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“It’s too soon,” he confirmed. “I shouldn’t have …” He lifted one arm and raked his hand up the back of his head, exposing the dark hair under his arm. His shoulder and bicep muscles bunched, and her lower abdomen filled with heavy, liquid heat.
God, he looked really good without any clothes on. Taut and powerful, all that golden skin and the trail of hair leading down his stomach, where he—
“This is too much for you,” he said.
But she’d be willing to bet it was exactly the right size.
She wondered what would happen if she whipped off his towel and took him in her hand. How different life would be if she were the kind of person who could do that. Drop to her knees, suck him off in the hallway. Redirect his attention from her body to his own, until all he could think about was what he needed, and all he could do was take it.
Ben sighed. Because she’d gone mute, no doubt, while she stared at his crotch. But the sigh made him seem mildly irritated, and she wondered if this was all a performance. If he was only being nice.
Yeah, May. In Manhattan, all good hosts tell their guests they want to go down on them.
“I’m going to get dressed.” He started toward the bedroom.
For two steps, she watched him go. Three. Her heart squeezed hard, her inner asshole chastising her, Stupid, stupid, and then it happened all at once. A bright flash of anger—at herself, at every movie and TV show and magazine, every insidious cultural message that had ever told her that her body sucked.
It was all a bunch of lies, and she knew that. She knew it. But here she was, letting it ruin everything.
Stop being an idiot and fix this.
Get out of your own goddamn way.
She got indignant in a bright, hot rush, and she moved all at once, with too much force, so that by the time Ben reached the bedroom door she was pushing him, bumping up against him, colliding with his body until he tumbled onto the bed and she fell on top of him.
“Ow!”
“Sorry.”
“Jesus, May!”
“I didn’t mean to do that. I didn’t mean to—”
He flipped over and rose to his elbows. His mouth was scowling, his eyebrows dark and drawn together, just the way he’d looked when she met him. Not the kind of guy a woman wants to pin her hopes and dreams on, she remembered thinking, and now she had him pinned down beneath he
r bare thighs. Right where she wanted him.
“Is this supposed to be foreplay?”
“I want you,” she blurted. “I suck at this, but I want you. I’m sorry. It’s not too soon.”
He didn’t say anything, but his eyebrows relaxed when she reached behind her to unhook her bra. Her fingers stalled.
“Really,” she added.
He was staring at her breasts, which, yeah, she could see why. They were trying to fall out of the bra. It was a good bra, the priciest she’d ever bought, and she could appreciate what the view must look like to Ben.
Also, there were other clues. His hands made fists in the comforter. His jaw couldn’t have been more sharply defined if it had been carved from a slab of granite.
“Do you want to do this?” she asked. A stupid question. She knew he did. She just needed to hear it again.
“I jerked off in the shower a minute ago,” he said absently. He was still staring at her breasts like he wanted to eat them.
The confession hit her strangely. One part surprise, one part maidenish dismay, three parts conflagration in her crotch.
“What? Why?”
“Couldn’t help it. Plus, I thought it might take the edge off.”
