Page 92 of When We Were More

“Eyes on me, Matilda.” It’s a command, but his tone is soft… loving. My heart skips a beat. This, right here between us, is just physical, I remind myself. My eyes moisten as the thought makes me sad.

He stills.

“Matilda, what’s wrong? Am I hurting you?”

“No,” I whisper. “I’m fine. Please move, Henry. You’re killing me. Please.”

He leans down and kisses me. It’s filled with tenderness and affection. I lift my hips to encourage him, and a low chuckle escapes him. He pulls away from my mouth and fixes his gaze on me.

“Eyes stay on me, baby. I want to see the pleasure in your eyes.”

Jesus. This man and his words.

He begins moving now. Not fast, but rhythmic and deep. I swear I feel every ridge, every vein, as he moves. I love the way he stretches me with his cock.

We stare into each other’s eyes for the next several minutes as he glides over the sensitive flesh inside me. Without a doubt, this time is different. I’ve never felt this way before. Ishouldsay or do something to turn what’s happening back into plain sex, but I can’t. I don’t want to, either. Just this once, I promise that part of my brain that’s trying to warn me to shut this down, and I push those thoughts to the back of my mind.

Tonight, it’s obvious Henry Aron is more than my friend with benefits. He’s the man I’m finally acknowledging I feel more for, as terrified as I am to admit it. He’s the man who makes me want more than a quiet life, single, protected from the hurt love can bring. He’s the man who isn’t fucking me. No, for the first time in my life, I know what the difference is between fucking and making love. Because right now, Henry is making love to me.

It’s that realization that does me in, and my upper body arches as my lower body trembles with waves of pleasure.

“Christ, Matilda. That’s beautiful,” he whispers, right before his hot release fills me.

CHAPTER 34

Henry

I’ve not yet opened my eyes, but I get the sense I’m being watched. When I lift my lids, Matilda is staring at me. Jesus, she’s pretty. She’s lying on her side with one forearm folded under her head, staring at me as she nervously bites down on her thumbnail.

“Morning,” I say.

“Good morning, Henry.”

I can’t resist touching her again now that I’m awake, and I lift a hand to her hip, caressing light circles over her flesh.

“You okay? You seem like you’ve got something on your mind.”

“I’m fine.” Her response comes too quickly.

“I’m pretty sure I heard somewhere that when a woman says, ‘I’m fine,’ she’s anything but…”

She flips onto her back and gazes at the ceiling. Now I’m starting to get concerned. I lean partway over her.

“Hey, whatever it is, it’ll be okay.But I need you to talk to me about it, because, for all my many talents, reading minds isn’t one of them.”

My attempt at humor falls short.

She bites at her lower lip.

“Do you regret last night?” I have to ask, even if I’m afraid of her answer.

“No. I should, but I don’t.” Ouch, that hurts a little.

“You should? Why should you?”

She peers into my eyes, silent for a few seconds.

“Because now I’m scared. Last night felt like… It felt like more. It felt like we were more. I don’t know what to do with that. I don’t want to get hurt. I’m afraid ‘more’ might hurt.”