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That little skip in my chest, that flip-flop in my stomach? Yeah, we were going to go ahead and call that anticipation. Or excitement that all this excess energy was going to have someplace else to go.
I watched as Slash pulled his bike into a spot, then reached up to pull off his helmet.
His head lifted, gaze looking up at the hotel.
And, objectively, I knew he couldn’t see me. I hadn’t been able to see anything when I’d been in the lot looking up at the windows.
But, somehow, it felt like he looked right at me.
My pulse actually quickened.
Then he was off his bike, and I watched his long-legged, unhurried, confident stride before he disappeared into the building.
There was a quick two-knuckle tap to the door—his signature knock—a few moments later, making me move across the floor to unlock the door.
Then there he was.
Looking a little rougher than usual. Unrested. Eyes a little red. Posture a little tight. Like he had something on his mind.
Didn’t we all?
I wanted to ask.
Which was exactly why I couldn’t.
“Didn’t expect this,” Slash said as I moved back to let him in.
“It was a last-minute decision,” I told him, kicking out of my shoes, then pulling off the light sweater I had on.
I had just shimmied my dress down over my bra when I looked up to find him watching me with his brows drawn low.
“What are you doing? Take your clothes off,” I demanded, pushing the dress down to my feet, then reaching behind my back to unclasp my bra.
I had just pulled off the cups and tossed my bra down when I felt him in front of me.
His big hands moved out, fingers snagging my chin, and yanking my head up, forcing me to face him.
“Hey,” he said, that deep voice of his rolling over me, coursing through my body like a shiver. “You good?” he asked.
Slash wasn’t exactly a chatty guy. He didn’t wax poetic. He didn’t say ten words when two would do.
But what Slash was, was observant. The man saw everything, whether he reacted to any of it or not. So I was sure he was seeing my desperation, my anxiousness.
What surprised me wasn’t that he observed it, but that he was bringing it up.
First, because this was casual. I’d been very firm about that. And, really, what guy wanted to fuck with a good, casual fuck-buddy situation?
Exactly.
None of them.
But, second, because Slash never really struck me as a guy who gave a shit if someone was off. I mean, yeah, I was sure he cared about his men in a sort of hands-off way. And I knew he reacted to a situation that required some measure of force or violence with ease.
But softer emotions?
No.
Nothing about Slash said he was a soft feelings kind of guy.
