Entwined With You

corner of the room, I stared at the message.
Need
, not
want
. For some reason, the word choice changed my perception of what happened. I still didn’t get it completely, but I didn’t feel quite so … pushed aside.
    There were also texts between him and Ireland, which made me happy. I didn’t read them but could see that the last one had come in on Monday.
    Returning the phone to its former spot, I watched the man I loved sink into the deep sleep of exhaustion. Sprawled as he was, dressed as he was, he looked his age. He carried so much responsibility and he made it look so effortless … so innately artless, that it was easy to forget he was as vulnerable to being overworked and stressed out as anyone.
    It was my job as his wife to help him deal with it. But that was impossible for me to do if he shut me out. In saving me worry, he took more onto himself.
    We’d be talking about that as soon as he caught some sleep.
    I woke with a crick in my neck and the lingering sense that something was wrong. Moving gingerly so as not to pull something, I unfolded from my curled-up position in the armchair and noted that the dawn was well on its way. Pinkish-orange light was visible through the windows, and a quick glance at the bedside clock told me it was creeping into morning.
    Gideon groaned and I stilled, dread sliding through me at the sound.It was a terrible noise, the sound of a creature wounded in both body and soul. A chill swept over me as he moaned again, everything in me reacting violently to his torment.
    Rushing to the bed, I climbed on it, kneeling as I pushed at his shoulder. “Gideon. Wake up.”
    He flinched away from me, curling around my pillow and squeezing it. His body jerked as a sob escaped him.
    I spooned behind him, wrapping one arm around his waist. “Shh, baby,” I whispered. “I’ve got you. I’m here.”
    I rocked him as he cried in his sleep, my tears wetting his shirt.
    “W AKE up, angel mine,” Gideon murmured, his lips brushing over my jaw. “I need you.”
    I stretched, feeling lingering aches from the last two nights of hard training and the few hours I’d spent sleeping in the armchair before moving to the bed and joining him.
    My T-shirt was pushed up, exposing my breasts to his avid, hungry mouth. A hand pushed beneath the waistband of my sweats and then my panties, finding my cleft and expertly coaxing me to a swift arousal.
    “Gideon …” I could feel the need in his touch, the desire that was far more than skin deep.
    He took my mouth, hushing me with a kiss. My hips arched as his fingers pushed into me, fucking me gently. Eager to answer his silent demand for more, I pushed at my sweats, kicking restlessly until I got them off.
    I reached for the button fly of his jeans, yanking it open and shoving the denim and cotton boxer briefs out of the way.
    “Put me inside you,” he whispered against my lips.
    I circled his thick erection with my fingers, positioning him and then lifting to take the first inch of him inside me.
    Buryinghis face in my neck, he thrust, sinking into me, moaning with pleasure as I closed tight around him. “Christ, Eva. I need you so much.”
    My arms and legs caged him, holding him tight.
    Time and everything else in the world ceased to matter. Gideon renewed all the promises he’d made to me on the sands of a Caribbean beach, and I tried to heal him, hoping to give him the strength he needed to face another day.
    I was putting on my makeup when Gideon joined me in the bathroom, setting a steaming mug of creamy sweet coffee on the marble counter next to me. He wore nothing but pajama pants, so I guessed he wasn’t going into the office or at least not right away.
    Eyeing him in the mirror, I searched for signs that he remembered his dreams. I’d never seen him so deeply troubled, as if his heart were breaking.
    “Eva,” he said quietly, “we need to talk.”
    “I’m on board with that.”
    Leaning back against the counter, he held his mug in both hands. He stared down into his coffee for a long minute before asking, “Did you make a sex tape with Brett Kline?”
    “What?” I faced him, my hand tightening on the handle of my makeup brush. “No. Fuck no. Why would you ask me that?”
    He held my gaze. “When I came back from the hospital the other night, Deanna caught up with me in the lobby. After the situation with Corinne, I knew brushing her off was the wrong approach.”
    “I told you that.”
    “I know. You were right. So I