Page 10 of After Care

I couldn’t believe I was doing this. I hadn’t even waited fifteen minutes. My concentration was completely lost. I folded back on my ankles, excused myself from Ivy and Masie, and headed for the lobby. I told myself, I would knock on his door, and he wouldn’t be there because I was early. Then I told myself, I was stupid because I was early. It made me look desperate. Then I internally argued, I was being ridiculous, and making up the whole thing; he never invited me to his room for breakfast. So, I knocked once, waited, and then spun for the elevator. Defeat filled me instantly even though I’d been self-deprecating anyway.

I hadn’t taken one full step when the door flung open. Eyes appraised me as I stood in my make-shift yoga get-up. I hadn’t bothered to shower or change. I figured he could take me as I was. I meant, take me for how I was dressed. I…oh, forget it, I cursed myself.

“Edie,” he said, eyes roaming back up my body. “I’m glad you’re early. I’m starving.” Did I imagine his teeth snap on that second sentence? Could I believe I was about to enter a strange man’s resort room? As I stepped forward, I realized Tommy didn’t feel like a stranger. I didn’t have thoughts of him being an ax-murderer or something extreme. He managed a group of young men, whom I imagined could be unruly. His niece was part of that mix, and I’d seen him react to her daughters on our first meeting. This man was…a man…not a killer. My heart raced, nonetheless.

Then I noticed his attire. He stood before me dressed only in a towel.

“I couldn’t concentrate,” I replied, my eyes wandering over the firmness of his body. Abs. Pecs. Biceps. Oh my.

He nodded slowly, noting my appraisal. “I can help with that concentration.”

“I can come back later,” I stressed, my voice squeaking as I pointed over my shoulder for the elevator, but my eyes refused to pull away from the trail of hair leading above the curl of the towel wrapped low around his waist. Mother of all things holy.

“Breakfast is coming,” he said, reaching out for my arm and tugging me into his room.

Breakfast, my mouth watered. Coming, my throat swallowed. Oh goodness, I was a mess.

I walked forward on stumbling feet. His room was a king-size suite. The large bed was the focus, but a couch with a small dining table for two also filled the room. It was a breezy space for one. The balcony door brightened the room, as the curtain was drawn wide, and the glass door stood open allowing in the subtle resort sounds and the whistling winds.

He stood behind me, his presence emitting the heat of a shower. I took a deep breath, preparing to speak, when he spoke instead.

“Didn’t finish your workout?” He paused. “I can help with that, too.” Thick hands came to my hips and his breath tickled my neck. Instantly, I tilted, allowing him access to my skin. What was I doing? I wondered only momentarily as my body started to tingle with his nearness and the flutters in my lower belly took flight like a flock of seagulls. “I didn’t take you for a yoga girl. We need to talk about your form, Edie.”

“You seem to have a check list of things you don’t take me for,” I said, not recognizing my own voice. “What do you take me for, then?”

He huffed against my neck, kissing me in a place I noticed this morning had a tender mark of broken skin. He’d given me a hickey. Not a full-fledged bruise, but enough of a purple scratch to mark me. I had a hard time explaining it to Masie, who eyed it suspiciously as we walked to yoga.

“I think something bit me,” I said, “and I reacted to it.” It was almost too close to the truth.

“Hmmm…” He hummed against my skin, and it prickled in anticipation of his lips meeting mine, which hadn’t happened yet. He simply teased me with his closeness. “I’m not sure how to take you yet.” His voice purred with the double entendre.

Thick hands caressed up and down my sides, curving over my hips and tugging up the skirt on my skort.

“Now, what the fuck is this?” He chuckled, and I should have been embarrassed, but I had to laugh. If I was getting an education in stranger sex, he was getting one in older women’s apparel.

“It’s a skort. It’s like a skirt over shorts.”

“What the fuck?” he repeated, lifting it higher as he stepped back to appraise the contraption. I swatted at his hand, laughing as he peeked under the skirting, trying to find an opening. “Take it off,” he demanded.

“What?” I choked.

“Take. It. Off,” he repeated slower, lower, as if I couldn’t understand basic English.

“Why?”

“Always a question,” he muttered, shaking his head. He crossed his thick arms over his bare chest. He hadn’t bothered to dress or even suggest it. There was something in the way he looked at me. Something in the way his arms stiffened over his chest and his widened stance that pissed me off just enough to do as he said. I forced my skort down, kicked out of my tennis shoes and stood before him in low-cut purple panties. His eyes widened, and I tugged at the hem of Masie’s tank top. In the light of day, the slight bulge of my stomach rested over the waist of my underwear. I was pear-shaped at best, but the underwear dissected me in the wrong places. Maybe I needed to rethink trying to be a toughbitch in response to him. I wasn’t one of those women, anyway.

My fingers folded into the thin material and I began to stretch it toward my thighs. Tommy stepped forward so quickly he startled me, and I bumped into his bed. His hand cupped my face to stop me from tumbling, and he kissed me. The full onslaught again, but this time I was better prepared for the intensity. His mouth opened immediately, and I followed his lead, loving the confidence he expressed in kissing. His plump lips were assured, experienced, and surprisingly tender. He sucked and sipped and slipped his tongue across the seam, taking me to another level. He tipped my head, and our tongues tangled deeper, stretching for connection. He swept the inside of my mouth before drawing back.

“We need to work on your technique,” he said, and I thought he meant my kissing, but he spun me to face the bed, and I pitched forward. “Your downward dog could use practice.”

Oh, Lord.

“I didn’t know you were a yoga aficionado,” I said, though the statement was breathy.

“I have many skills,” he said, guiding my upper back to lower to the bed. “Stretch your arms forward.” I did as he said. My backside raised in the air. My arms flattened on the bed cover, and he stroked up and down my spine, rubbing a line down the bone before massaging my sides. Then he pressed forward, the stiff length of him meeting me square between the cheeks of my ass.

“I seem to have developed a problem when it comes to you, Edie,” he said, his typical puddle-plopping sound dropping to a handful of gravel dumped into water. “I can’t seem to figure you out.” His thick hands continued to caress up my sides, while tugging me gently backward, forcing my backside to meet his hard length in short, steady beats. If I wasn’t so turned on, it might be reminiscent of a bad comedy movie. The rhythm continued, like a quick puff of air. Uhn. Huh. Uhn. Huh.