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As it is, I remain dumbstruck, imagining the tongue hiding behind his straight teeth, just waiting to come out.
He glances down at what I know are red splotches painting themselves into the skin of my chest. It always happens when I’m aroused, and when I orgasm, they turn a bright burgundy, not that a man has ever seen that since orgasm-procurement has always been a solo activity for me.
“If I find out that a man has touched you while you’re here—”
“Well, you won’t,” I interrupt indifferently. “Because I’ve taken a vow of chastity.”
“A what?”
“We’re on an inner-goddess-worshipping yoga retreat… or something like that.”
His very, very slow blink tells me everything I need to know about his feelings on that matter.
“And we’re all on a dick fast this week. Well, Rami’s is permanent, but Fran and I won’t be going near any men till the retreat is over on Friday. And we intend to stick to it. Sorry if that’s an inconvenience.”
Seeing as today’s Monday, the wedding’s on Wednesday, and most people are leaving this weekend, I suspect it might be.
And frankly, for both of us, because for as many red flags are stuck to this man, he does something to me that even BOB can’t manage during the best of orgasms—he makes my entire freaking body ache to be fucked. Mercilessly.
“I’m a patient man, Indigo.”
I feel my brows folding into a frown. “And I’m not into casual sex,” I respond, still ruminating over his promise to “give me pleasure” and nothing else. “I’ve tried it once and it didn’t work for me. And not that you’d care, but I’m not interested in getting hurt which I know full well is going to happen if I spend time withyou. So, sorry, but you’re going to have to find another little plaything to amuse yourself with this week. Because it’s sure as hell not going to be me.”
With that, I grab my drink and head over to the booth, scooting myself along the bench until my arm hits Fran’s as I try to catch my breath.
“What an asshole,” I mutter, entirely irrationally, just loud enough for my friends to hear me… though I don’t really mean it. I’m just hormonally challenged by him and hear the words he spoke back in DC echoing through the logical part of my brain over and over again.
I’m not relationship material.
I can’t offer you that.
I know what you want, I mumble to myself.
You want your fun in the sun with me as the perky little conduit, with the added bonus of me being a challenge unlike the other women who I bet just roll over for you as soon as you look at them.
I think I saw at least three of those types eyeing him up at the bar. In fact, it’s a miracle I got away from there without throwing my beverage into someone’s face.
I glance behind me to see him leaning against the bar, staring in my direction, and I already spot a half-dressed woman who seems to have popped up out of nowhere to take my place.
In his defense, he does seem to be ignoring the horny bitch I suddenly want to strangle, but I know full well he’s used to getting away with this dominant asshole routine.
Well, it’s not gonna work with me.
As the barman addresses him and he finally turns to presumably order, my eyes can’t help but wander illicitly up the impossible angles of his tall, athletic frame. The sleeves of his white button-up short-sleeved shirt are rolled up to reveal a slab of curved muscle that just begs me to squeeze it as I did in his office to stop him from going to find his father.
As I bring my glass to my lips to the sound of Rami saying something over the soft rock buzzing from the speakers, I contemplate the front of him currently out of sight… and how hard it is, and whether it’s in proportion to his height.
I already know it is.
He has big-dick energy for days. There’s no other explanation for that insufferably arrogant attitude of his.
Jesus Fucking Christ, I groan at myself as I take a swig and put the glass down.
I've never in my life been this attracted to a man, and it just had to be a pompous prick who thinks he has the right to boss me about and taunt me with the suggestion of what could well be the most orgasmic holiday fling known to womankind… or leave me in floods of tears at the end of it.
I’m just glad our boundary-stretching yoga master told us, with no hint of irony or self-consciousness in his soothing voice, that he doesn’t mind if we pleasure ourselves, because that miniature vibrator I brought along with me might just be getting a workout tonight.
Oh God…
