My Fake Husband (A Secret Baby Romance) - Page 46

“God, you’re my undoing, Trix,” he said raggedly, kissing my hair. “What’s wrong, baby? I saw you crying. Are you—did I hurt you?”

I shook my head, still burying my face, afraid to let him see me. He cradled me in his arms for a few minutes before putting me away, tipping my face up to meet his eyes.

“What’s wrong? Tell me,” he said, his voice urgent. I opened my eyes, saw the worry on his handsome face.

“I’m fine. I guess, it was too much. It felt—it’s stupid, okay? It felt real for a minute,” I mumbled, trying to say it lightly, a little sarcastically even. But it sounded anguished. I sounded like I’d been taken apart, like I was heartbroken.

“Who said it wasn’t real?” he asked “Look at me Trixie. Do you think this is a fling? This is you and me. I don’t grout tile with flings, and I don’t argue about Ghostbusters with flings. I do that with you. With my wife. I think about you when I’m at work, when I’m in the shower, when I’m going for a run. You. Nobody else.”

“I know we said that we’d be monogamous until the divorce, and I appreciate what you’re saying, that you’re doing that,” I muttered.

“No. Listen to me. Get this through your stubborn head right now. I am in bed with you because that’s the only place I want to be. Do you understand me? Do you think it’s like this with everyone else?”

“Unlike you, I haven’t had sex with everyone else,” I said wryly.

“I haven’t had sex with everyone else either. Besides, this doesn’t feel like any of that, and you and I both know it. This is—not what we bargained for when we co-signed a loan and went to the courthouse. We were supposed to be in name only. But the lines have blurred, and that didn’t start between the sheets. It started the night your zipper got stuck. There was something between us, chemistry. Then we started watching the Back to the Future movies, bickering about them, laughing together. You fell asleep on my shoulder.”

“What you’re saying is I should never have asked you to help me with the zipper. I should’ve cut the damn dress off and thrown it out,” I said grimly.

“Never. Not in a million years would I have wanted that to happen instead. I like where we’re at. It’s—”

“Oh my God, Damon. Are you getting hard again?” I said, surprised.

“Maaaybe,” he said with a sheepish grin.

I climbed off his lap and backed away, pulled the sheet up to cover myself. I saw, to my horror, that I’d left a love bite on his shoulder.

“I like you. I can’t help it. And if my body responds to having you near me and naked—that’s not a bad thing, is it?”

“This is complicated. So complicated. Why did I let it get this way?” I moaned.

Damon crawled up the bed and stretched out beside me, naked and magnificent. He propped his head up on an elbow.

“Maybe you like it as much as I do,” he said archly. I pulled the sheet up over my head. He tugged it down and laughed. I covered my face with my hands.

“So are you only comfortable going to bed with men you’re not married to? Is that the problem? We’re not illicit enough?” he teased.

I removed my hands, “I like you too much already. Before. With other guys, I wasn’t in this deep, you know?”

“Are you saying you like me more than them or that I’m better in bed?”

“Both,” I said.

“Good. If you said neither, I would’ve kicked you out of my room,” he teased. “But seriously. You’re not my usual type. And before you smack me for saying it like that, I mean you’re not someone I want to be done with in two weeks or less. You’re in my life to stay, and you’re important to me. Not only because my mother would kick my ass from here to the county line if I hurt you. I like you as a person, which makes me sound like a callous bastard for hooking up with women I didn’t know as well as you or like as well as I like you. I’ve made mistakes, and I wish I hadn’t. I wish I’d done things differently.”

Then he leaned over and kissed me. I grinned so much it hurt. Because he was sweet and fun and considerate and incredible in bed. He just—liked me. If I felt more for him, if I was gathering scraps of his attention and holding them like hot coals and burning myself for the warmth—that was my problem. It wasn’t his fault.

After a few minutes, and against all odds with my angst over the relationship, I fell asleep. The next thing I knew, I yawned blissfully and stretched against the warmth of him wrapped around me. He kissed my forehead.

Tags: Natasha L. Black Romance
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