At some point, not long after dawn, I woke.
Sebastian’s arm was still draped over my waist but I must have turned in the night because now I was facing him. His lips were slightly parted and he was breathing softly. I thought he must be dreaming because his eyelids fluttered and he frowned.
A pale gold stubble covered his cheeks, upper lip and chin. It was soft, nothing like five o’clock shadow and he looked so young and very beautiful.
His tan was deep over his arms, back and chest, then vanished completely, leaving his buttocks and hips a creamy white that changed again to gold on his legs.
The low angle of the sun cast long shadows that highlighted the definition of his muscular chest and stomach and I reveled in the thought that for a few more hours – and for another whole night – he was mine.
I hardly dared to imagine how it might feel to wake up like this every morning, feeling such peaceful joy. And I refused to think about what would happen when our weekend was over.
I spent another minute drinking in his beauty before I tore myself away to use the bathroom.
“Where are you going?” he said sleepily, blinking up at me.
“To pee,” I whispered. “Go back to sleep.”
But when I returned to the room, the bed was empty. For a heart-stopping moment, I thought he’d left. Then I saw his sneakers, T-shirt and briefs, all still strewn on the floor. Only his jeans were missing.
I stared with some distaste at the blood on the sheets. At least I didn’t get really heavy periods and they didn’t last long. Even so…
I heard soft footfalls behind me and turned to look. Sebastian was carrying two glasses of orange juice and wearing, well, half-wearing his jeans.
He’d pulled them over his hips but only bothered to fasten half of the fly buttons. He was beyond sexy; I felt my face getting hot – and then I remembered I was standing there naked – and blushed everywhere.
I scooted back into the bed and under the sheet.
Sebastian looked at me like I was a little crazy.
“I wanted to make you breakfast,” he said, shrugging slightly, “but I can’t cook. I can, however, pour a mean glass of juice.”
He passed me a tumbler and I took a long drink.
“Why, Mr Hunter, you can indeed pour an amazing orange juice.”
He smirked, then tipped the rest of his drink down his throat in one swift gulp. How the hell did men do that? It was a complete mystery to me.
“Well, let me make you some breakfast: what would you like? Eggs, pancakes, bacon, omelet?”
“I already told you yesterday,” he said.
I frowned.
“You. I want you for breakfast.”
He put his glass on the bedside cabinet and slowly walked towards me, his eyes never leaving my face. His expression made me breathless.
“Sex rather than food today?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I looked at the alarm clock. It was 6.45 AM.
“We’ve got about three hours before I have to drop you off. Do you think that’s enough time?”
He shook his head.
“Not really.”
Then he leapt on the bed, making me shriek with surprise. I spilled orange juice down my chest and onto the sheets.
“Sebastian!”
He ignored me and started lapping the juice from my bare skin. I nearly melted from the heat of his touch, but just about managed to place my somewhat emptier glass on the bedside table.
I scrabbled to pull off his jeans but he was too intent on working his way down my body. It was neck and neck who was going to have their way first.
Sometime later, some considerable time later, the alarm went off.
We were both lying on our backs breathless. Again. I felt like I’d just gone ten rounds with Mike Tyson: every muscle ached and I was bathed in sweat. Sebastian had been tossing me around the bedroom for nearly two hours. He lay with his eyes closed and a blissful expression on his face.