No Regrets by Claire Kent Page B

unexpected visitor. I started to change out of my pajamas, but then decided against it. Putting my clothes back on would feel uncomfortable, and these pajamas were a soft knit pants and tank-top set in a dark blue, and so they weren’t all that different than a t-shirt and leggings would be.
    He brought in dinner from a Greek restaurant nearby, and we ate it at my kitchen counter. He told me about a dog who had come in, hit by a car—the one who had kept him late—and I told him about how my boss was blaming me for her mistakes.
    We fell into silence as we finished. I felt better. Comforted. Like I’d been heard. Like I wasn’t alone.
    “You look tired,” he said, after a minute of searching my face. “I can leave, if you want. Or we can just go to bed.”
    I really wanted to go to bed. With him.
    The smartest thing was probably to ask him to leave, but I didn’t want him to go. He was sitting next to me, looking rumpled, and masculine, and like he needed to shave.
    Making sure I pushed that thought from my mind, I gave him a teasing look. “I thought going to bed was what you came over for.”
    He smiled at me—just a little heat smoldering in his eyes. “You got it. Bed it is.”
    It would have been easier if he’d just jumped me and we stumbled into the bedroom and we went at it. But we didn’t. He helped me clean up from our meal, and then he asked if he could take a shower.
    Of course, I let him. He’d had a long day. But, instead of wild sex, it felt very cozy and intimate again as I lay in bed and waited for him.
    I tried to imagine what it would be like to live with him. To have evenings like this all the time—coming home from work, having dinner, talking, going to bed.
    And I could picture it. I could see it so clearly. I wanted it so much that my chest started to ache. From everything I didn’t really have with him.
    I suddenly knew—knew so clearly—that I should have asked him to leave. I wasn’t in the emotional state this evening to keep the proper distance from him. But it was too late. It would be incredibly rude to tell him to leave now. And I just didn’t want him to go.
    I searched my mind for some kind of sex that would reorient my thinking in the right way. I felt like missionary sex under the covers—nothing too wild or strenuous—but I wasn’t going to make that mistake and complete my emotional delusion about what Josh and I actually had.
    I was still trying to think of what I could do to get myself together when he came out of the shower, naked except for a pair of boxers.
    He smelled clean as he got under the covers with me and scooted over to spoon me from behind. With one arm around my middle, he held me snugly against him, and my body immediately reacted to his closeness.
    “I like your pajamas” he murmured, his breath warm against my ear.
    I snuggled back into his embrace, feeling better than I had all day but terrified because of it. “You lucked out. Sometimes I sleep in just an oversized t-shirt.
    One of his hands strayed up to my breasts, caressing one of my nipples through the fabric until it peaked under his touch. “Really? That doesn’t sound too bad to me.”
    “My favorite t-shirt says ‘Give me chocolate and no one gets hurt.’” I felt a tingling between my legs as I stretched against him.
    He chuckled and rubbed his cheek against my neck, making me moan at the delicious friction. He was hardening against my ass and gently rocking his pelvis against me. I added, “It’s so big on me it comes down to my knees.”
    He hummed low in his throat. “Sounds very sexy. Next time, you should wear that.”
    Reaching up behind me, I wrapped one of my arms around his neck. “I’ll think about it.”
    He raised himself up slightly and turned my head to the side so he could reach my lips. We kissed for a few minutes as he stroked my body, until both of us were warm and aroused.
    I was feeling soft and affectionate. I was feeling like we were really