He pulls away and has a little chew on his bottom lip. ‘I don’t see straight when I’m near you.’ He puts his boxers and trousers on, and then reaches over me to grab a washcloth from the shelf. I’m about to protest, but then I remember…it’s his. Everything in here is his, except for me. Well, not according to him, but that’s just an impending orgasm talking. The throws of passion can make you say some funny things. He doesn’t see straight? That makes two of us.
He runs the tap, passing the cloth under it and returns to stand before me. I feel exposed, sat here completely naked. This isn’t equal ground. I close my legs to conceal myself, suddenly uncomfortable with my state of undress, but he looks at me, a perplexed look flitting across his handsome face as he pouts, reaches between my legs and spreads them gently.
‘Better.’ he mutters, lifting my arms from my lap and placing them on his shoulders. He rests the warm, damp cloth on the inside of my thigh and begins sweeping it up and down, cleaning the remnants of him away from me. It’s a tender act and extremely intimate. I watch his face in fascination, noticing the slight crease across his forehead as he concentrates with his procedure of cleaning me up.
He gazes up at me, his green eyes soft and twinkling. ‘I want to toss you in that shower and worship every inch of you, but this will have to do. For now, anyway.’ He leans in and kisses me, lingering briefly. I don’t think I could ever tire of those simple, affectionate kisses.
His lips are so soft, his scent divine. ‘Come on, lady. Let’s get you dressed.’ He lifts me from the counter and helps me into my underwear and dress before zipping me up. My entire body convulses when he rests his lips on the nape of my neck, his warm, soft mouth having the hairs on my neck rising. I don’t think he’s out of my system – not at all. This is bad news.
I pick his pale blue shirt up from floor and shake it out before handing it to him.
‘There really wasn’t any need to screw it up, was there?’ He flicks me a grin as he pulls it on, fastening the buttons and tucking it into his navy trousers.
‘Your jacket will cov…’ I abruptly remember tossing that on the floor in the bedroom. ‘Oh,’ I whisper, all wide eyed.
‘Yes. Oh,’ He arches a brow as he snaps his belt, making me flinch and him grin. ‘Okay, you ready to face the music, lady?’ He holds his hand out to me, and I take it without a thought. The man is a magnet. ‘I’d say quite loud, wouldn’t you?’
I gape at him as he gives me a full on dazzling smile. I shake my head, quickly glancing in the mirror. Oh, I’m flushed. My lips are distended and pink, my hair is still up but with random strands curling down all over the place, and I’m creased. I need five minutes to sort myself out.
‘You’re perfect.’ he reassures me, as if sensing the panic rising in me.
Perfect? Perfect wouldn’t be a word I would use. I look thoroughly fucked! He tugs me to the door, unlocks it and strides out, devoid of wariness, while I’m more cautious. What if our visitors where still hanging around? I see his jacket still sprawled on the floor, and he scoops it up as we pass.
When we hit the curving staircase, I suddenly register my hand still in his. I try to ease it from his grasp, but he squeezes it tighter, flashing me a scowl. Shit! He has to let go. My boss and colleagues are down here. I can’t go prancing through them holding hands with this strange man. Well, he’s not very strange to me now, but that’s beside the point. I attempt to free my hand again, but he refuses to let it go.
‘Jesse, let go of my hand.’
‘No.’ he shoots back, short and firm, and without even looking at me.
I stop, abruptly, half way down the stairs and scan the room below. No one is looking at us, thank God, but it won’t be long before someone clocks us. Jesse turns, looking up at me from a few steps below.
‘Jesse, you can’t expect me to parade through here holding your hand. That’s not fair. Please, let me go.’
He looks at our hands locked together, suspended between our bodies. ‘I’m not letting you go,’ he murmurs sullenly. ‘If I let you go, you might forget how it feels. You might change your mind.’
There is absolutely no chance of me forgetting how we feel flesh on flesh, but that’s not the part of his statement that’s bothering me. ‘Change my mind about what?’ I ask, totally perplexed.