“That’s good to hear.”
We reach the end of our beers, and he stands there, picking at the label. He’s liked me for a while, and as restrained as he is, I think this is far more important to him than he’s ever been able to let on.
We’ve kissed, but maybe he doesn’t know why I invited myself into his cabin, or maybe he doesn’t want to assume. Sandy’s words come back to me. I need to show him how I feel.
Taking his empty bottle, I place it along with mine in his recycling bin, then come back to slip my hand into his. Wordlessly, I lead him over to the comfortable lounge chairs in front of the fireplace and give him a small push. He sits heavily, his eyes glued to mine, his chest rising and falling as though he’s just run a 10k. Kissing his knuckles, I kick off my shoes and straddle him.
“Hey.”
He gulps. “Hello.”
There are a million words I could say to him, but between his nerves and my impatience, I think words are not the solution. Cupping his jaw, I catalog every detail of his beautiful face. The way his blue eyes have a slightly greenish ring around the pupil—the left having a brown dot in the blue—the small scar that runs through his right eyebrow, the fact that his freckles multiply up close. The way his upper lip has the most perfect Cupid’s bow in contrast with his lower lip, which is plump and poutier than you’d expect from a proper English gentleman, and his cheekbones are high as skyscrapers.
“God, you’re so handsome,” I say on an out breath.
“I was just about to say the same thing.”
In this position, our height difference is neutralized, so I lean forward and place a kiss on his lips. His pained moan spurs me on; I lick the seam of his lips, then deepen the kiss as he lets me in, moving my hands to the back of his head and neck.
“You may well be the best kisser I’ve ever known,” he says, coming up for air.
I chuckle. “Thank you.”
“No, no. Thankyou.”
He glances off to the side before pulling me in for an even deeper kiss, and his body against mine is everything. He’s more solid than he initially looks and I roll my hips, happy—relieved—to discover he’s as hard as I am.
His whimpering sounds are adorable, but I need skin on skin. Sliding off him, I unbutton my shirt, letting it slip down my arms to the floor, where it lands with a soft whisper.
“Gael…”
“Take off your shirt,” I command, hand on my hip.
He flushes and immediately begins working on his buttons, wriggling out of the finely tailored cloth, bunching it up and then tossing it to the side.
It’s my turn to figure out how to regulate my breathing. One would assume with all of his elegance that he’d be smooth, practically hairless. Underneath the Hawaiian shirts, however, is a beautiful light dusting of fur. It follows the curves and planes of his muscles, and my fingers itch to run through it.
Unable to wait for another kiss, I crawl onto his lap again. Our bare chests slide together, and we rub against each other like horny schoolboys, setting me on fire.
“Gael, Gael, Gael,” he chants. “Let me take you to my bed. Please.”
“Yes.” With one hand cupping my ass and the other pushing off the arm of the chair, he stands, dragging me with him. I tighten my thighs around his waist as he walks over to the bed.
The evening glow of the cabin and the rumpled sheets on his bed feel like sex, and I need it so bad. Kneeling, he lowers me carefully, like I’m something precious, his stare intense.
“This isn’t some fling for me,” he warns as he removes the rest of his clothing.
I follow his lead, stripping myself bare under his all-seeing eyes. “I don’t do one-night stands. Or casual.”
The relief on his face and in his body is adorable and tells me he must be very serious about me indeed.
“But you can fuck me like this is a one-night stand, though… right?” I ask, needing to know he won’t treat me too preciously.
He scrunches his nose at me and lowers his forehead to mine. “Yes, my… Gael. But not tonight. My heart can’t take it.”
His honesty is the thing that cracks me wide open.
“Not tonight,” I promise, smoothing my hand over his cheek.
