Separation Anxiety by Lisa Suzanne

now that he knew I thought he was hot. It was going to be awkward just seeing him at work from now on, never mind running into him at home, too.
    I took in a sharp breath, bracing myself for his next words.
    But instead of telling me he wanted me to move out, he gave me the biggest shock of my life.
    “You’re a catch, too, V,” he whispered. I felt his breath against my lips. He was so close to me that I could literally lean forward two inches and my lips would be on his. Every nerve in my body leaned into him, forcing my body a little closer to his as if I had no control over it. My blood was boiling beneath the surface of my skin. “You’re amazing. You’re smart. And you’re so goddamn beautiful that sometimes it hurts to look at you and know that I can’t have you.”
    I gasped at his words .
    Holy. Shit.
    He just called me beautiful.
    And did he just say that he couldn’t have me?
    Didn’t he know that I felt like I was already his?
    I felt my body automatically leaning in toward his lips. As I gazed into his eyes and the space between us disappeared, I saw his eyes flick down to my lips for just a second. I closed my eyes and tilted my head toward his, eagerly anticipating the feel of his lips against mine.
    And then the mother fucking son of a bitch oven timer starting beeping.
    He dropped my wrists and stood. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath.
    I couldn’t agree more.
    He turned off the timer and grabbed some oven mitts, and then he pulled what looked like the world’s most perfect pie out of the oven.
    “Pie?” I asked stupidly, my voice about three octaves higher than normal.
    He nodded, and I gulped down the rest of my wine. Not the smartest move given the fact that I was alread y tipsy and apparently making drunken confessions.
    He took a deep breath as he turned off the oven. “Thought we might want dessert later,” he said easily, not nearly as flustered as I was by our little exchange.
    Now that he wasn’t centimeters away from my face anymore, I could look at things a bit more objectively.
    And guess what?
    I really fucking wanted him to kiss me.
    I wanted more than kissing.
    I wanted everything.
    And it appeared that he wanted me, too.
    But, I reminded myself, I was still married.
    And I wouldn’t cheat on Richard. No matter how much of an asshole he was, I would wait until I was legally, morally, and ethically available.
    All I could do was hope that Jesse would still be available, too.
    He sat back down and we finished our meal, chatting about school – a safer subject after the intimacy that passed between us.
    I realized just exactly how tipsy I was when I stood up from the table to start cleaning up after our meal. I was slightly unbalanced on my feet as we cleaned up together; I washed the dishes while he dried and did the counters, and then, because of our teamwork, the kitchen was back to its pristine sparkle.
    We moved to the couch, each of us with our wineglasses in hand after Jesse topped them off again. We settled into the same seats we had claimed the night before. I curled my legs under me, and Jesse spread the blanket out over us again. He sat with his arm draped over the back of the couch, turned toward me, and I sat facing him, leaning my cheek against the back of the couch.
    “So,” he said, reaching toward my brown hair that was resting on the couch behind me and twirling a few strands of my hair between his fingertips. “As I said earlier, I’m yours for the night. What would you like to do?” His voice was quiet, and the moment felt intimate between us as we stared at each other.
    It was a fair question, but I wasn’t sure how to answer. If I was being honest, I wanted to mount him and take him right there on the couch until we were both shuddering in pleasure.
    “I want to know more about Jesse Drake,” I said instead.
    “What do you want to know?” he asked, those fantastic eyes pinning me in my place.
    “I just feel like we’ve only talked about me