Trapped in the weight of his gaze, I swallow hard as I lay the clean dress on the mattress before removing the sand-caked one shielding my modesty. He’s touched me in intimate places, studied every angle of my nude body so he could bring me to life on his canvas…he’s seen inside my soul in a way no else has, not even Liam.
Yet undressing in front of him, with the late afternoon sun bathing my skin while he watches from across the room, fully clothed, leaves me more bare than all the above combined. It’s intimate—the air between us. The promise of things to come.
“I need to shower. I have sand in my hair.” It takes all of my willpower not to cover my breasts as I face him.
His gaze roams my body for several seconds before meeting my eyes. “So do I.”
He stands and removes his T-shirt, unzips his jeans, and shoves them to his ankles. Working the shoes off his feet, he steps free of the denim and strides toward me, naked as the day he was born and without shame, his cock semi-hard.
With a gulp, I take a step back. “I thought you said we have to be there in an hour.”
“We do.”
“If you get in the shower with me, we won’t make it.”
His knowing grin disarms me, freezing me to the spot. “Are you worried I won’t be able to control myself?”
“Maybe.”
“What if I promise not to touch you?” Even as he says it, he fingers one of the tiny braids woven into my strands. “Except for your hair. I want to wash it.”
He’s too close, too naked, too…unguarded. His carefree behavior is messing with my head.
“I didn’t expect this,” I say, echoing his confession from earlier on the beach.
“What didn’t you expect?”
“You…this…” I’m at a loss for words as I gesture at the private setting. “You’re being kind and attentive and…” I trail off, stumped for a way to explain that won’t come out wrong.
“I have my moments.” His lips tilt into a half-smirk, half-smile. I can’t decide which.
I don’t have time to examine the intent on those sexy lips. Suddenly, he lifts me, and I wrap my legs around his waist as he carries me into the adjacent bathroom, clinging to his warm body out of fear of falling. Though deep down, I know it’s too late. He shoved me off the precipice months ago, and I’ve been in a state of flailing surrender ever since.
“What happened to keeping your hands to yourself?” I tease.
“I’m carrying you into the shower, not making you come.” He sets me on my feet in a marble-encased stall, and with a flip of a switch, warm water rains from the lit ceiling.
God, he’s built. I’m drooling, struck speechless and in a trance as water pours over him, matting his dark blond hair to his forehead. Drops trickle down his abs, and I follow them below his belly button to the erection standing between us.
“What if I can’t keep my hands to myself?” I reach for his cock, and he grips my wrist.
“You don’t have a choice.” He turns me around to face the wall. “But I’ll let you choose the scent,” he says, pointing at the various bottles of bath products lining a built-in shelf.
Blindly, I grab a shampoo and hand it to him. What follows for the next few minutes is a ceremonial obsession with my hair. He takes his time with the strands, fingers combing out the tangles, careful not to leave any part of my locks unwashed. Adding conditioner takes just as long, and steam hangs thick in the stall by the time my hair rinses clean.
He moves away, and when I turn around, he’s leaning against the opposite wall, arms crossed as his gaze zeroes in on my breasts. “Wash up.”
My attention veers to his massive erection. “You first.”
I sense more than see the smirk on his face—since I’m still gawking at his cock—as he reaches behind me, invading my space. The warm water spraying from the ceiling has nothing on him when it comes to heat. I peek up through the drops of water teetering on my lashes.
He lets the moment hover, his face inches from my own, and I’m certain he’ll break his own shower-rule by kissing me. Instead, he retreats, a bottle of body wash in his grip. Licking the water from his lips, he squirts some soap into his palm before handing the bottle to me.
I’m captive to the view, mindlessly clutching the body wash as he runs his hands over his chest and abdomen. He lowers a suds-covered palm to his cock.
“I’m waiting,” he says, nodding toward the forgotten soap in my hand.
“If you’re trying to rattle me, it won’t work.” The statement is a blatant lie, but I force my rebellious mouth into silence and follow his lead. As I trail my soapy hands over my breasts, a tiny thrill storms through me at witnessing the darkening of his pupils.
He licks his lips again, his hooded gaze locked on my movements, and the slow and lazy pumps of his cock hasten, bordering on the edge of desperate.
Same as my need for him.
But for sanity’s sake, this is a battle of wills I need to win, because he’s going to take me tonight by inching his impressive length into my ass, all the while making me beg for more. I don’t know how I know it, but I do. It’ll be painful and empowering—an experience I’ll never forget.
An experience that will bond us for life.
With my heart pounding an erratic beat, I finish rinsing the soap from my skin before stepping past him to exit the shower. “We don’t want to be late for dinner,” I say, much too innocent as I grab a towel from a knob on the wall outside the stall.
“Well played,” he mutters.
From the corner of my eye, I spy him switching the water temperature to cold. I hide a smile as I make my way into the bedroom, water dripping onto the carpet behind the imprints of my triumphant footfalls.
Chapter Five
The Vertigo sits atop an antique shop. It’s an apt name for a restaurant, considering how I’m still reeling from the last few hours, my world spinning around me as if I’m suffering from a horrible case of the medical condition by the same name.
Instead of sharing a meal with a block of wood between us, we’re seated side-by-side. Water lilies float in decorative bowls on the table, surrounding by votive candles. The rooftop restaurant has an intimate feel, with futon-like seating where couples can cuddle while they wait for dinner. Drapes enclose the dining booths on three sides, offering privacy while leaving the view of the sea unobstructed. It’s cozy and romantic, even in the light of day. I can only imagine how the dawning of night would enhance the experience.
Then again, I’m far from complaining as Sebastian kisses the wine off of my lips.
“I might get drunk from the taste of you,” he says against my mouth.
“It’s not me. It’s the wine.”
He tugs on my lower lip with his teeth. “It’s definitely you.”
Someone clears their throat, and when we part, I find our waitress holding a tray on the other side of the table. She keeps her head dipped, demeanor professional for discretion’s sake, but I don’t miss the amused smile hinting at her lips. We decided on a shrimp and steak feast for two, and she sets down the last dish before asking if we require anything else.
“Another bottle of wine, please.” I eye my empty glass on the table. I’m a little tipsy and probably don’t need more, but the wine is loosening me up, making me relaxed and submissive under Sebastian’s hands and mouth.