The Confession by Erin McCauley

around in the refrigerator.
    “It smells delicious,” he said as she sat a spinach omelet down on the coffee table. “You’re not joining me?”
    “I already ate.”
    He took a forkful of his eggs and moaned with pleasure. “This is delicious.”
    “Thank you very much.”
    “No, thank you.” His omelet loving smile faded, replaced by one with more meaning, more passion. His eyes flickered to her mouth as he slowly leaned in toward her and lightly kissed her lips. He drew back, still studying her mouth. She nervously licked her lips. He looked up at her face, lifted his hand to her hair, and pulled her close for a deeper kiss.
    Her eyes fluttered closed as his tongue began to stroke hers. The pressure of his hands in her hair sent shooting bolts of pleasure throughout her body. He shifted, slowly coming over her as he gently lowered her back on the couch, his lips never leaving hers.
    She wrapped her arms around him and slowly ran her hands underneath his shirt and along his muscled back. She could feel his moan as it vibrated through her palms. His hands left their tangled place in her hair and softly moved down the side of her face, over her shoulders and began a slow crawl down her chest. The heat from his hands seeped through the thin silk blouse she wore. Her back arched, creating more pressure as she drew closer to his hands. He slowly unbuttoned her blouse as his lips worked their way down her exposed neck and lingered at the base, gently suckling the curve before her shoulders.
    He drew back her blouse exposing the black lace underneath. He kissed a path down her collarbone, driving her mad in anticipation. He kissed, and gently nibbled the swell of her breasts. Her body ignited with desire.
    Softly, she whispered his name.
    She felt his body stiffen. He slowly pushed himself up, balancing all of his weight on his arms. He looked down at her. She saw the cloudiness of passion evaporate from his eyes and physically felt him shut down.
    “I’m so sorry, Aimee,” he muttered as he pushed himself off the couch. “I shouldn’t have … We can’t … ”
    Aimee quickly scooted up to a sitting position and rushed to button her blouse. She could feel the heat climbing onto her cheeks as she shamefully peeked from beneath her lashes trying desperately to hide her face. He was pacing again, only this time she knew she was the cause. Humiliated, she bolted from the couch, grabbed her shoes from the floor, and dashed for the door.
    Mark, reaching the door before she did, held his arm against it, using his weight to prevent her from fleeing. “I had no right.”
    “It’s fine. I understand,” she said, keeping her head down. She didn’t, but tears were threatening to fall and she wanted to be gone before she embarrassed herself any further.
    “It’s not fine. Please let me explain.” He reached over and placed his index finger under her chin trying to force her to look up at him.
    She knew she was acting like a petulant child, but she locked her chin to her chest so he couldn’t look at her. So she could avoid looking at him. Had she thrown herself at him? Had she taken advantage of the situation knowing how vulnerable he was? She didn’t think so, but she couldn’t understand why he’d rejected her. She felt the first tear escape.
    “It isn’t right. Not like this. The timing … ” He blew out a frustrated breath.
    “Please let me leave.” Keeping her head down, she turned and stared at the closed door.
    “Why won’t you look at me?” He moved his arm from the door and brought it to her shoulder, attempting to turn her around.
    She couldn’t look at him. She knew she’d see guilt and was afraid she’d see pity. She couldn’t handle either one.
    “Aimee … ” He moved closer.
    The heat from his chest radiated through her thin blouse. The warmth of his breath blew gently against her neck. His voice was soft and pleading for understanding. She was enticed to turn back into his arms. She knew