The Wrong Gentleman

“Don’t move.” I set her down, lying on her back, and then found a towel to wrap around my waist and another to dry her off with. I didn’t want her to be cold. Kneeling by the side of the bed, I dried her feet, making sure I’d pressed the towel between each toe. Exposing only one small area of her body at a time, I began to dry her off.

“This is nice,” she said. “I’ve never had someone . . .”

I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear the end of that sentence, but I could take a guess that she meant that no one else focused on her, cared whether she was wet or dry, pre-orgasm or post. Happy or sad.

I worked my way up her body, and when I got to her thighs, I opened them wide, capturing every droplet of water, and held myself back from dipping down for a quick taste of her. We have time, I told myself.

I kept making my way up her body, stopping to press a kiss against a mole just underneath her right breast. I’d not noticed it when we were together before. What else was she hiding? I worked the towel down her arm and just as I dried between her fingers, she grabbed my neck.

“I want you, Landon,” she said, twisting and lifting her thigh over my hip.

“So impatient.”

“You have enough self-control for both of us.”

I chuckled. Self-discipline wasn’t something I lacked, but I’d enjoyed these moments. I’d relished keeping Skylar warm, drying her off—caring for her.

She trailed her fingers down my chest as I abandoned the towel, and she gripped the base of my cock.

I hissed and clenched my jaw, grabbing her wrist so she didn’t move her hand.

“So you are human,” she said. “And you do want me.”

How could she think otherwise?

I reached for my wallet and found a condom. “From the moment I first laid eyes on you.”

“Yeah, but I was carrying a tray of tequila. It might have been the booze you were focused on.”

I ripped open the condom and slid it on my flint-hard cock before pushing Skylar to her back. “Wrong,” I said as I pressed against her slick entrance. “I saw you the moment I walked into the bar.”

I pushed into her with a grunt, and she arched up from the bed. She was so fucking tight and perfect, and her skin was soft and smelled like honey—it would be so easy just to fuck and come and be desperate for her again.

“You saw me?” Her voice was breathless and ragged.

“And I wanted you right from that second.”

She groaned, and I wasn’t sure if it was as a result of my confession or the slide of my cock. She brought her legs up, her thighs either side of my hips as I began to rock in and out of her, pulling every sharp breath from her lungs. It was even more perfect than it had been the first night. It was as if our bodies molded together, knew each other, understood what was necessary.

I buried my head in her neck, biting and sucking as her movements alternated between smooth and sharp.

“Landon, I can’t. I just can’t.”

I upped my rhythm. She was close, and I wanted her completely lost to me, unable to stop what she was feeling from crashing over her.

“Oh God,” she cried.

I lifted up on my hands. I wanted to see her again. Wanted her to look at me as she came.

Her eyes flew open, and the orgasm that had been creeping up my spine suddenly took over. As she came, I did too, the tendons in my neck tensing, the muscles in my body contracting as I pushed in as deep as I could go.

“Fuck,” I said, unable to pull my gaze from her. “You’re beautiful. And your body? It’s as if it was made for me.”

She placed her palm over my chest. “Maybe your body was made for me.”

I chuckled and collapsed next to her, then pulled her toward me. “Maybe.”

She pressed a kiss over my nipple and then went limp in my arms. I grinned. This post-orgasm haze felt different from last time. More comfortable. Was it the heat of the bath? The snippets of information we’d shared? Skylar was right; I didn’t offer up a lot of personal information about myself. It wasn’t in my nature and it certainly wasn’t in my training. But she was the first person in a long time I’d wanted to share stuff with. Partly because I wanted to know things about her, and the easiest way to get someone to open up was to do it first—it was a key way of building trust, and I’d learned it early in my army career. But it was more than that. For some reason, I wanted her to know stuff about me. Stuff that it wouldn’t occur to me to tell anyone.