had the patience for grace.
When he entered me, I was still crying. He stopped with his forehead against mine.
“Still sure?”
“Yes.Move. Take me, Tristan.”
He did.
It was fast and needy at first, both of us clinging harder than we meant to. Then he slowed, watching my face, letting me pull him closer whenever I wanted more.
“I’m not letting you disappear,” he said.
“You don’t hate me?” I asked.
He went still. “I’m hurt. I’m angry. But I could never fucking hate you.”
His hand cradled my face. He kissed me again, long and heated, and the anger gradually gave way to the fear beneath it. He said my name against my mouth. I held him there and let him feel that I was not leaving.
We came together, messy and exhausted, neither of us pretending the hurt had vanished. He gathered me into his arms quickly and tucked me into his side. His arm was wrapped tightly around me. He kept kissing me. My shoulder and neck, his hand cupped tightly around one breast. For some time, there was only heavy breathing.
“I didn’t run, Tristan,” I finally whispered. “I escaped from him.”
His breathing slowed as he listened. I turned my head to look at him. His eyes met mine, full of questions. I brushed my fingers along his face, and he lightly kissed them.
