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Lying here, my mind is racing at the ramifications of what I’ve just done, and all I can think of is the phone call with Elouise that will follow this. After she finishes telling me what a tremendously stupid idea sleeping with him was, then she will want every single detail. But I’m not sure I’m ready to share any of it. There is something inside me grasping at all the tingling feelings that I can’t seem to stop, that knows how special the last day has been. I’m afraid if I tell anyone, then it will all disappear, like it never happened. People will be too busy telling me all the negative things, and I’m just not ready to hear it.
I hate secrets, but so far today, I seem to be the queen of them.
Instead, I’m fantasizing about the rear view of Nic, with his tight ass and back muscles. Now I understand how he carried me with ease. He appears in the doorway, and oh, the full-frontal nude is mouth-watering. Yeah, I’m not sharing details on this delightful specimen with anyone, but I will be dreaming night after night about it. That is a given.
I thought that the shower would be another earth-shattering round of sex, but I was so wrong.
The tenderness of being washed clean by a man is like nothing I could have ever imagined. His fingers are so soft, and the way he massaged my scalp is better than any hairdresser I’ve been to. I mean, I could have come all over again just from his touch, only I don’t think there was anything left in me. Wrapping me in the softest, biggest cream bath towel so large it could have almost gone around me three times, Nic worked to make sure every part of me was dry.
Who is this man?
From the demanding, domineering man that he is to me and everybody else in the outside world, the Nicholas in this bathroom is someone I’m not sure he has ever let anyone see before.
Why me, why now?
He’s treating me like his princess after he fucked me like his whore.
What even was that? I mean, it was so fucking hot, but I’m still wondering who that man was.
He carried me to my bed because the sheets are clean, and he didn’t want me to have to sleep in the mess we just made of his bed. Who even thinks about that after sex? I’d be happy to have his scent imprinted on my skin for a bit longer, but who am I to argue when the sex god is carrying me and placing me so tenderly on the bed. At first, I thought he had fulfilled his urge and was done with me, but he assures me he will be back in a moment. In the meantime, I’m trying to find the position on the bed that will make me look a little more attractive than I feel. If I lie flat, will he see that my stomach isn’t toned? If I lie on my side, will he notice my waist is not tiny like other women? Even better, crawling in under the sheets hides everything.
I barely hear his footsteps on the lush carpet as he enters the bedroom. I’m not sure how to navigate our relationship now.
“I wouldn’t have been surprised if you were asleep.” He has two bottles of water in his hand, a bag of chips, and what looks like a small box of chocolates.
“How can you be hungry? We ate enough to last me a week.” My stomach still feels so full of pasta.
“Because I worked up an appetite.” That smile of satisfaction does something to me that I wasn’t expecting—softening me to the man who I only thought knew how to be a jerk to everyone around him. I think the word I’m looking for is that he has a caring side I never expected.
In what alternate universe am I lying in a bed in a five-star hotel in Rome, with the most delectable man in front of me, stark naked holding water for me?
Maybe I’m still in my drunken sleep from Friday night, and this is all some weird-ass dream.
Even stranger is that he is smiling at me and climbing back into bed, under the covers so his skin touches mine and makes me feel all the sizzle from earlier.
I lean up on my elbow but make sure the sheet is caught under my armpits on either side to keep me covered. I take a drink of water, not realizing how thirsty I am. I’m laughing on the inside at how the thirst has come from losing so much body fluid in the last few hours. The laughter now makes my throat do that stupid thing it does where it starts to constrict. I can feel myself starting to panic that I’m going to choke again and spit water all over him. I think that might be the final straw. Twice has been ridiculous, but a third would be the end of the line, I’m sure.
Managing to calm my throat, I settle back on the pillow. I look up at Nic who is propped up against the headboard, munching away on his chips. He offers me one by holding it to my lips, as his mouth is full. I want to say no because I’m truly still full, but there is something about him wanting to feed me that makes me open my mouth and take the chip anyway. After he feeds me a few more times, the bag is empty, and he settles down next to me.
“Tell me about yourself. I don’t know much except what you do for work and where your friend lives.” He smiles sarcastically at me, but he’s lying; he knows much more than that.
“You know all the wrong things about me,” I say, laughing at him because it’s the God’s honest truth. “Like that I have a tendency to say things out loud when I probably shouldn’t, I won’t back down when I’m passionate about something. Determination and stubbornness can be great assets, but the way it comes out in me, maybe not so much…”
“Stop, Victoria. I didn’t ask for all the things you think are negatives, because personally, I love that determination and stubbornness. It’s what you need to survive in the business world, but more importantly, life.” He reaches out and pushes my hair behind my ear. “Now tell me about the real Victoria and what makes her happy.” His hand now settles on my waist so we are still connected by touch, even though there is a layer of sheet between us.
I don’t know if I can answer that fully, because I don’t know who I am yet. Let’s just say I’m a work-in-progress. Instead, I say, “That’s a very good question. She’s a complicated woman.” I laugh at myself because I don’t know how else to react when I feel uncomfortable.
“Okay, then let me ask some questions. How old are you?”
“That’s an easy start. I’m twenty-six years old. My birthday is in October, and I’m a Scorpio, if you believe in all that.”
He rolls his eyes, and just when I think it’s my comment about my star sign, he starts mumbling under his breath, “Fuck me dead, twenty-six, what was I thinking?”
“What are you talking about?” I ask, confused at his words.
“I’m about to turn forty soon. I’m an old man compared to you,” he says, chastising himself for no reason.
“That man who just made me lose my mind and doesn’t have one muscle out of place on his sexy-as-fuck body cannot be worrying about being old.” Again, I’m sharing more than I should have.
