CHAPTER 39 When Distance Becomes Impossible
1301 Words
Marnie had never felt so aware of her own heartbeat.
All morning, the condo felt different—warmer, quieter, and strangely charged, as though the walls themselves remembered the kiss they shared earlier. Even the air felt thicker, heavier with something unspoken between them.
She tried to distract herself by folding laundry in the bedroom, but her hands trembled each time she remembered the way Michael’s lips had felt against hers—slow, warm, careful, but filled with a depth she wasn’t prepared for.
She pressed a palm to her chest, trying to steady the erratic beat beneath her ribs.
What was happening to her?
Why did she miss the way he held her the moment he let go?
Before she could think further, a knock sounded softly against the half-open bedroom door.
“Marnie?” His voice was gentle, like a low hum that slid across her skin. “Can I come in?”
She swallowed. “Y-yes.”
Michael stepped inside, still wearing the shirt from earlier. He looked calm on the outside, but the faint tightness in his jaw told her he wasn’t as composed as he pretended.
His eyes softened when he looked at her.
“You’ve been quiet since this morning,” he said.
“I’m just… thinking,” she replied.
“About what?”
She hesitated.
Should she admit it? Should she tell him that his kiss had shaken something loose inside her? That she kept replaying it in her mind? That for the first time, the idea of being close to him didn’t only frighten her—it made her curious?
“I’m thinking about… us,” she whispered.
He took a step closer.
Not too close.
Just close enough that she felt his presence like warmth against her skin.
“What about us?” he asked, voice low.
Her fingers twisted nervously around the edge of a towel.
“You’re my husband now. I’m your wife. And I keep thinking about what that means… what we’re supposed to be.”
Michael inhaled slowly, deeply.
“You don’t have to be anything except yourself,” he said. “Not for me. Not for anyone.”
“But I want to understand,” she murmured. “I want to… know how to be close to you.”
His breath hitched—barely perceptible, but she felt it like a spark.
He stepped closer, now only an arm’s length away.
“Marnie,” he said softly, “look at me.”
She lifted her eyes reluctantly.
His gaze was warm, but intense—full of emotion he kept tightly bridled.
“Being close isn’t something you need to force,” he whispered. “It’s something that happens naturally… when you trust someone.”
“I trust you,” she said immediately, surprising them both.
His eyes darkened—softened—but something deeper flickered there, something that made her breath catch.
He raised a hand slowly, offering—not insisting.
She nodded, allowing him to touch her.
His fingertips brushed her jaw. Then her cheek. Then the corner of her lips in a feather-light trace that made her shiver.
“You don’t know what you do to me,” he whispered, voice trembling despite his usual composure.
Marnie felt her knees weaken. She clutched the towel tighter.
“What… what do I do?” she asked.
Michael let out a breath that sounded almost like a suppressed groan.
“You make me want to hold you. Touch you. Kiss you… far longer than I should.”
Her heart thudded painfully.
He leaned his forehead against hers, the air between them growing warmer.
“But I can’t let myself lose control. Not unless you’re ready.”
She swallowed, the space around them shrinking until the only thing she sensed was him—his warmth, his breath, the trembling restraint in his voice.
“Michael…” she whispered, her hands trembling. “What if I want to learn? What if I want to… take a step closer?”
His eyes flew open—shocked, shaken, dark with emotion.
“Marnie,” he breathed, voice roughening, “don’t say things like that unless you mean them.”
“I mean it,” she whispered.
His hand cupped the back of her neck, not pulling her toward him, just… holding her. Keeping her steady.
“You’re sure?” he whispered.
She nodded.
Slowly, she lifted her hands and placed them against his chest. His heart beat hard beneath her palms—steady, strong, but undeniably fast.
Her touch undid him.
He grabbed her waist—not hard, but firmly—pulling her a whisper closer. Not touching fully, but close enough that her breath tangled with his.
“Tell me what you’re feeling,” he murmured, his lips near her ear.
She closed her eyes.
“I feel… nervous. And warm. And…”
She swallowed.
“And I want to… feel you hold me again.”
Michael’s control snapped for half a second.
He pulled her against him—slow but decisive—his hand sliding to the small of her back, pressing her lightly to his chest. His other hand steadied her jaw, keeping her face tilted up toward him.
Her breath caught.
He wasn’t kissing her.
Not yet.
But the closeness was almost unbearable—his warmth enveloping her, the steady thrum of his breath against her ear, the soft brush of his thumb against her cheek.
“Marnie…” he whispered, voice thick with restrained desire. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
She didn’t pull away.
She reached up, shy but brave, and touched the collar of his shirt.
His breath stuttered.
He closed his eyes tightly, fighting for control.
“You can’t look at me like that,” he murmured.
“How?” she breathed.
“Like you want me to kiss you.”
Heat spread across her face. “Maybe I… do.”
He froze.
Absolutely still.
Her words echoed between them, reshaping the air.
Slowly, painfully, he opened his eyes.
“Marnie,” he whispered, “if I kiss you now, I won’t be able to kiss you gently.”
Her heart pounded. “Then… kiss me the way you want.”
His jaw clenched hard.
“You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“Then show me.”
He inhaled sharply—ragged, uncontrolled, desperate.
His hand slid to her waist, fingers tightening momentarily as he pulled her fully into his embrace.
Slow.
Sure.
Irrevocable.
“Marnie… tell me one more time.”
She looked directly into his eyes, trembling but certain.
“I want you to kiss me.”
Something broke in him.
He cupped her face with both hands, breath shaking, and he finally—slowly, deeply—lowered his mouth to hers.
The kiss wasn’t gentle.
It wasn’t rushed either.
It was controlled hunger—restrained passion—his lips moving against hers with a mixture of desire and reverence that made her gasp softly into him.
He held her firmly, yet protectively, his thumb brushing her cheek, his other hand steadying her back.
When he finally pulled away, both of them were breathless.
His forehead rested against hers again.
“You don’t know what you’re doing to me,” he whispered hoarsely.
She clung to him, dizzy and warm.
“Maybe I’m starting to understand,” she whispered back.
Michael exhaled shakily, pulling her into a tight embrace against his chest.
“I won’t rush you,” he said, voice thick. “But God help me… I want you more every day.”
And for the first time, Marnie felt a matching heat rise within her—new, unfamiliar, but undeniably real.
A spark.
A beginning.
Something deeper than fear and gentler than innocence.
Desire.
- Writer
