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“Valentina probably has some in her bathroom or in the nightstand,” I tell him, because inside I’m still worried that he might not come back. Just a little worried.
He grimaces, and I squeeze my lips together so that I don’t smile.
“I’m sure. But she probably also has some other shit in there that I’d never unsee.”
Not probably, definitely. “I’ll get them.”
He shakes his head. “I need to grab something else too.”
I sit on the counter, quietly, and watch him dress. His thighs are dense muscle that extends seamlessly into his fine ass. In some ways it feels natural to admire his sculpted body, like I’ve done it before, and I have, but not like this. He doesn’t bother with underwear, just tucks his cock into the black trousers before zipping them up and reaching for his shirt.
“Your hair isn’t going to dry while you sit there watching me get dressed. It’s not that interesting.”
Oh, but it is.
I’m mesmerized with his fingers as they navigate the shirt buttons—long and thick, but nimble. I remember how good they made me feel in the vineyard—and on my skin in the shower until—
“Be right back,” he mutters, squeezing my thigh.
After he leaves, I get the hair dryer, wishing that we could go back to the shower, where we weren’t discussing condoms and the future. We weren’t discussing anything. We were driven by the most basic of instincts, and by lust. Maybe it’s not practical, or smart, but it’s simpler.
Before I’ve even turned the hair dryer on, he’s back.
“Forget something?”
“This,” he says, kissing me until my knees are wobbling so much, I clutch the counter to stay upright.
“I also want to tell you something, so you can have a few minutes to think about it.”
Whatever he’s going to say, I’m not going to like it. I see it in his expression. “You have herpes?” I tease, because humor deflects pain nicely.
He chuckles, but my attempt to lighten the mood is fleeting. “No. I’m clean.” His throat ripples, and I hold my breath, waiting for what comes next. “This thing we have”—he shifts his finger back and forth between us—“no promises.”
I knew it was coming, or something like it, when we stood with our foreheads touching earlier. It’s not some stunning revelation. But still, it’s hard to hear. The little girl inside me scurries to a corner to cry because her feelings are hurt. But the truth is, I’m not ready to make promises either. Although the knowledge does little to ease the hurt feelings.
“You’re off the hook, Huntsman. One night is all I’m looking for too.”
Rafael taps his fingers on the counter. “Oh, I want more than one night. You might be too tired for that spanking you deserve, and I want you fully sentient when I deliver it.” He presses his mouth to the bridge of my nose. “But I don’t want to mislead you, Lexie. I don’t know about next week or next month. If that doesn’t sit well with you, you’re not obligated to finish what we started. You can change your mind.”
It sounds like maybe you’ve had a change of heart, and you’re hoping I’ll take the out. I won’t change my mind. I’ve wanted you for too long. If you don’t want me, you’ll have to say it. In the meantime, I’m going to put on a little armor.
“Did you not hear what I just said? Your cock might be impressive, but I’m only interested in taking it for a whirl, not buying it.” I wave him off and turn on the blow-dryer, because if we continue this discussion, the little girl inside, who’s sobbing again, might make an appearance and give me away.
But he doesn’t leave, at least not before he studies me in the mirror, as if hoping to catch a glimpse behind the mask.
“I have a birth control insert,” I say loudly enough to be heard over the whir of the dryer, “but we should still use a condom.” It’s my way of dismissing him before he sees too much. Although Rafael isn’t that easily dismissed. He won’t go until he’s ready.
I don’t turn around, but I can see him in the mirror. He doesn’t respond, but he raps his knuckles against the doorframe and disappears.
The last fifteen minutes have been a major buzzkill, and I won’t be surprised if he doesn’t return. I don’t care whether he comes back. I repeat this at least a half-dozen times in my head, hoping it’ll take root, but it doesn’t. It’s a damn lie, invented to protect my heart, but my brain refuses to categorize it as anything else.
If he doesn’t come back, I’ll be crushed—again.
22
RAFAEL
The last time I had sex with a virgin? It was so long ago I can’t remember.
