Page 56 of Anchor
He lifts up enough to peer at me contemplatively. “As long as you wash my back.”
I laugh. “Deal.”
We untangle ourselves from his sheets and stumble blindly into the bathroom. The water heats and then we shift under the spray, expressing twin moans of delight as the hot water beats down upon us. I gather his body wash and squeeze some on a loofah. As I scrub his back, I giggle at the fact that this badass man has a loofah in his shower. He can cook and he takes care of himself. The twinge between my legs reminds me that he can also take damn good care of me.
I trace the lines of his body absently as I consider that thought. We hadn’t talked about where the attraction between us was leading. Now that we’ve had sex, what else is there left to say? I have a job, a life to get back to. He has his life here. Neither of us have mentioned anything long term and isn’t that the number one thing you don’t do with a man? Smother him?
Especially after what we’ve been through.
Gabriel turns in my arms, but I’m not able to look him directly in the eye for fear that I’ll give my thoughts away. Even if this is a one-time thing, it’s the best thing to happen to me in a long time. I don’t want to ruin it by forcing seriousness into the situation too early.
I busy myself with thoroughly washing his chest. I ditch the loofah to pay homage with my hands. There are some things that I can’t resist, and a set of powerful shoulders and a non-manscaped chest are two of them. My fingers spread suds over his light dusting of hair and I play with the trail leading down to his cock. He makes a strangled sound in response and I grin inwardly.
“What are you thinking so hard about?” he asks gruffly.
“Hmm?”
“You’ve got that crease between your eyes. I’ve noticed it means you’re thinking hard about something. To be honest, it kind of pisses me off—if I had the energy to be pissed off that is.”
I smile up at him. “You’re always pissed off.”
He slaps my ass and I squeak. “I am not. I just have a low tolerance for bullshit. In any case, don’t try to distract me. The fact that you even have energy leftover tells me that maybe I didn’t do a good enough job. Do I need to give you something else to think about?”
His fingers glide up my thigh and he plunges two inside of me. I’m so sensitive that their soft intrusion has my vision flashing to white.
“Now I’ve got your attention,” he murmurs, slowly fingering me into complacency, “tell me what’s wrong?”
“N-nothing!” I gasp as his fingers surge inside of me.
It takes no time at all for my body to shake with an impending orgasm. I grip his shoulders and roll my hips in an effort to bring me to the edge.
But instead of going faster, harder, his fingers retreat and he touches my folds softly, delicately, and asks me again, “What’s wrong? And don’t lie to me.”
“I was thinking about how sad I’m going to be when I have to go home.”
He cups my cheeks in his hands. “I’m going to miss you, too,” is all he says.
Then he pins me against the wall and there is something about being near helpless and vulnerable to him that makes me come harder than I ever have in my life. It’s not until I’m near sleep twenty minutes later, wrapped up in his arms, that I realize he never gave me any assurances one way or the other.
Gabriel
“Gabe?”
I shake my head and snuggle back into the pillow, trying to drift back to sleep. The combination of exhaustion, stress, and sex is a potent one and I’m going to need a week of sleep to recover.
“Gabe, Rudy’s barking,” Chloe grumbles.
“He’ll be fine,” I say.
For a few minutes I drift back to sleep and then Rudy starts barking again and this time it sounds like he’s trying to claw his way through the door. With a curse, I throw the covers off of my legs and reach blindly for a pair of sweats that are, generally, always on the floor beside my bed. I slip them on and stumble for the bedroom door.
I find Rudy outside my bedroom and glare at him. “Next time I’m going to lock you up in a cage when we go to bed,” I tell him.
He pants happily as we walk through the dark hallway to the patio door. I yawn as I yank it open to let him out and he races across the lawn to his favorite bushes.
While he’s doing his business, I figure I might as well get something to drink because the marathon sex gave me a powerful thirst. As I make myself a glass of ice water, I consider how to play the morning after, so to speak.
It’s probably too early to start talking commitments and considering both of our romantic histories, one of us is likely to balk if we start moving too quickly. The best option is for us to take this slowly. Hell, that’s probably what people call dating. The thought makes me frown, but fuck it. If that’s what I have to do to keep her coming back, I will.