Each dirty word seemed to push him closer to the edge. He moved his hands beneath me to grab my ass, tilting my hips up toward his and driving even deeper, the base of his cock rubbing against my clit.

I couldn’t talk anymore—my body was spiraling out of control, the tension pulling so tight I wasn’t sure I could take it. I felt the muscles in my lower body begin to contract just as the buzzing heat from the friction between us sent me rocketing higher and higher through space. Then, with one glorious stroke of lightning, everything inside me burst wide open, shattering me into a million pieces that glittered and burned like shooting stars. My body clenched and pulsed around his, and his pounded and surged inside me. We flowed into each other as we clung and kissed and held on tight, riding the wave until it finally crashed onto the shore, leaving us damp and breathless in each other’s arms.

* * *

“So what was it that made today so terrible?” Henry pressed both of my palms between his, like four hands steepled in prayer. We were in the bathtub, and I was lying back against him like he was a human recliner.

I sighed. “Today was terrible because once again, my fucking ex did something selfish and shitty that hurt the kids’ feelings.”

“What did he do now?”

“He told them they couldn’t come visit him the last part of their vacation because J.Crew Kimmy needs peace and quiet.”

“Who the hell is J.Crew Kimmy?”

“His pregnant girlfriend. She used to work at J.Crew, until she took over as trophy-wife-in-training. Apparently, she and Whitney are not getting along. But he’d promised Whitney they could go skiing at Aspen without Kimmy. My guess is that the idea did not go over well.”

“What an asshole. Were the kids upset?”

“Extremely. I was worried enough about them before this happened—Whitney is painting her face with so much makeup you can hardly see her skin, and Keaton is sneaking junk food. I’m afraid this is going to push them off the deep end. I need to find them a therapist. I need to find me a therapist.”

“I’m sorry.” He wrapped his arms around me. “I’m here if you want to talk. I’m not a therapist, but I’m a good listener.”

I hooked my hands over his muscular forearms. It did feel good to talk to him, even if he wasn’t a professional. “Whitney took some of her anger out on me, and even though I know she didn’t mean the things she said, they pretty much gutted me.”

“What did she say?”

I took a breath. “That I must have done something to make him leave.”

“That must have hurt.”