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“Are those…from Contessa’s?”
“Yes. I didn’t know which flavor you like, so I got one of everything.”
It’s a lot of fucking muffins. If he walks out, I’ll be eating them for a week and be stuck remembering my folly each time I take a bite.
“No, but thank you.”
Fuck! Muffins? Really, Pete?
I have two options left, so I decide on the one that will sound less like a sexual pass. I’d hide that damn champagne bucket right now, if I could. Asking him if he wants a drink is pretty much the equivalent of telling him I’ll insert my cock into him next.
The song on the radio is of some man singing that he knew he loved someone before he met them. It’s an absurd concept. How can you love someone you haven’t even met? The melody is soft and romantic, though, and it’s not sexual innuendo champagne, so it’s all I’ve got.
“Would you like to dance?” I ask, extending my hand to the large balcony that overlooks the bay.
I get that bewildered look again, but then he smiles and shakes his head. “Not really.”
I’m at a loss over what to do next, but he’s still here. He’s still here and looks… happy. Happy is good. It’s the only look I want for him.
“What do you want to do? It’s your night, Cam.”
Setting the flowers down on the coffee table, he inches forward into my space. Raising his hands, they alight on my shoulders. His lips press chastely to mine.
“Thank you,” he whispers. “For this. For all of it.”
“You’re welcome.”
My heart rate begins to calm, basking in his contented smile. His hands go to my tie. As I watch his fingers start undoing it, my pulse skitters again when he glances at me. The desire that makes me go feral is looking back at me. He starts on my shirt buttons next, fingers trembling.
Message received. This is his answer about what he wants to do with his night.
I can’t move. It’s like that first day he came to my house all over again. Something tells me this is a critical moment to finally confess that I’d never been intimate with a man before him. Yet, in some ways, it seems inconsequential now.
I want him, no matter that I only know what to do from scouring the bowels of the internet rather than through experience. Is that want enough, though? Telling him my truth might shatter the confidence he’s mustered. That seems like it would be far crueler than any deception. So, I hold still as he exposes my chest.
“You’re looking at me like that again,” I caution softly, when his gaze returns to mine, hooded with lust.
“I know.”
The confidence and determination behind his words overshadows the way he swallows a nervous breath as his shoulders square off. He’s certain. That bit of bravery awakens all my bedroom anxieties that lay dormant during my focus on preparing the room. It’s time to put my money where my mouth is.
Inhaling, I flood my lungs as he undoes the button just above my pants. His fingers brush the trail of hair on my stomach. They fumble, and he lets out a soft laugh over his clumsiness. That’s all it takes for me to know how to make this perfect for him. He needs Unleashed Pete.
Covering his hands with mine, I slowly draw them away. “Then you’re wearing far too many clothes for what I’m going to do to you.”
My sultry words paint crimson across his cheekbones. He nods and takes a step back, tugging his shirt over his head. When he kicks off his shoes, I lose my suit jacket, uncaring if it will wrinkle when I drape it over the arm of the couch. I refuse to let a single thought intrude on this moment.
We watch each other like respectful warriors disrobing for an honorable fight. He has far fewer articles on than I did, though, so gets down to just his boxer briefs when I’m still removing my slacks.
Bending over to draw the elastic band down his hips, he freezes and sucks in a sharp breath. What is that about?
Gingerly, he slides the fabric down to his ankles and shakes them off his feet. When he slowly rights himself, it reveals his cock, thick and full. Panting, he looks at me with droopy lids and shudders, squeezing his leaking tip with his hand. He is the definition of pure, unadulterated arousal.
I thought he was in pain, but it’s not the kind of agony I imagined. Is he…
“Are you still wearing the plug?”
Chewing his lip, he hesitates. “You didn’t tell me to take it out.”
