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He looks nervous as he opens the door wider for me to enter. I can’t help but notice he’s still wearing his suit, though he did shed the jacket. “I wasn’t sure what to wear,” he confesses, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Something comfy,” I reply, setting my cup on the desk. When I turn around, he’s staring at my ass. “My eyes are up here, Sammy.”
“Oh!” he stammers, glancing up and then looking away. “I was just checking out your…pants. I’ve never seen you in anything but a skirt.”
I shrug. “It’s almost beddy-bye, so I wanted to be comfy.” I take a few steps until I’m standing in front of him. Reaching up, I take that soft silk in my hand and carefully loosen the tie. Another flashback hits me in that moment. Me loosening his necktie just before I crush my lips to his. His hands grip my ass and pull me tightly against him, the hardness of his erection pressed between our bodies.
“You okay?” he asks with a choking sound that catches my attention.
“Oh. Yeah,” I assure him. When I glance at my hand, I see his tie clenched in my grip, my other hand resting on his pec. Desire swirls in my gut as I gaze up at those blue-green eyes. “I’m good.” Clearing my throat, I say, “Let’s get you undressed.”
Samuel’s eyes widen. “Undressed?”
“Well, not naked, but close. I have to be able to rub your skin. Why don’t you strip down to your undershirt and briefs?” I glance at the bed. The big, king-sized bed with the perfectly smoothed bedding, all tucked corners and all. It’s very Samuel-like.
And I’d love nothing more than to mess them up.
“I’ll grab the extra blanket from the closet and use it to protect the bed. This way, we don’t get the bedding all messy.”
He swallows again, looking both incredibly uncomfortable and incredibly aroused. My inner Goddess preens. “Messy?”
“You know, in case we accidentally have a squirter.” Of course, I absolutely mean my oil bottle. Sometimes, I get a little carried away and have squirted warm oil where I don’t want it, but I’m not about to tell him that. The look on his face confirms his mind is in the gutter. He’s probably trying to figure out if I’m the squirter or if he is.
“Go ahead and strip down to the tighty-whities and undershirt, Sammy. I’m going to warm up the oil in the bathroom sink.”
I leave the door cracked open and listen for his movements. It’s silent for several long seconds. Hell, those seconds turn into minutes. Finally, when I start to think he’s not going to get ready, I hear him kick off his shoes, followed by the releasing of his belt buckle. Smiling, I make sure the oil is to the perfect temperature before returning to the bedroom part of the hotel room. I’m not fully prepared for the picture of Samuel sitting on the edge of the bed. Stopping in my tracks, I take in the man before me. His arms are defined, which I already knew, considering he was able to hold me up against the shower wall early this morning. The blanket is draped over his crotch, but I already know what he’s hiding underneath it. My lady bits start to tingle in anticipation.
Down, girl, down.
“All right, let’s get you relaxed,” I state as I set the oil down on the end table.
“I’m not sure that’s possible,” he whispers, most likely to himself.
“Do you have your phone?”
He points to his pants, which are folded on the chair. Lying on top of them is his cell phone. “Why do you need it?” he questions.
“I need to set the mood,” I tell him as I type in numbers to unlock his device.
“Uhh, how do you know what my code is?”
Turning, I give him a coy grin. “You seem like a birthdate kinda guy, Sammy.”
He huffs. “Remind me to change that.”
Shrugging, I find the site I’m looking for and press play. Soft, meditation music filters from the phone, intending to soothe and relax. “Suit yourself. Now, lie on your stomach, but stay down toward the foot of the bed.”
He does as instructed. “Are you okay with me getting oil on your shirt?” I ask, pouring a bit of warm lavender-scented oil into my palm.
Instead of saying words, Samuel pushes up on his arms and somehow, pulls his shirt up and over his neck. My girly bits weep with joy at first glance of his back. The scratch marks are still there, red and angry down his back, but that’s not what has my attention. The subtle bumps and divots of that muscular plane has my undivided attention. My fingers practically tingle in anticipation.
“Ready?”
“I guess,” he says, resting his forehead into the blanket.
The moment my hands touch his skin, he goes completely rigid and an expletive slips from his lips. “What?” I ask, my hands still on his back, shocks of electricity jolting my entire body.
“Nothing,” he mumbles as he tries to relax.
