“I know.” She kissed me. “And I invaded your space, and I talk too much, I’m a terrible driver, I’m not good at painting, I spent too much on the new rug for the lobby, I spilled coffee in your nice clean truck—”

“What?”

She winced. “Yeah, I didn’t tell you about that. But when I took your truck to get groceries the other day, I spilled my coffee on the front seat. I cleaned it up, though!”

I groaned.

“Also, I might have hit a curb.”

I groaned even louder, but it was impossible to be mad at her.

“My point is,” she went on sweetly, patting my shoulder, “that I know I’m not perfect, but you make me feel good about myself. I’m grateful for you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. And,” she said, lowering her voice to a whisper, as if someone might hear her, “you give me the best orgasms I’ve ever had.”

I lifted my chin. “Good.”

“Blow out the candle. Make a wish.” I blew it out, and she wiggled on my lap. “What did you wish for?”

“A million fucking dollars in my bank account, what else?”

She pouted. “I thought it would be something sexier.”

“That is sexy. I’m getting hard just thinking about it.” I kissed her, sliding my hands beneath her dress. Actually, I’d been careful not to wish for anything.

“Okay, your turn,” she said, a little breathless as my lips traveled along her jaw and down her throat.

“My turn for what?”

She laughed. “For telling me what this marriage has meant to you over the last two weeks.”

“Oh.” I untied the bow of her sundress with my teeth like I’d wanted to the first day she’d worn it. “Can’t I just show you with one of those orgasms? Maybe two?”

“Yes,” she said. “But I like to hear words too.”

“Mmm. Not good at words. Good at this.” I opened up her dress and tugged down the white lace of her bra before swirling my tongue around one perfect nipple.

“Yes, you are very good at this.” She put her hands in my hair. “But don’t you . . . hey, can we talk for a minute?”

“About what?”

“Maybe like . . . what you’re feeling? What comes next for us?” She tilted my head up so I was forced to look at her. “I can’t think when you’re doing that.”

“Then you’ll have to stop thinking.” I stood up with her in my arms and started moving toward the bedroom. The last thing I wanted to do was talk about my feelings right now. I didn’t trust myself not to say something stupid.

“Wait, what about your cake?” she cried.

“I’ll eat it later. I want you for dessert.”

I tossed her onto the bed, pushed up her dress, and pulled down her underwear. “Here’s what comes next for us.” I spread her legs apart and buried my face between her thighs.

She moaned and clawed at the sheets, rocking her hips beneath my mouth. By now I knew how to make her come easily, but I liked to drag it out, work her into a frenzied state of desperation until she begged me to let her come.

But I didn’t tease her tonight. Within minutes, her hands were fisted in my hair, her cries echoing off the walls, her clit throbbing as I sucked it into my mouth.

When she’d released her grip on my hair, I stood up, whipped off my shirt and worked off my jeans. Naked, I pulled her into a seated position and lifted her dress over her head. Then she fell back again, taking me with her.

We kissed and groped and clung and rolled around in twisted sheets, skin to skin, flirting with recklessness. In the back of my head I knew I should stop and get protection, but I couldn’t find my voice. Just for a minute, I kept telling myself. I just want to feel her like this for one more minute, and then I’ll stop.

But I didn’t stop.

I put the tip of my cock inside her, and she moaned. “More,” she pleaded.

I gave her one more inch, both of us groaning in agonizing bliss. Her hands were on my back, inching lower. “Don’t stop,” she breathed, tilting her hips to take more of me.

Clinging to a rapidly fraying rope of self-control, I allowed myself a few playfully shallow strokes. But it was way too good—and then she was grabbing my ass and pulling me in deeper, crying out in frustrated need. Before I knew it I was all the way inside her, driving hard and fast and deep with nothing between us.

And I didn’t care. In that moment, I didn’t know fear or caution. I didn’t care about rules or consequences. I didn’t think about the past or the future or anything except this moment, this feeling, this woman, this relentless need for more, more, more.

She gripped me tightly and matched my rhythm with her own, our bodies rocking against each other, our skin slick with sweat. We raced toward climax together, spiraling higher and higher until we collided in the sky and burst into flames, then clung to each other as the embers drifted back to earth.

A slow, dizzying, inevitable fall.

After which I hit the ground with a hard, rude thump.

“Oh, fuck.” I pulled out, as if the risk hadn’t already been taken. “Fuck. We shouldn’t have done that.”

“It’s—it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. You told me the other night it wasn’t safe, and I—”

“The timing isn’t as dangerous tonight. In my cycle, I mean. I think it’s fine.”

“You think?” I knew shit about timing and cycles, but her tone was not convincing, and the thought of an accidental pregnancy was scary as hell. “You can’t get pregnant, Blair. It would be a fucking disaster.”

“Griffin,” she said, obviously hurt.

Angry with myself, I got out of bed and went into the bathroom, pulling the door shut behind me a little harder than necessary. I was being a dickhead and I knew it, but she had me all disoriented and confused. I felt like I didn’t know which way was up. I had no rules left to break.

What the fuck was the matter with me?

I cleaned up and came out of the bathroom still unsure of what to say. Right away she got out of bed and went into the bathroom, without even looking at me. She shut the door with less force than I had, but with enough to make it obvious she was upset.

I didn’t blame her.

Lowering myself onto the edge of the bed, I hung my head. I had majorly fucked up. I’d gotten myself into a place I couldn’t get out of without hurting someone who didn’t deserve it.

She came out of the bathroom and went over to her suitcase. The bedroom light was off, but the hall light was still on, and I watched her pull on underwear and her Snoopy T-shirt.

“What are you doing?” I asked. She’d been sleeping naked every night—we both had.

“Nothing.”

“Come here.”

She closed her suitcase and came over to the bed, tentatively sitting on the edge a good three feet from me, her arms crossed over her chest, her knees pressed together. She stared straight ahead.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I was a jerk about what just happened. It wasn’t your fault.”

She didn’t say anything, and I found myself groping for more words. I felt like I owed her a better explanation, and there was one, but it terrified me to think about unlocking that particular vault. Tearing down that particular wall. But I heard myself say it a moment later.