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I look.
And I don’t laugh it off, not as his hands skim the indent at my waist and the flare of my hips, or as he traces the outsides of my thighs. There’s nothing funny at all about the intensity in his eyes or his hand pushing my legs apart so he can reach between them, just like he did in the pool, touching me like he already knows all of my secrets.
I lean my head back against his shoulder. “Did you order that room service?”
“Hmm?” he says, eyes focused on the two of us in the mirror. He’s pressing the heel of his hand against my clit.
My breathing speeds up. “You’re usually so articulate.”
“Yes,” he says.
“What did I just say?”
He forces his eyes to meet to mine. The dark-blue looks almost black. “I have no fucking clue.”
I laugh, and then he’s smiling, too, bending to kiss my neck. “Was it important?”
“It really, really wasn’t.”
“Good,” he says, and his hand delves deeper. His middle finger pushes inside of me. “Because I have work to do.”
“And you really like your job.”
“That’s right,” he says. His hand circles and parts and speeds up as we both watch. Maybe it’s the watching, or the fact that it’s so bright in here, or the strong feel of his arm around my waist and his free hand gripping my breast, but I’m at the edge quicker than I expected.
I squirm against his hand. “Why are you still wearing your clothes?” I ask, the need inside of me growing. “This is just like last time… I…need…”
His arm around me tightens, and I can see it flex in the mirror. His dark hair is a smudge against my neck as he kisses me. “Stay still,” he says.
“Okay. But I’m… oh.”
The fidgety restlessness, the pleasure-pain, all of it breaks into an orgasm. I come around his hand, and my legs threaten to give out, or maybe they do, but he supports me through it all. And when it’s over, I feel him hard against my backside, and I know this isn’t going to be a repeat of the pool.
Not again.
I turn in his arms and kiss him, my hands move between our bodies to make quick work of his shirt. His skin is warm to the touch, his chest hair a soft scrape against my fingertips.
“Eden,” he mutters with a groan when I find the button of his shorts.
“You didn’t let me last time.”
“I didn’t have a condom last time,” he says and looks down between our bodies.
The word flashes through my brain.Condom.“Oh. I didn’t even think about that.”
“No, I noticed,” he says. “But we stopped at a mini-mart today.”
“That’s what you bought? I thought you needed a new phone charger.”
“Well, I needed that too,” he says. “Eden.”
I pull down his zipper, going achingly slow. There needs to be payback for all the taunting he’s done. The bulge beneath my hand is big, growing larger with every slow inch unzipped.
The sharp, loud sound of a doorbell rings out.
Phillip takes a ragged breath. “Damn.”
“What is it?”
