Chapter 45 The Weight of Wanting More
1471 Words
The day progressed slowly, like honey sliding down warm glass—a soft, languid pace that neither of them fully recognized but didn’t dare interrupt.
It wasn’t ordinary.
It wasn’t routine.
It was the quiet after a storm, the hush between two breaths, the fragile stillness that forms when two people share something intimate and wake up still wanting more.
But wanting more always came with a price.
The Morning That Was Too Still
Michael stood by the kitchen counter, sleeves rolled up, preparing coffee while Marnie leaned against the island, watching him—really watching him.
His movements were precise. Controlled. Effortless. The same hands that held her so gently last night now held a coffee mug with a surgeon’s certainty.
But something was different.
Tension sat quietly in the air—soft but steady, like a string pulled too tight.
Not fear.
Not discomfort.
Just… energy.
A charged current, neither of them knew how to name yet.
Michael glanced at her from the corner of his eye.
“You’re staring,” he said, his voice low but edged with amusement.
She blinked. “I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
She looked away quickly, cheeks warming. “You’re imagining things.”
He smirked slightly, walking toward her with the mug in hand. “If I imagined everything you do to me, I would be insane by now.”
The words hit her like a slow pulse.
Warm.
Stirring.
Unmistakably intimate.
He set the mug in front of her and leaned his hands on the island, bracketing her between his arms—close enough that she could feel his breath on her forehead.
Her pulse fluttered.
“You’re still nervous,” he murmured.
“I’m trying not to be.”
“You don’t have to try,” he said gently. “Just feel.”
He lifted her chin with two fingers—a simple gesture, but it made her breath catch.
“You don’t have to control every reaction around me, Marnie,” he whispered. “I want the real you. The one who looked at me last night like she finally wanted me.”
Her breath trembled.
He wasn’t wrong.
That was the problem.
“Michael…”
He remained close, not touching her further—waiting, searching her expression with quiet intensity.
“I don’t want you to be cautious with me,” he continued softly. “I want you to be honest.”
She swallowed. “I am honest.”
“Then tell me what you’re feeling right now.”
She hesitated.
Not because she didn’t know.
Because she did.
“I feel…”
Her voice faltered.
“I feel drawn to you.”
His eyes darkened with something deep, potent, dangerous in the gentlest way.
“And that scares you?” he asked.
She nodded.
“How much?” he whispered.
“More than I want to admit.”
Michael exhaled—a slow, controlled release of breath that revealed far more than he intended.
“Marnie.”
Her name was a confession on his lips.
“Do you know how hard it is for me not to touch you right now?”
Her knees nearly gave out.
He froze, as if realizing he had revealed too much. He straightened, stepping back just enough to give her breath.
“I’m not trying to push you,” he said seriously. “I’m just being real. Because if you’re scared of wanting me, I’m terrified of wanting you more.”
The words struck her like a silent thunderclap.
He wasn’t teasing.
He wasn’t seducing.
He was admitting vulnerability—the one thing he rarely gave anyone, including her.
Her voice turned soft. “Why would that scare you?”
He looked away for the first time.
“Because the more I want you,” he said quietly, “the more I’m afraid of losing myself in you. And I’ve spent my entire life making sure I don’t need anyone.”
She studied him—really studied him.
The tension in his jaw.
The way his hand curled slightly at his side.
The way he kept his breath controlled, as though any shift would break the fragile line he was balancing on.
“You think needing me is a bad thing?” she asked, her chest tightening.
“I think needing anyone is a bad thing,” he admitted.
She stepped closer.
“Even your wife?” she whispered.
He closed his eyes—pained, conflicted, undone.
“Marnie,” he said softly, “you’re the exception. And I don’t know how to be comfortable with that yet.”
The silence that followed wasn’t empty.
It was full.
Full of want.
Full of fear.
Full of the possibility of breaking but choosing to stay instead.
The Afternoon Tension
They tried to return to normal.
Michael answered emails in his study.
Marnie organized the shelves in the living room.
They ate lunch together quietly.
But each time their eyes met, something passed between them—unspoken, thick, heated, confusing, irresistible.
More than desire.
More than affection.
A pull neither of them were prepared for.
At one point, she walked past the study door, not intending to interrupt him, but his head snapped up instantly.
His voice softened. “Come here.”
She stepped inside, unsure.
He sat back in his chair, gaze fixed on her—steady, deep, searching.
“I don’t want to pretend today didn’t happen,” he said. “Or last night.”
“I’m not pretending.”
“You’re overthinking,” he corrected gently.
“And you’re over-feeling,” she countered.
He blinked, surprised—and then he laughed quietly, the sound warm and disarmed.
“You’re not wrong.”
“I usually am, in your opinion.”
“And yet you’re the only person who ever says something I actually need to hear.”
She exhaled slowly, the truth settling between them with a weight neither of them knew how to carry yet.
Evening Fractures
As night approached, tension simmered again—no longer as comforting, no longer as soft.
Something pulsed beneath the surface.
Emotion?
Desire?
Fear?
All tangled together.
After dinner, Michael washed the dishes while she dried them. Their hands brushed once—just once—and it sent a shockwave through her spine.
He stilled.
“Marnie,” he said quietly, not looking at her, “if you touch me like that again, I won’t be able to pretend I’m fine.”
She froze.
“I’m not asking for anything from you,” he continued, voice low, strained. “But I can’t keep acting like I don’t want you with every breath I take.”
The honesty stunned her.
“Michael…”
He finally turned, and the look in his eyes made her breath stop—raw, restrained, pained.
He stepped closer, almost as if drawn to her against his will.
“Tell me what to do,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “Tell me if I should step back or pull you closer. Because I swear, Marnie… I am one heartbeat away from losing the control I’m so proud of.”
She couldn’t speak.
“Marnie…”
He swallowed hard.
“Please.”
She took a slow, trembling step toward him.
And whispered:
“Then don’t step back.”
His breath shattered.
In one slow, controlled motion, he lifted her chin, his thumb brushing the corner of her mouth. Not possessive. Not rushed.
Just reverent.
He leaned in slowly—far slower than last night—giving her time to stop him.
She didn’t.
Their lips met in a kiss that wasn’t wild or desperate—but restrained, trembling, full of everything they were afraid to feel.
He deepened it only when she did.
He held her only when she stepped closer.
He breathed her in only when she whispered his name in a way that broke him completely.
He pulled back just slightly, his forehead against hers, breath uneven.
“If we keep going,” he whispered, voice thick with want, “I won’t be able to stop.”
Her heart thundered.
Her breath shook.
And yet… she didn’t step away.
This time, she wasn’t scared of wanting him.
Not as much.
“Then don’t,” she whispered.
Michael’s eyes snapped open—dark, burning, and undone.
But before he could act on it, before he could pull her into him fully, before he could let go completely—
His phone rang.
Loud. Urgent. Shattering the moment instantly.
His body tensed.
His jaw tightened.
He stepped back reluctantly, breathing hard.
He looked at her with regret—raw, painful, frustrated.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
And he answered the call.
The moment between them broke—fragile, incomplete, unresolved.
But the longing didn’t fade.
It only grew.
- Writer
