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Chapter Eleven
Vivian
Dire need. That was my state when I arrived here.
Sated bliss. That’s my current state.
I blame sleeping with him on my being alone for a good, long while. I’ve been as chaste and well-behaved as I could over the last several years, but this year in particular I stepped it up. I’ve been an angel. It just so happens even angels have their limits.
Then again, no other man has been able to bring out my wild side. Nate is charming and attentive. So good-looking it’s criminal. So undeniably male, each and every cell of my body leans toward him when he’s near. I wanted what his kiss promised in the rose garden. And, damn, it was better than I imagined.
The sex was so good I wanted to savor it—make it last the night. I could have ridden out a dozen of those orgasms if I was in fighting condition. My bout of celibacy didn’t do me any favors. I gave it all and left no room for more. As they say, all good things must come to an end.
And he is very, very good.
He excuses himself to the bathroom. I lie here, too tired to turn and admire the staircase or his naked ass, which I imagine is flexing with each heavy step. I hear him walk upstairs, the sound of water running, and then he comes back down. When he returns, soft cotton pools on my naked, chilled skin. I reach for the garment and hold it up.
A white T-shirt. His T-shirt.
I pull it over my head, his ocean scent engulfing me. It’s hot outside but chilly in here, especially after our sweaty workout and the A/C kicking on.
He’s wearing black boxer briefs and nothing else. It’s a good look for him. His chest is wide and fit. A dusting of light hair encircles flat male nipples and dances over the bumps of his ab muscles.
Thick, muscular legs aren’t usually my preferred male attribute, but he wears those as well as the boxers. He sits next to me in a half lean, touching my body with his arm. His hand rests on my belly over the T-shirt, and he kisses my nipple, leaving an impression on the material.
“I can’t stay.” He didn’t ask, but I figure he will.
He flattens his hand on my stomach and kisses my shoulder next. “Okay.”
That was easy. Not that I expected him to be clingy. What we have is visceral and physical and has nothing to do with staying the night or cuddling. What we have is about us taking what we need from a convenient source.
I’ve learned to act on instinct and prioritize survival since I left my name behind. The rest of the fluff that comes along with “making love” is more suited for a rom-com movie than real life.
“This isn’t the only time,” he says.
I laugh at his arrogance. “Is that so?”
“That’s so.” He rests his chin on my shoulder and I steal a kiss. I can’t help myself. He smells good and looks better.
I figure he’s right. It’s futile to pretend I wouldn’t do this with him again. It was…what’s the word I’m looking for? Superb? Delectable?
Dire.
That word again. I needed him. He needed me. There’s no denying it.
“You’ve only seen the living room,” he states.
“You’re a shitty host.”
He grins. He has the most oddly handsome face. Long lashes shadow blue, blue eyes. Wavy dark blond hair cut short but long enough to grab. His crooked nose and easy, contagious smile. I notice a scar on his eyebrow and run my finger over it. So imperfectly perfect.
“Stitches?” I ask, giving in to my curiosity.
“Twelve of them.”
I wince.
“I wrecked my bike.” He gives me a cocky grin before adding, “Into someone.”
