Her voice is a little hoarse, like maybe she’s been crying. Her face is red, but I don’t know what she looks like after she cries, so I don’t know if it’s that or the shower. Regret rocks me, knowing I’ll never get to reach that level of familiarity with her.
She’s looking at me expectantly and I realize I completely missed her words. “I’m sorry… what?”
Her brow furrows briefly, then with a look of concern, she asks, “Are you okay?”
“Me?” I ask, surprised. “Yeah.”
She’s finger-combing her hair and it’s all I can concentrate on. Drops of water fall from the dark strands of her hair to the cheap carpet, and I’m hyperaware of her bare ass pressed against the bedsheet I’m going to sleep on tonight.
“Liam,” she says, a little more sharply.
My eyes widen and shoot to hers and I see she’s frowning again. I vaguely realize maybe she was talking again.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her again, shaking my head to clear it.
Annabelle stands and pads across the short stretch until she’s standing before me, her damp hair draped over her shoulder, smelling fresh and clean from the cheap bar of soap she used in the shower. Her hair doesn’t carry the signature scent I’ve gotten used to, but she still smells amazing and I breathe her in.
“Are you okay?” she asks, her free hand coming up to skim my jawline.
I don’t want to lose you. I keep the words trapped inside my tightly closed mouth, willing them to slink back down my throat and back into the abyss they crawled out of, because I’ll be damned if I say that.
Doubt interrupts my defensiveness, pulling my focus to the fe
eling of her hand caressing my face. Comforting me.
“Are you okay?” I ask her, since that seems more relevant.
Her gaze drops to my chest, but her hand doesn’t leave my face. It feels like she holds my fate in her tiny, soft hand instead of just the fate of our relationship.
Instead of answering me, she brings her eyes back to mine again and says, “In all my life, I’ve never known anyone who would’ve done what you did for me tonight.”
I stare, guarded, expecting a ‘but’ to follow.
But… it doesn’t.
Annabelle leans into me, releasing her hold on the towel. It drops on one side, then slides, and a moment later she’s completely naked, the towel in a forgotten pile at her feet.
I want to touch her but I don’t know if I should.
In the end, I don’t have to decide, because she fists her small hand in my shirt and uses the other one to guide me until the backs of my legs hit the edge of the mattress.
Biting down on her lip, she looks tentative, but she’s trying to bluff her way through it, straightening her shoulders and lifting her head before giving me a shove.
I drop to the bed, watching her. The bed creaks as she comes down on top of me, straddling my legs and pushing me back on the bed. Even though it’s clear what she’s doing, I can’t shake the mistrust, even when she pushes her wet hair back over her shoulder and leans down to brush her lips against mine.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
She pulls back just enough to give me a sassy little smirk. “What does it look like I’m doing?”
I’m not quick enough with my answer; her hand moves between my legs and caresses my hardened arousal.
I’m not sure how to respond and I’m losing interest in words, as her hand makes a more tempting offer. I open my mouth to ask anyway, but she captures my lips with hers, and suddenly there’s no more space in this cheap hotel room for words.
Annabelle
Chest heaving, I pull back to catch my breath. I’m not completely sure where I want to go with this; I only know I want him.
His hands come to rest on my hips, then slowly make their way up my sides. Excitement surges through me at the contact and I bite back a smile as he launches forward, hands creeping around to my back, until he has my breasts pressed against his face. A short moan escapes me as his mouth closes around my bare nipple.