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So much for trying to assert some much-needed control over himself. Images of her bombarded his brain—standing under the high-powered water spray, soaping her naked body, rinsing herself off, rubbing her clit to climax.
His dick thrust against his fly, painfully confined. And going by her reaction to him, it would remain that way. With great effort, he forced himself to keep walking and find his solitary quarters.
A small, neat guest room with a double bed, en suite and window overlooking the front street more than met his needs. He’d slept in far worse. In many respects, this was a luxury. The room allowed self-reflection and provided the possibility of spending a couple days in Sage’s company.
Even though she’d make it her mission to be difficult, argumentative and essentially cock-block him, it didn’t stop her from being thoroughly endearing and sexy as fuck. Once he’d escorted her to work—because no fucking way would he let her drive alone—he’d return to her place and jack off.
Fuck, if he had the time, he’d do it now, ease some of the pent-up tension. But he couldn’t risk her catching him mid-tug. He had to try to win her respect, her romantic attention, not push her farther away.
Over and above all else, he prioritized her safety. And he had to keep reminding himself of that, no matter what his dick craved. His feelings, his lust, could shoot the lights out, however, he couldn’t do a damn thing unless she wanted him to—and it should be that way. Mutual attraction, mutual desire, mutual consent.
More moans.
Fuck me.
Patience. Given his commando tour experience, he should be an expert at waiting. Impulsiveness could get a man—often several men—killed.
The water stopped, and he pictured her drying her smooth skin, wrapping her silky cinnamon hair in a towel, and getting dressed. Had she allowed herself a little self-pleasure? Enabling her to scrub away the anxiety of the last few hours? It certainly sounded like she’d gone solo. Either that or it highlighted his horny-as-fuck state.
Maybe some hands-on stress relief formed part of her regular morning routine. How he’d love to see her masturbate, with her knowing and approving of his presence, wanting him there, watching. Voyeurism had its benefits, but only if his lady got off on it, too.
Sage had tried to act all indifferent, yet she’d raked her gaze appreciatively over his body, licked her lips when she thought he didn’t notice. And it wasn’t arrogance, more an indisputable observation—one of the things that made certain he’d survived his time in the commandos. If not his personality, she appreciated his fit, muscular physique.
“Alexander?” No one else, except her, referred to him by his full first name…never Alex. And he liked it, liked the sound of each syllable on her lips.
“Yeah, babe.” He strode out of the spare room.
“Don’t call me ‘babe’.”
He reached her closed bedroom door, pushed it open and, oh fuck. She stood there in a sheer black bra and panties that didn’t leave much to the imagination. In seconds he’d discovered she either waxed, shaved or lasered, because not one hair was visible on her legs or pussy. His mouth watered and his dick… He attempted to discreetly adjust himself.
“Alexander!” Her wide-eyed stare locked on his, and her cheeks turned bright pink. One arm thrust across her beautiful breasts and the other covered her pussy.
Thank fuck she averted her gaze and rushed to the wardrobe, too distracted to notice his overt attraction.
“Don’t you believe in knocking?” She acted all affronted, but her body language—flushed skin, quickened breathing, erect nipples—didn’t lie, suggesting she liked his attention. Not that he’d take advantage. If anything happened between them, it had to be because that’s what they both wanted.
His mouth had gone as dry as the Great Sandy Desert, and he struggled to speak.
She attempted to yank a black and floral sundress off a hanger, her hands quivering. “Don’t just stand there. Can’t you give a girl some privacy? Can’t you see I’m half naked?”
Oh yeah, he hadn’t missed that. Fuck me. He wanted to lick every inch of her. His brain tried to make him move but he couldn’t budge from the doorway, amused and aroused. “You called me. I had to make sure you were okay.”
She slipped on the dress, rolled her eyes and huffed, her face and chest still a cock-stirring crimson. “I wanted to check whether you’d found the spare room.”
“I did.”
“And you’re still here because?” She raised her eyebrows and did up the zip.
You’re sexy, smart, and so fucking beautiful, and I want to show you how much I mean every single word. “Sorry.” He turned, reluctantly, descended the stairs into the living area and waited.
He’d just made himself a coffee—the good stuff—when her footsteps sounded on the staircase, and she walked into view. “Like one?” He raised his steaming hot mug.
“I wish. No time.” She raced into the hallway and grabbed her bag off the side table.
“Where are you going?”
“Work.” She glanced at her watch as in, ‘stop hassling me and let me go’.
