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“I’ll give you a minute,” he says before exiting the bathroom into the darkened bedroom and closing the door behind him.
I don’t take a full minute; my heart thunders because I can’t wait any longer for him.
He’s there, using another towel to rub the water from his curls meticulously, but the sound of the door opening makes him pause. He tilts his chin over one massive shoulder, eyes dark and intense.
We stare at each other for a long moment, my heartbeat rushing in my ears like the ocean waves just outside the room.
He steps toward me, tentative. The floor-to-ceiling windows bathe his body in liquid moonlight.
Bennett is larger than most, but he’s almost always hunched. Now, besides the slight curve of his shoulders, his body is fully extended. He takes up so much space, shoulders broad and back wide. His skin is glistening from the shower, muscular but not cut. Thicker and softer in his size.
The blue towel around his waist is only held by his hand now, mimicking my pose across from him.
I let go of mine first, revealing my body to him all at once. In the shower, he was careful to only stand at my back. I’ve never stood and faced him in my nakedness, bare and vulnerable.
Blue eyes to match the ocean outside scan slowly over me, intentional and careful. The way he looks at me doesn’t feel dirty. It feels intense. Passionate, like the feeling of his eyes on me is feeding me power instead of taking it away.
He rewards my strength with his own, dropping the towel from his waist and stepping toward me.
My eyes move over his hips, the coarse hairs that lead down to the massive length of him, heavy against his abdomen. I knew he was big—he’s too large of a person not to be—but the sight has my breath hitching.
We step toward each other, meeting in the middle. I sit on the end of the bed, inching back slowly as he follows me, not crowding or rushing me as he crawls over me up, up, up the bed. My head rests on the white silk pillowcase, curls messy and damp. His skin is warm against my goose-bump-covered body.
“Slow?”
“Slow,” he says, his hand hovering over my hip. “Tell me if you want to stop.”
“I won’t want to.”
“P,” he says, his mouth soft, hovering over me carefully. Honeyed brown curls hang over his forehead. “Promise you’ll tell me if you want to stop.”
“I will.” I nod as I say it. “And you have to tell me if you don’t like something.”
“I will.” He nods back. “You’re so beautiful.”
“Please.” The word is half whine, but no embarrassment surfaces. “Touch me.”
Eyes wide, I watch his touch caress over my hips and up toward my breasts.
His fingers play across my body, sure and firm, as if he decided what he’d do and how before this. He’s planned and thought this through more than I have—and it’s only then I realize I’m slightly frozen beneath him. I am, for the first time, the one overthinking things.
“P?”
I’ve done this before. It’s just sex.
The back of his massive hand trails over my collarbone, feather light up the length of my neck, reaching to tuck a few hairs behind my ear.
“Paloma?” he calls again, pushing his body up off me. The loss of him is like ice over my skin. I shiver, eyes watery as I look up at him.
“I’m sorry—I don’t know what to do.”
His eyes soften before a gentle kiss lands on my brow.
“Kiss me.”
The command makes something loosen in my chest. I push up, reaching to pull him to me, lips pressing hard against his. Desperate and seeking.
He settles himself in the cradle of my thighs, spreading me wide with the broadness of his body. He soothes the stretch with his left hand, massaging lightly at the inside of my right thigh, while his other palm is pressed into the mattress by the side of my head—the only thing preventing him from crushing me with his weight.
