The One Night(22)

Together we ride out our pleasure until we’re completely spent. I collapse next to her and press my hands behind my head as I attempt to catch my breath.

“Holy shit,” I whisper. “I’m not sure I’ve come like that . . . ever.”

“I . . . I don’t know . . . I haven’t ever . . .” She turns toward me, her cheeks flushed, her eyes heady. “That was amazing.”

I turn toward her and grip her cheek. I bring her lips to mine, and I let my tongue wander a few more seconds before I pull away. “Fucking phenomenal,” I say.

Her fingers glide over my chest. “Do you, uh . . . do you want to spend the night?”

“If it means being able to do that multiple times? Fuck yes.”

She smiles. “I would prefer it that way.”

I press another kiss to her lips before she stands from the bed and heads to the bathroom. I appreciate the view for a moment before I roll to my back again and stare up at the ceiling.

Fuck, I can’t remember the last time I felt this good. The last time I felt this light. This free. And there is no doubt in my mind what the reason is. She just walked into the bathroom.

We spend the rest of the night making out, sleeping, and fucking. I take her a few more times, making her come even harder than the first.

I become addicted to how vocal she is.

I become obsessed with making her orgasm.

And when we catch our breath, I savor the warmth of her body curled into me.

Everything feels so goddamn perfect.

It just feels . . . right.



My body twists, my legs tangling in a confining sheet, stirring me awake. Groggily, I attempt to open my eyes and take in my surroundings. Where the hell am I?

And why am I so warm?

Eyes blinking, I turn to the side to find a wave of black hair stretched over my arm, followed by a sleeping Nora.

Hell, how could I even forget for a moment?

I inwardly smile and then reach out and push her hair off her beautiful face. She’s passed out, completely out of it. I don’t blame her. After everything we did last night, I’m surprised I’m awake.

But I’ve always had a hard time sleeping places other than my own bed, even if I spent the entire night in and out of Nora.

Needing to go to the bathroom, I carefully untangle myself from the sheets and tiptoe across the creaky wood floors to Nora’s bathroom, where I quietly shut the door and turn on the light. I catch my reflection in the mirror and chuckle at the sight.

Hair completely askew, sticking up on all ends. My lips look swollen, and embarrassingly enough there are scratch and teeth marks all over my chest.

I move to the toilet, lift up the seat, and take care of business while I reflect back on last night.

Going out with my parents.

Them running into Nora.

Ditching me, which in return forced me to speak to her.

Which then led to the night we shared.

I flush the toilet and wash my hands.

And what a fucking night. A night that . . . I glance up at the mirror . . . a night I never would have expected from Nora . . .

Nora, the girl I grew up knowing but never got to actually get to know on a personal level.

The girl who introduced me to my ex-wife.

The girl who is still best friends with Dealia.

Jesus Christ.

My hands fall to the counter, propping me up as my mind whirls.

What the hell have I done?

I was so caught up in the moment last night, so desperate to feel anything other than the boring, dull breaths, that I let myself forget Dealia. I let myself forget our history, our failed marriage, and what it would mean if I slept with her best friend. I inadvertently put myself in a situation I had no right putting myself in.

What the hell would my therapist say?

Self-sabotage?

Possibly.

Because look at the progress I’ve made since the divorce. And here I am, making a decision that has the potential to blow up in my face. Hell, who am I kidding? It 100 percent is going to blow up in my face. I can’t get away with sleeping with my ex-wife’s best friend unscathed. And who’s going to be hurt in the long run? Me?

Maybe.

But that’s not whom I’m concerned about. I’m worried about Nora.

I’ve made some mistakes in the past, some that have hurt me, some that hurt my marriage. And now that I’m finally on the right path, I refuse to make the same mistakes.

But haven’t I already done the damage?

I move toward the doorway of the bedroom and stare back at Nora, still very much asleep and very unaware of the war raging in my head. What was this to her last night? Did it mean anything? Was it just fun? Where is her head at? When she wakes up, will she have a massive tidal wave of regret?

From the corner of my eye, a flash of light catches my attention. The light peeking through the curtains shines off a silver frame propped up on her dresser. It takes me a few seconds to make out the picture, but when I do, my stomach drops.

It’s a picture of Dealia and Nora, posing at our wedding, their arms wrapped around each other, huge smiles on their faces.

It’s like a cold bucket of water, crashing over me in a wave of chilling reality.

It’s too late. I’ve already made a grave mistake.

A mistake so monumental that I have no idea how to handle the ramifications.

Panic sears through me, propels me toward my clothes.