“Oh, God, Evan,” I breathed when the force of release tore through me.
His soft lips peppered mine as endorphins consumed me. His arm hooked around my waist, keeping me upright as white ropes landed on his stomach.
“Don’t stop,” he groaned against my lips when my hand slowed.
Though he was still supporting the majority of my weight, I replied, “I’ve got you,” and then resumed my rhythm on his shaft.
Slanting my head, I was attempting to take the kiss deeper when the easy reverence in which his mouth was moving started to tighten the vise on my heart. It was the antithesis of the desperation I’d felt with him earlier.
This was almost gentle. Maybe even meaningful. I couldn’t risk reading into it.
It. Him. This connection I felt when his eyes met mine.
It would all be gone soon enough. And, even as his cock in my hand pulsed his release, a weight settled in my stomach. I barely knew the naked man who was absently stroking my back as he rode out the last of his orgasm.
But I knew I wanted to.
I knew that this was more than just the high.
I knew I didn’t want him to leave.
But, most of all, I knew he would.
“You’re longer than I am,” he said, pulling me from my inner pity party.
I smiled and gave him one last gentle tug before letting him go. “You’re thicker. And let’s not forget to mention that you won the genetic lottery. I’d give anything for that body.”
He barked a laugh. “I believe you just had that body.”
My heart leapt in my chest. Was he reminding me of what we just did? The guys I was used to wouldn’t even make eye contact after we finished. Much less compare cocks and reminisce.
“And…it was amazing.” I bit my lip to hide the grin.
Using his arm still wrapped around my back, he tugged me forward and planted a chaste kiss on the corner of my mouth. “Good. Now, you need to leave so I can get some sleep.”
Just that fast…my heart dropped.
“Right.” I stepped back under one of the showerheads and did a quick once over on my stomach.
He was still washing himself when I started to climb out, but I froze when my mind reminded me that I was a fucking idiot.
“Soooo,” I drawled. “I don’t actually have anywhere else to go.”
He cocked a questioning eyebrow and continued with the scrub-a-dub-dub routine.
“I mean, I…” Jesus, this is embarrassing. “So, I wasn’t sure how this was going to go down tonight. And I really wanted to spend some time alone with you.”
He motioned his hand in a circle for me to speed it up. “Henry, spit it out.”
“I didn’t upgrade your room. This is actually my suite. I just told reception to send you up here. My bags are in the hall closet.”
He remained impassive. “Sharing a room. That’s pretty presumptuous.”
“I prefer to view it as hopeful. I also cashed in, like, a hundred bucks in pennies in the fountain out front and used the wishes from my birthday candles for the next twenty years in order to make tonight happen.”
A white, toothy grin formed on his mouth. There was nothing smooth or sexy about it. It melted me all the same.
After turning the water off, he snagged a towel. “So stay here.”
Break out the banners again!
“There are two bedrooms.”
Just kidding. Pack that shit back up.
I smiled through the disappointment. “You sure you don’t mind?”
He lifted the towel to his head and began scrubbing his dark-brown hair dry. “No. I don’t mind. However, I’m not dumb enough to think that there aren’t any available rooms in this massive hotel. But there’s no point in either one of us hauling our shit somewhere else when there are two perfectly good beds here.” He shrugged.
I guessed under one roof was a start. We could work up to one bed.
“Great. Well, I guess… Goodnight, Evan.”
“Goodnight, Henry.” His lips twitched.
I braced myself for the hasty kiss that usually followed.
It never came.
And, moments later, in nothing but a towel wrapped around my waist, I performed the walk of shame for an empty audience.
One week later…
Me: I got my STD results back today. Negative. Can you send me yours?
Henry: Are you flirting with me?
Me: No.
Henry: Well that’s unfortunate. But…hello to you too, Evan.
It wasn’t the same when he typed my name. I missed the sound of it rolling from his tongue and the sensation of it being breathed against my skin. I missed his quirky jokes and his infectious laugh. I missed the way he looked at me—awestruck as though I were the superstar, not him. I missed the fire he ignited inside me.
And that was exactly why I hadn’t replied to a single one of his texts over the last week. I was in way over my head.