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He twists and grabs a towel from a rack, then wipes the front of my body clean. I gasp when the runs it over my hypersensitive breasts. He sweeps the cloth lower, over my bellybutton, and lower, then drops it to the floor and slides his fingers between my legs.
Oh God. His thumb strokes me in long swipes, and I can’t believe how ready I am for his touch again. His bright gaze glides over me, hot and powerful, as his strokes increase in speed. His thumb moves lower, entering me, and I’m gone.
I moan out loud as I come again, each exquisite spasm sharp as a blade. He strokes me a few more times, then removes his finger and wipes it between my breasts, his eyes catching fire, dark with arousal. His cock is hardening again, hovering between us.
I’m trying to catch my breath, my body still rippling with aftershocks, as he stares down at me, his mouth slack and blue eyes hooded. His muscled, tattooed arm trembles by my head, and that ripped chest?
? God, he’s so handsome it’s ridiculous.
And I’m right where I’d promised myself I wouldn’t find myself again.
I start to move, and his eyes narrow to slits. He doesn’t budge when I put a hand on his chest and push.
“I should go,” I say.
Strange thing is, I don’t regret this. I can’t. I’m not sorry. Can’t regret anything with Dylan. Yet I should be on my way before he tells me again how this is just sex, and he doesn’t love me.
But instead of moving, he nuzzles my neck and remains right where he is, wedged between my legs.
“Stay,” he whispers, and I’m not sure I heard him right.
His hand moves over my face, his fingertips trailing over my lips, his athletic body filling my vision, from his narrow hips to that perfectly defined six-pack, and from the bulging pecs to the broad shoulders.
“Isn’t it a mistake?” I watch his face. “Aren’t you sorry?”
“This can’t be a mistake,” he breathes on my skin, his hand stroking my cheek, and I shudder, a great whole-body tremor. “Tessa… Stay tonight.”
But he doesn’t say more. Not what I hope he will. The way he spoke my name, the way he’s stroking my face… I shouldn’t read anything into it. It doesn’t mean anything.
God, I want to stay. I waited for years for him to ask me to stay, to kiss me and hold me. So I do the only thing I can possibly do at this point.
“No,” I say. “I can’t stay.”
He stills, his hand dropping to my shoulder. His mouth twists, and his lashes lower, hiding the blue of his eyes.
“Right.” His voice is hoarse. “Of course not.”
“I can’t do this again, Dylan,” I say, and my heart cracks just from hearing the truth I never wanted to accept. “I can’t.”
No matter how awesome it was. How incredible. How right.
He gives a slow nod, and it’s worse than words.
“If you need anything,” he whispers as I pull on my pants and sweater, “anything at all, just call me. If that bastard of ex-boyfriend of yours bothers you, call me.”
I shake my head and go out into the cold night.
***
I’m waiting for Miles to finish school when my dad calls.
“We have a meeting with the Anholts,” my father says into the phone, his voice crisp. “Be here at four this afternoon. We’ll go together.”
“No.” I scan the school yard, looking for a blond head. “Anything else you wanted?”
“This is an important business transaction, Tessa.” He sounds mildly irritated. Exasperated. “I’m asking you to be there because this is about your future.”
“To sign my contract of slavery to the Anholts?” Anger still courses through me, though its heat is starting to fade. “To Sean?”
