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“Come to bed.”
“Oh God.”
He laughed, which meant she’d said that aloud. He’d be in hysterics if he could see her death grip on the sink.
“I’m not going to touch you unless you want me to.”
She did want him to, so badly her mouth was dry. But stirring ungently under the swelling current of desire was a tidal wave of anger. She deserved the chance to have good sex. She was sick of feeling ashamed for wanting it and frightened she was no good at it.
She should’ve cured herself of this idiot reluctance with Sebastian when she’d had the chance. He’d been perfectly willing, a perfectly decent my marriage is all but over choice. But she’d chickened out. Left him with a hotel bill, a pay TV movie and room service—twice.
“What are you wearing?”
“What does it matter?” Oh snap.
Damon’s eyebrows shot up at her shitty tone. “I’m only wondering if you’re still in the dress. If I’m a little underdressed?”
She let go of the sink and put her face in her hands. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right, but come out of the bathroom and talk to me.”
“I’m wearing a t-shirt.” She flicked it over her head and took her bra off, shrugging the shirt back on. “I’m on birth control.” For two years now for absolutely no good reason.
“Ah, okay.” He did the thing with his hair again. The muscles under his arm flaring. They were like cool, clean water to a woman dying of thirst. She needed to lick them.
“I don’t have any diseases.”
“Georgia.” He folded his arms, his tone low with concern.
“I don’t want to use a condom.”
He coughed. She’d shocked him. “Yeah, I do prefer not to sleep in one when at all possible.” He slathered stress on the word sleep and sarcasm all the over the rest of the sentence.
“I’m being serious.”
Head cocked, brows raised. “I’m not entirely sure what about.”
Anger was a better fuel to burn reticence with than a lack of underwire. “Is there any reason why we can’t do it bare?”
“None, but slow down.”
“I’ve been slow forever.”
“You don’t seem to want to come out of the bathroom.”
“I want to fuck you.”
His chin jerked up. “I’m delighted, but confused.”
He shook his head and that errant lock of hair fell across his forehead. She wanted to push her fingers through it. She needed him to step up here. She didn’t know how to take the lead and she didn’t want such a depth of consideration from him. “It’s what you’re here for.”
His hands came up—stop sign. “Whoa.” His tone flat and level.
“I need you to stop being so gallant and fuck me.”
“Okay, I hear you.” He sighed. But he wore his uncertainty like taxi fare home and it jangled like a pocketful of coin in her head.
“I’m freaking out.”
