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“Please…”
“You’re so”—he kisses me on the nose—“adorable.”
“But not adorable enough to give into my needs?”
“I don’t plan on letting you go,” he states, wrapping me in his arms tightly. “We will have plenty of time to explore each other and all the surfaces of this penthouse later.”
I smile dreamily at his words, satisfied that he wants what I do. For the next twenty minutes, I let him pamper me and take care of me with gentle massages. He carries me into his excessively big bathroom—nearly the size of the entire first floor of my townhouse—and sets me on the toilet.
“Pee,” he instructs.
“Yes, sir,” I say sarcastically, but I don’t actually do it. I don’t think I can with him in the room.
“Pee, Angie, so you don’t get a urinary tract infection,” he says matter-of-factly. Of course he would know this. The man seems to be very current with everything sex related, as well as the female anatomy.
I surprise myself and am actually able to perform, even though his back is turned as he brushes his teeth. I watch in awe as he rips open a fresh toothbrush and puts minty cinnamon paste on it, handing it to me while I rest on the seat. He opens his medicine cabinet and pulls out a personal cleansing cloth packet, handing it to me.
I catch his reflection in the mirror and see his gaze shift from my eyes to my legs. I glance down to see the smear of blood on my inner thighs and quickly close them, blushing profusely at the intimacy behind the evidence. I look back up at Graham—my toothbrush hanging from my tightly closed lips—and catch his blazing predatory stare, burning holes into my skin.
He spits and rinses, spinning his body around to lean against the edge of the counter. “You never have to be embarrassed with me. You are exquisite,” he says on an exhale, “and I am a lucky man for getting the privilege of being your first.”
My skin flames, and I nod silently to his words. I change my focus and take care of my immediate needs. Tearing open the foil package, I use the hygiene cloth on my tender flesh, discarding everything into the nearby trash can.
Apparently I am an invalid, because Graham helps me off the toilet and over to the sink, where I spit and rinse my mouth out. He carries me back into the bedroom. Sliding one of his black T-shirts over my head, he trails his fingertips along my bare skin while slowly lowering the fabric. I smooth out the hem over my clammy skin, luxuriating in the expensive feel of it.
“Having you clothed will help keep me from having you again during the night when I know you are inevitably going to be sore,” he comments, trying to make me understand his intentions. He kisses me on the forehead, pats my ass, and then guides me back into the bed.
Graham leaves the room, while I lie on his bed. He comes back with a glass of water and hands it to me.
I drink half and he downs the rest, setting the empty glass in the bathroom on the sink. He walks back slowly and joins me on the mattress, wearing nothing at all. No complaints will ever be heard from me. Realizing that the duvet is on the floor, he swings out of bed once again and pulls the blanket over top of us both.
When the lights are out, we snuggle close to each other. My back gets pulled into his chest and his arms wrap around me in a protective embrace.
I feel safe. Like nothing could ever touch us.
27
The feel of warmth surrounding my entire body wakes my senses and allows my eyes to drift open into narrow slits. The sheets are wrapped around me in perfect unison with Graham’s strong limbs. I take a glance at the clock on the nightstand and see that it is nearly eleven o’clock. I have not slept this well in so very long that I can’t even remember the last time it happened.
I try to turn my body, but the arms around me tighten, and Graham’s sleepy murmur breaks the silence of the quiet morning in the downtown Portland high-rise. I wait a few minutes and make my second attempt. I lift one arm free and shimmy down toward the base of the bed to slip from his hold. When I am nearly free, the bed shifts suddenly, and I squeak at the flying body parts moving swiftly in front of me. When the movements stop, I find myself pinned underneath Graham’s body. His incredibly sexy smile and raised eyebrow become my new focus, and the thought of escaping this beautiful man’s grasp is furthest from my mind.
“And just what do you think you’re doing?” he asks, holding my wrists tightly above my head.
I blink up at him, attempting to display my best look of innocence. “Going to make you breakfast?”
“Is that so?” he asks incredulously.
“Maybe.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you are a horrible liar, Miss McFee?”
“Why no, I have never heard such a thing before.”
Graham stares at me for a second, then releases me as he falls to my side, laughing loudly at my obvious lie. “You are something else, Angie.”
“I’ve been called worse,” I joke, loving the light airy feeling of the morning after.
He leans up on his elbow to study me. “How did you sleep?”
