“Don’t,” I choke out. “Don’t make this harder than it already is.”

“Tell me you don’t love me.”

I shake my head. “No, because that would be a lie.”

His lips brush against my cheek. “Tell me you don’t want me.”

“I don’t . . . I don’t want you.”

“And that you can lie about?” he asks as his hand travels to the hem of my skirt and his fingers slip under the tight fabric. The calluses from many years of holding a bat drag over my sensitive skin as he smooths his hand all the way up to my hip, pulling the hem of the dress with it.

“I don’t want to want you,” I say.

“But you do.”

“You can’t . . .” I take a deep breath as his fingers toy with the strap of my thong. Jesus Christ, I shouldn’t be allowing this. I should put an end to this, push past him, and go find Nichole, but for the life of me, I can’t. And this is what has gotten me in trouble in the past, this raw need I have for the man. “You can’t fix this with sex,” I finally say as he pulls on the strap of my thong so it falls down my legs.

Fuck.

I kick it to the side and then spread myself wider for him.

What is wrong with me?

Why am I letting this happen?

Probably because I’m still desperate for him.

Because I know I’ll never stop loving him despite our problems.

And this, this is one of the reasons. When he touches me, when he’s this close, I feel guarded, protected, and comforted. And comfort is what I seek right now.

With his lips pressed to my ear, he whispers, “Are you wet?”

My head drops against the wall as I wiggle out of his pinned grasp and move my fingers between my legs. I drag them along my slick clit then bring them to his mouth, where he parts his lips and sucks them in.

His eyes remain on me as he sucks, as his tongue runs along my digits, lapping up every inch of them until I pull them away.

“Fuck,” he moans right before licking his lips. “You still think I can’t fix this with sex?”

“I know you can’t,” I answer, betrayed by the hitch in my voice.

“What if I tried? Would you let me?” he asks as his fingers trail along my inner thigh, his knuckle grazing my sensitive flesh.

Yes.

I would.

At this moment, with this blistering feeling of need pumping through me, I would. And I know I would hate myself after, just as I hated myself the morning we had sex before I gave him the divorce papers. It’s next to impossible for me to deny him, especially when he’s this close.

“Your silence tells me you would.” He presses his fingers along my slit, briefly sliding across my clit.

Fuck. Me.

My brain screams at me, telling me to stop him.