Page 67 of Love Wells Kept

For the hundred thousandth time, she’s kissing me.

I’ll relive this in every dream, and finally, I’ll know for certain it’s a memory. Her kiss is sweet and hot and demanding. Her wrists link behind my neck, pulling me deeper until my cock’s tugging at the fabric of my boxers and I’m pressing myself into her with a moan vibrating deep in my chest.

By the time I trust my knees not to buckle, there are deep grooves in my palms from the square counter edge, and I wipe them on the soft fabric of my boxers before running a hand down Kate’s spine. Her back bows, arching her into me, filling my lungs with her breath. Memories of kissing my wife before may be gone, but my body’s quick to remember.

Our kiss is unhurried and deep, with passionate strokes of our tongues and the occasional suck or nibble on a bottom lip. I hold Kate tight to the counter, running a hand through her hair the way she’s done to me countless times.

Kate’s hands coast over my naked upper body, knowing every curve and dip better than I do. Meanwhile, I explore her, traveling the length of her torso, the satiny fabric catching on my rough skin. Desperate to familiarize myself down to the most minute details, I’m undecided where to touch. Selfishly, I want it all. She feels better than any dream—and I’ve done my fair share of dreaming about this moment.

The thin fabric of her tank top catches on an upward stroke, and my palm flattens to span her rib cage. Kate moves into the touch with a soft sound that sears my nerve endings and makes my dick throb. My thumb strokes small circles and hearts against the side of her breast, caressing her the way she deserves.

We kiss and kiss until my lips feel bruised and her chin’s reddened from the scrape of my beard. Kate’s mouth pulls away from mine, our foreheads connecting with panting breaths heating the gap between us.

“You’re still the best,” she says, a little huskily.

“No, you are.” I chase her lips, tasting every bit of Kate.

She toys with the elastic waistband on my boxers, slipping a finger underneath to nurture my insatiable need for more. Kate kisses me again, teasing and playful, clearly wanting more with the way she’s fidgeting with my underwear. She nuzzles into the space between my collarbone and jaw, and her front teeth nip at the hollow of my neck.

There’s no way she doesn’t feel my hard dick pressed to her thigh.

I wonder if feeling me rock against her is making her wet?

My heart tips and spills into my stomach at that thought. I want her so bad it hurts. But I care about her so much, I can’t have her. And that hurts, too.

“God, I missed this.” Her voice wavers. “I missed feeling your hands all over me. I missed you making me feel good.”

Fuck.

The trust and desire in her gold-flecked hazel eyes destroys me. Kate deserves rose petals on the bed and gentle lovemaking with her sweet, attentive husband. She doesn’t want to be fucked against the counter by a man who isn’t in love with her—yet. Three little letters carrying the weight of those three little words.

I want to love her the way I loved her before, and maybe better. Once I’m a man worthy of her, I will love Kate Wells the way she deserves.

I take her hand, raising it to my lips, and dust soft kisses along the sharp ridges and valleys of her knuckles. Then I take a step back. Put some space between us before my dick makes decisions my heart can’t pay for.

Bleary-eyed, with kiss-swollen lips, she blinks at me in confusion.

“I, uh…” I nervously lick my lips. They taste like her. “What’s your middle name? I just realized I’ve never asked.”

She holds my gaze, glassy eyes reflecting the soft glow of the stove light behind me. “You stopped kissing me because you wanted to know my middle name?”

“I asked you on this date so I can get to know you. I want…I want to feel like you’re my wife again. And what kind of husband doesn’t know his wife’s middle name? Or…hell, any number of things I don’t know about you.”

The way you feel and taste and sound when you come, for starters.

“Renee.” She bends at the waist to reach out and catch my wrist, pulling my arm across the empty space. “Kate Renee Wells. Before you, I was a Dumont. So…there. Now you know.”

I take a single step in her direction. Pebbled nipples poke through the thin fabric of her top, begging to be toyed with, and I silently negotiate the terms of what might be allowable. If I learn enough about Kate first, fondling one of her full, rounded breasts should be fine.

“What did you want to be when you grew up?”

Her free hand cups the back of her neck, tilting her face toward the ceiling. “When I was a kid, I wanted to compete in dressage in the Olympics.”

My eyes widen. “Wow, you were that good of a rider?”

Laugh dolloped in wistfulness, she shakes her head. “No, definitely not. But that didn’t mean I didn’t want some sort of natural talent to appear out of nowhere.”

“And then you became…a nurse? Is that what your job was when you took care of my mom? I know you told me once before, but…”