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It smells like him.
It smells like our history.
It smells like the pain and heartache I endured at his hands.
It smells addictive.
I try to breathe out of my mouth so I don’t smell him, but it’s useless when it has already infiltrated my senses.
My body betrays me and my thighs clench together as an ache throbs between them.
My body wants him, but my heart can’t take it.
He’s already too close, and he takes another step closer to me. “God damn, Jolene.” He winces a little as my name rolls out of his mouth. “How are we going to do this?” He closes the gap between us, and fire races up my spine at his proximity.
His hips press to mine, and suddenly I’m shoved up against the wall again. My pulse races as every sense is taken over by him. He’s all I can see, hear, smell, and feel, and I want more than anything to have one more taste. One more kiss.
Just one.
Just to get it out of my system.
In this moment, I feel like I need it like I need to breathe.
But that’s not something I’ll ever admit to him.
“We’re going to be professionals,” I whisper, and the words come out more like a question than a confident answer. I can’t have confidence when I’m this close to him. I can’t even think straight over the rushing in my ears and the thundering beat of my heart.
His hips shift against mine, and I know he’s affected. I can feel just how affected by the way his erection shoves against me, and that ache between my legs pulses again.
What I wouldn’t give to feel him one more time…to see just exactly how good time has been to him.
He takes my left hand in his and links his fingers through mine, his eyes falling down onto our joined hands before he lifts my arm up and braces his arm still holding my hand on the wall above me.
His free hand grips onto my hip, and my arm comes up to hold onto his bicep. His thick, muscular, sexy bicep.
Oh dear Lord.
He leans down so his nose brushes against mine, and my chest lights with butterflies as I think he might kiss me.
He doesn’t. Instead, he grits out more words. “I don’t know if I can do that with you, and I can’t let you fuck this up for me.” Frustration is evident in his tone, and I just don’t know if he’s frustrated with me or with this entire situation we find ourselves in.
“I can’t let you fuck up my job for me, either,” I say, running my nose along his, too, as I shift my lips mere millimeters from his.
His breath mingles with mine. We’re so close.
Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me.
So close.
I nearly catch his lips with mine, but I can’t. I find myself needing him to make the first move—a total contradiction to the aggressive, career-minded woman I’ve grown into. But because he was two years older than me back then, I always let him take the lead. I liked when he took the lead.
And when he was no longer there to take it, I stepped up and learned how much I could do myself.
It’s strange to see myself reverting back to the girl I always was with him, but what’s even stranger is how easy falling back into that old role feels right now.
I rock my hips against his.
It’s been too long—too long without him, too long without any man as my focus has shifted from my personal life to my son and my career.
