Page 95 of Slapshot Baby

The rejection burns through me like a lit match. He's choosing not to touch me because what I'm offering isn't enough for him.

I climb off his lap.

Cold air hits everywhere his body was, and I want to crawl back into his warmth so badly my hands shake.

But what he's asking for is worse than the cold.

He wants more than my body. He wants the real, unguarded, terrified version of you that I've spent my entire adult life keeping locked.

How can I give that to him? That would mean being at his mercy.

That woman is not someone I hand over. Not to anyone. Especially not to a man who can destroy me.

I turn away and pull the robe closed. Tie it with fingers that won't cooperate. Behind me, I hear him picking up his henley.

He's leaving. Good. Fine.

Except that’s not what I want. I want to feel the warmth of his touch, to savor his caress.

"Where are you going?"

"Home."

Pulling the covers back, I climb into bed. My eyes sting.

I should tell him goodnight. But what comes out of my traitorous mouth next makes things worse.

"It's late and you’ve had the worst day of your life, Kai. Just get in the bed."

Silence.

"I mean it. Get in."

He stands by the doorway, looking from me to the mattress.

My eyes sting. I turn away from him and stare at the blank wall.

The mattress dips behind me. His body slides in next to mine, warm and solid and close.

His arms wrap around my waist, pulling me back against his chest.

I can feel every inch of him against me. The heat of his bare skin through the silk. The hard length of him pressing against my lower back, his body still wanting what his mouth just refused.

His lips brush the back of my neck once, a kiss so gentle it makes my ribs ache.

“Don’t do that.” My voice breaks. “Don’t reject me and kiss me in the same breath.”

"I'm not rejecting you," he murmurs into my hair. "I'm waiting for you."

I don’t answer because if I open my mouth, the rawness building in my throat will come out as tears or truth. I can't afford either.

He arranges the covers over us carefully. His arm drapes across my waist, heavy and warm, and he tucks his body around mine.

His erection presses against the curve of my ass through the silk. Thick. Insistent. A physical argument against every word he just said.

But he doesn't move or grind. He just holds me.

His breathing slows. Deepens. His arm grows heavy.