After I rinse the conditioner from my hair, I step out and wrap a towel around my body, shivering slightly in spite of the summer heat. It’s not the first time I’ve been in Niall’s bedroom, but it’s the first time I’ve been in here alone. I can’t help but be a little bit nosy as I wander around his space.
Glancing in his wardrobe, I see he’s just as messy at home as he is in his car. The floor is covered with a myriad of different trainers and shoes. A couple of t-shirts lie on top of them, having fallen from their hangers. The disorder isn’t limited to his clothes, however. The rest of his room is filled with canvasses and paints, propped against walls and stacked in corners. I have to give it to him: he’s managed to use every available space.
On the dresser next to his wardrobe is a photograph of his family. His arm is slung around his mum. Next to him are two men that look so alike they must be his brothers. They share the same inky-black hair and piercing blue eyes. I remember from our first time together that they are younger than him, but for the life of me I can’t remember their names.
There’s still so much to learn.
Sitting down on the edge of his mattress, I use a second towel to dry my hair. At some point he’s taken his watch off and has laid it on his bedside table, and I lean over to check the time.
That’s when I feel the urge to look in his drawers. I’m not sure what I’m expecting to see, other than a lot of boxer shorts and socks, but it takes everything I have not to pull at the handle, even though my fingers are lingering there.
“What are you doing?” Niall walks in, holding a spatula in his hand. He looks amused rather than affronted, grinning as he stares at my guilty expression.
“Nothing.” Quickly, I pull my hand back. “Just drying my hair.”
“Did you need my boxers to help you do that?”
“I wasn’t looking in there,” I say. “I was just… resting for a little while.” What a stupid explanation. But it’s true, I haven’t looked at his pants.
Yet.
“What did you expect to see?” His voice softens as he steps toward me, placing the spatula next to his family photo, on his chest of drawers.
My eyes widen. “I don’t know. Pants, socks… condoms.” I start to babble, trying to think what the hell men actually keep in their bedside drawers. Mine is always stuffed full of books and chocolate, but Niall doesn’t need to know that.
“Condoms?” His voice is as amused as his expression. My throat goes dry as he comes to a stop in front of me. His height makes me feel tiny in comparison, and I shiver again, but this time not because of the cold.
“And pants,” I say.
“You’ve got a strange obsession with my pants and condoms.” He drops to his knees in front of me, wiping my wet hair out of my face. “Should we investigate this further?”
I swallow hard, but my throat remains parched. When he’s this close I find it hard to think. The sensation of his rough hand against my cheek makes me sigh.
My skin is still damp from the shower when he runs a finger down my neck, trailing it across my chest. He unhooks my towel with a flick, so it falls open, crumpling onto the bed.
His eyes are dark and narrow as he looks at me. I reach out to him, running my fingers through his hair. Then his lips are on mine, hard and frantic, moving desperately as we kiss.
“Is this okay?” He pushes me back onto the bed, and my wet hair fans out behind me.
“Yes.”
He drags his lips across my throat. “I know you’ve had a hard day.”
“I have.” I’m still answering in monosyllables. It’s hard to think of anything except the way he feels, how good he smells. Then his hands are cupping my breasts, fingers brushing against my nipples, and any sentient thought is chased away.
His lips capture one of my nipples, his teeth pulling softly at my aroused skin. It’s all I can do not to rub myself against him.
All I can do to breathe.
“We could make it a bit harder,” he murmurs into my chest. Then shows me what he means, pressing his erection against my thigh, and I push back, desperate to feel him, needing to give as good as I get.
We’re a mess of wet towels and dry clothes. My fingers shake as I unbutton his shirt and pull down the zipper on his jeans. A minute later we’re both naked and needy, our skin hot, our breaths fast. I marvel at how he feels as good as I remember.
Sinewy and smooth, all hard muscles and soft skin. I can feel the definition of his chest as he presses it against mine, and the tautness of his stomach as I run my hand down it. When I wrap my fingers around him, it’s his turn to sigh, and he closes his eyes, his mouth falling open as I start to move my hand up and down. His hips move to the rhythm I’ve created, undulating softly as I drag my palm over him.
I’m so consumed that the sensation of his finger dragging against me is a shock. I open my eyes to see him staring right at me as he caresses softly, gently. Enough to make me moan.
“Is this okay?” he asks again.