Page 88 of Letting Go at 40

“Who gave it to you, Anna?”

“You.” She pulls back to look at me, eyes questioning.

My gaze holds on her eyes. “And who do you think of when you use it?” My voice is still strong. There is only one right answer.

“You,” she whispers, sheepishly.

“Good girl.” Clutching at her perfect ass with both hands, I tuck her tighter to me. Our mouths meet again, taking this kiss to frantic heights. I need to be inside her and the way she’s rocking against me, she wants the same thing.

Before I know what I’m doing, I lean forward with my mouth still on Anna’s and lay her on the square table in front of the couches. With her back on the surface, I flatten myself over her, thrusting against her center, simulating how I’d like to enter her, hard and fast.

Anna breaks the kiss, inhaling a deep breath like she’s drowning in me. Suffocating in need. Her fingers tug my hair.

“Mason,” she whimpers. “Maybe we should do it.”

“What?” I nibble her neck, nipping up the slender column to her ear.

“Have sex.”

I freeze. Teeth at her ear lobe. Hand just below her breast.

Releasing her ear, I pull back and stare down at her, spread out between wine glasses on a coffee table. My dick throbs, hard and furious against the heat of her center. Her legs are spread wide, one hitching over my thigh.

“When?” I question, voice croaking like a hormonal teen.

“Now.”

“No.”

“What?” she asks.

What? My dick echoes. Just what the fuck am I saying?

Slowly, I press off the coffee table and reach for her hand, tugging her upright so she sits on the table while I fall back to the couch. Rejection fills her eyes. She chews her lower lip.

“It’s okay,” she timidly says, her voice full of remorse.

“No, Anna.” I scrub both hands down my cheeks. “Fuck, I’m messing this up.” I exhale before cupping her face and holding her, so she looks at me, which she’s doing everything to avoid.

“Of course, I want to have sex with you.” I exhale again. “Just not like this. Not on a coffee table or with my kid in the next room.”

This is Anna. My dream girl. It should be special and romantic.

“It’s fine,” she whispers, lids lowering so she still doesn’t look directly at me even though I’m holding her face in my hands.

It’s fine. Are there two worse words from a woman? It isn’t fine and she’s not understanding me.

“When we do this, it needs to be . . . right.”

“And it’s not right now?” Her voice trembles.

“It’s—”

She abruptly stands, cutting off my thought and filling in my space as she’s between my bent knees.

“I get it. It’s fine,” she repeats again, wringing out her hand before turning to step over my knee which cages her in. I catch her around the waist and tug her back to me, causing her to fall on my lap with her back to my chest.

“Anna. Just stop.” I breathe in the scent of her hair, summery and fresh, taking a moment to calm my breathing while there’s nothing I can do about the raging hard-on in my jeans. With my arms around her waist, I squeeze her tighter, digging my nose deeper into her hair. “We just need more time.”