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I could tell him I was regretting my choice, but that wouldn’t be true. The sex was fantastic. Epic. Life-altering. I could tell him I wasn’t sure we should do it again, but the thought of never feeling the way I did when I was with him was totally depressing. It was the intimacy of this moment that freaked me out.
So instead, I opted for a white lie because I was a total coward.
“I’m worrying about The Stomp and getting all the work done on time.” Funny thing: had I been lying in bed next to Matthew, I would have been thinking about work. The irony was a bitter pill to swallow.
“Monday, when you meet the contractors, you’ll feel better about things.” He pressed a trail of open-mouthed kisses down my neck to my shoulder. His hand cupped my breast and tweaked my still-sensitive nipple.
He rolled me toward him and propped himself up on one elbow. “We can shower, make dinner, and start all over.”
I couldn’t answer. What would I say? Yes. No. Wait. Slow down.
He studied my expression, a wrinkle forming between his eyes when I didn’t reply.
He shifted closer and closed his lips over the tip of my breast. One of his hands slipped down my body and between my thighs. With the precision of a laser-guided missile, he found my clit. The dueling sensations created by his mouth and fingers had me arching off the mattress, chasing his touch. I was writhing and begging for more, far faster than I could have imagined possible.
“Are you close?” His magical fingers didn’t pause. His lips hovered above my breast.
“Yes.”
“Very close?” He sped up his caress, dipping a finger lower to tease my entrance.
I mumbled something incoherent, clutched his forearm, and rode his hand to the brink of orgasm like I hadn’t already enjoyed two full-body mind-blowing ones tonight.
“Stay for dinner. I’ll finish what I started… after.” He rolled away, taking his magical fingers with him. A moment later, the shower turned on.
What the hell? I stared at the ceiling, trying to process what had happened.
My body, ramped up and ready to go, screamed that after wasn’t good enough. He needed to finish what he had started. Right now.
My brain, in full freak-out mode, was awash in flashing redabort missionsigns.
Dinners and showers were too much like dating. What he was asking for went way beyond sex. Shit, what about spending the night? That would be even worse.
The innate sense of self-preservation I’d honed over the last few shitty weeks kicked into overdrive. I scrambled out of the bed naked to find my clothes.
This was scratching an itch, not setting myself up for something more. I had a new adventure on the horizon in California. Elmer was only a quick stop. A brief respite. A layover.
Orgasm-deprived or not, I had to get my head on straight. Or else…
Every other second while I hunted for my stuff, I looked over my shoulder, waiting for Atley to appear. Finally dressed, I shoved my feet into my boots and marched toward the sound of running water before I chickened out and left without saying goodbye. I was freaking out, but I wasn’t a total bitch. He gave me two and three-quarters orgasms. I wouldn’t ghost him.
My jaw dropped at the sight that greeted me in the bathroom. Atley’s ass, naked and wet. Steam curling around his round cheeks, water cascading over his taut skin. My frustrated vagina demanded to join him under the spray and get that last quarter of an orgasm.
“Thank you for the invite, but I better not stay.” I told my feet to turn and run but couldn’t force them to move. Barely breathing, I ogled him while a war raged in my head: stay vs. go.
He opened the shower door and grabbed a fistful of my shirt, jerking me forward for a hot, wet, brutally too-short kiss. The way he kissed was desperate, hungry, and unrestrained. The seams of my shirt pulled so hard I heard stitches popping. He was about to drag me, fully dressed, into the shower. And I wanted it.
He let go, and I staggered back, bracing myself on the edge of the vanity. We stared at each other for a moment, the fog of steam swirling around us, the water drumming on the tile. I didn’t look down to see if he was hard, but I wanted to.
“I can still hear you thinking too hard. Remember, it’s just sex.” He pulled the shower door closed behind him and casually lathered up a blue shower poof while I tried to decide if I loved or hated his words.
Walking out of his house felt like running away. I’d done enough of that this month to identify the situation correctly. But I’d yet to find a better solution.
“Time and distance always make things better, right?” I asked Major, stopping to pet the dog as I took in the details of Atley’s place.
It was simple, no crazy artwork or dreamcatchers like mine. Newer interior, too. White, black, and gray with a lot of heavy wood furniture. It was manly and utilitarian, as I’d expected it would be. The large sectional, a paper-strewn desk, and Major’s dog bed looked like the most used areas.
On the simple rough-cut wood mantel sat a single framed photo, yellowed slightly with age. I studied the young boy in the photo. He had Atley’s gray eyes and leaned against the leg of a woman who must be his mom. They posed in front of a ranch gate. A metal sign overhead proclaimed it the entrance to Rivers Ranch. The sweet, innocent smile on the boy’s youthful face was nothing like the man I was getting to know.
