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“I can’t stand an empty bed,” he murmurs. “You care if I stay in here with you tonight?”
I swallow hard. I should care. But I shake my head. “You can.”
His mouth brushes my nape, but I don’t move. When he nips at me, I press a hard palm over my erection, swallow a groan. After another beat of silence, he leans away, shifting onto his back.
I can feel the cord of connection dangling between us. I could turn back toward him right now. Make up a name. I can’t tell the truth, but I could tell him something. Just enough so we could talk a while. It’s been years since I had anyone in my bed. I need it like air.
And yet…I can’t make myself move.
Some time later, when I think he’s sleeping, he scoots closer again. He wraps a squeezing arm around my chest and murmurs near my ear. “You know I’d let you any time, right? I’d let you fuck me in a heartbeat,” he says roughly.
A bolt of lust moves through me, centered on my starving cock. Something stirs in my chest, thick and prickling. Want, I realize. Not just of his body.
I can’t say that, though, can I? I can’t tell him a damn thing. I take the coward’s way out and feign sleep.* * *VanceI don’t think he gets a second of shuteye. Every time I stir, I can tell he’s awake. Stubborn fucker won’t get up, though. He won’t turn around to face me, either. When I press my chest against his back and rest my forehead near his nape, he doesn’t scoot away or tell me to fuck off. He doesn’t lean into me either. Nothing.
So I don’t sleep much either. I lie there relishing the warmth and bulk of him, pressing my ear to his back sometimes so I can hear his steady heartbeat, and I wonder who he is, where he came from. What sort of life has made him like this, where he won’t give himself what he needs? Or maybe I’ve got it wrong. Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe it’s more me doing the needing.
Somewhere right around the time the little windows start to glow pale orange, he disappears into the bathroom. When I hear him turn the shower on, I steal out of bed. I open the bathroom door slowly, holding my breath as I step into the steam. He can turn away from me all fucking night, but he can’t ignore me when I step into his shower.
Without even looking at me, he drops to his knees and blows me like it’s his damn job. After I come, he stands up and starts to wash me. Our eyes catch just once as he soaps my chest. Then he shuts his, clenching his jaw like he’s in pain. I try to kiss him, my sad captain, and he moves for the shower door.
“I don’t think so.” I grab his arm. “I want mine.” My cock is pounding as I pin him up against the stone wall, smirking despite wanting to knock him around. He grabs my face, and we kiss till my lips throb—and my dick, too.
I catch hold of his hips, sink into a crouch, and stroke his flank. I tease him with my mouth until he’s groaning. Then I full-on blow him. He comes fast and hard, jerking my hair so ruthlessly that it brings tears to my eyes.
Afterward, we step onto the mat, and he half kneels and dries me. He helps me into his robe, leads me back to bed, and turns the TV on before he disappears, returning five or ten minutes later with a plate of pale blue petit fours. I smile at that, but he won’t look at me. It makes my throat and chest feel kind of weird and heavy.
He has one of the petit fours before he gets up again, leaving the rest for me. I wonder about him again as I watch him dress. And I just know—I fucking know—he’s got some heavy shit weighing him down. He’s not being dismissive—at least not just dismissive. There’s this really dark vibe to him. It’s like nothing that I’ve ever felt before.
I scrub my hands over my eyes. I want to shove him again, fuck with him and joke around until he tells me what’s the matter. But…I don’t. For reasons I can’t even explain to myself, I give him the space he obviously wants.
When he disappears again and returns, telling me he’s made arrangements to dock at the nearest port of call, I’m not surprised—or shouldn’t be. This is how it goes, right? Find someone who piques your interest, that’s the surest way to know they’ll be off-limits for one reason or the next.
In the light of day, dude wants us to act like strangers. I give it to him. We talk about sports as he fires up the yacht’s motors. On the way to the yacht club, he barely looks at me. I tell myself it’s whatever. This was a one-night stand. A pretty fucking good one, too.
