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“Thirty-four is not old,” I deny.
“Neither is twenty-six.”
I shift to cross my legs the other way. I am secretly enjoying teasing Foster as he follows every move I make. For the first time in weeks, we have a civil conversation until Foster receives a text on his phone.
“Dinner is on its way up.”
“What did you order?”
“Wait and see.”
Rising, he strides over to me and offers his hand to help me from the couch. Once the delivery is dropped off by the concierge, I’m surprised to see what it is.
“Pizza?”
“You liked it when you first came here.”
“I still like it.”
Foster takes the box from the concierge, thanks him, and placed the food on the dining table. The aroma makes my stomach growl, and I can’t wait to eat.
What the fuck am I doing?I am underneath Foster as he kisses me, his tongue stroking mine. My senses are heightened with desire, making me aware of how good he smells. Running my hands down the muscles of his back, I groan. After dinner, we sat on the couch to watch the business report on MSNBC. I was bored and grabbed the remote, so I changed it to a movie. Foster retaliated and grabbed for the remote, and after teasing him about it, he pulled my entire body into his and pressed his lips to mine.
As Foster moves his mouth, he broke away and kissed my neck, moving to my ear, he sucks the lobe between his lips.
“Do you want me?” he whispers.
The truth is that I do. Months of no sex and tension from our marriage is clouding my judgment. My brain is screaming no, but my body betrays me as Foster cups my breast and caresses my nipple with the pads of his fingers. He bends his head and saws his teeth over the hard peak, making me moan. My core clenches so hard that it hurts, and I am sure I was wet.
“Paige, you haven’t answered,” he whispers, then traces my outer ear with his tongue.
All I can get out of my mouth is his name—a strangled cry from deep in my throat.
“Tell me what you want,” he breathes.
“You. I want you. All of you.”
In a flash, Foster backs off me. “Dammit, Paige! Why did you have to ruin it? I can’t give you all of me!”
I lay there, confused by his behavior, and then I realize that he thinks I want his love. By all of him, I mean his body. I want him to give me everything he has. I know he couldn’t give me more than a physical relationship. I sit up, pushing my hair over my shoulder.
“I don’t want your emotions. I want all you have to give physically.”
His chest heaves with deep breaths. “The spell is broken. I’m sorry. I have work to do.”
Without another word, Foster gets up from the couch and leaves me. Once the door to his office is shut, I begin to cry. Before I know why, I’m sobbing, my body shaking with my upset. I’m so caught up in myself that I barely notice when Foster scoops me up in his arms, carrying me down to his bedroom. He must have come out of his office when he heard me, but I don’t protest because I need comfort.
He puts me under the covers and climbs in behind me, holding me in his arms. This was what a husband was supposed to do—provide comfort.
“Shh,” he comforts as he strokes my hair. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“You can be so cruel,” I sob.
“I’m not good at love.”
“Then tell me about Erika,” I shakily beg.
“I hurt her, and when I realized I was in love with her, it was too late. She wouldn’t take me back.”
