Done With Love by Niecey Roy Page A

opened earlier, pouring the rest of the contents into the glass on the nightstand. The wine was a necessary distraction while I waited for his answer. The silence would have been deafening if it weren’t for the soothing sizzle of rain outside.
    After a few long moments, he said, “I didn’t want you to be here alone.”
    I swallowed the wine in one gulp and set the glass down, my hand shaky. “Yeah, well, I don’t know why you care.”
    I wasn’t sure why those words fell from my lips. I wasn’t mad at him, I was mad at myself for wanting him so much. I wasn’t ready to fall in love again, and I wasn’t ready for the falling out of love part, either. Still, from somewhere deep down inside there was a need to hear he still cared. I needed to know someone cared about me, that I wasn’t just a throwaway piece of garbage. I curled up on my side, away from him. The rain falling on the patio had slowed to a sprinkle.
    When he placed his hand on my waist, I squeezed my eyes shut against the turmoil burning inside of me. I don’t want you, I thought to myself, but I didn’t say the words out loud. I couldn’t, because it wasn’t true. Because I didn’t want to open my mouth and ruin this moment—he’d take his hand away and leave, and I didn’t want him to go. I needed him to stay.
    I needed him.
    “Lexie, look at me,” he whispered, and I rolled to my back.
    My heart was in my throat as he gazed down into my eyes. My lips trembled when he brushed his thumb against the tears on my cheek. Sex with him wouldn’t be so simple; it would be so hard for me to stop at only giving him my body when I’d once offered him my whole heart. And it’s only been a couple of weeks since Jeremy.
    All of these emotions, these thoughts, and yearning for Leo’s touch filled me with guilt.
    He smoothed away my tears. “I hate seeing you like this.”
    “Why?” I hated how I’d pushed this conversation, hated how I needed him to soothe my wounded soul.
    “Because it hurts.” He leaned closer, and I held my breath. “Ask me.”
    I shook my head. I wanted more than anything to say the words he wanted to hear, what I wanted to say, but was filled with hesitation.
    “Yes.” He rested his forehead against mine. “Ask me. Please. I need to know you want this.”
    My heart slammed against my chest and I pressed my eyelids together. Four words, that was all that stood between his body and mine— make love to me . I sucked in a breath when his hand rubbed down the length of my side; the thin cotton of my dress bunched at my waist where his hand settled.
    “Lexie,” he whispered. The need in his voice matched the need tearing through me, the heat of it pooling low in my belly.
    My gaze caressed the contours of his face to the small cleft in his chin. I touched my finger to the indent—a long-ago habit I seemed unable to break. My gaze traveled up to his. The question there reminded me of the less confident teenager I had once been so in love with.
    He and I were like an old song, I supposed. Even when the radio no longer played it, I could still hear the tune, I could still sing every word—it had been my favorite song for so long. The thought of losing this moment made my chest constrict.
    I pressed my hand against his cheek. “Kiss me, please.”
    His lips captured mine tenderly, the taste of his lips igniting an urgency inside. My hand ran through his hair and I grabbed a fistful, pulling him against me so every hard plane of him pressed along the soft contours of my body. I wanted to taste him, to feel his wet tongue tangle with mine. I moaned. My heartbeat hammered straight through my dress and against his chest. There was no getting close enough, not until he was deep inside of me.
    I kissed his neck, licked my tongue out to the salty flesh just under his earlobe and the shudder that passed through him emboldened me. I’d been fantasizing about the taste of him for days now, but my fantasies hadn’t done him justice. I