Ilay sated on the bed, my hair a rat’s nest, my inner thighs sticky and aching, and I couldn’t move if you paid me.
What if thisandwhat if thatran through my head. What would it have been like before? To make love, to fuck Layton? Would I have been on top?
“Hey, come here,” he called from my bathroom, forcing me to discontinue the litany of what-ifs roaming the open plain of my mind.
I shimmied out of the bed and wrapped myself in a chenille throw. Pushing the door semi-open, I said, “Yeah?”
“Come here,” he said, this time softly.
I walked into the bathroom to find the tub almost filled, steam rising off the water as Layton poured a small bottle of shower gel under the spout.
When he looked up at me, his eyes were burning with hunger again. “I thought you might like to relax in here.”
He’d pulled his khakis back on but hadn’t buttoned them, letting them ride low on his waist, revealing a small trail of hair that led to where his now familiar penis resided.
“You good?” he asked.
A warm blush crept up my chest at being caught staring.
I nodded. “I’m good. That actually looks so incredible ... amazing actually.”
“Great. Get in,” he said and held out his hand.
I wasn’t sure if he meant he was coming in after me or what, but I took his hand. The blanket fell to the floor, and he held me steady as I stepped in one foot at a time and slid down into the warm bubbles.
“Want a candle?”
When I nodded, he grabbed a book of matches from the tray holding my favorite candle and lit it, releasing a hint of persimmon into the air.
“You relax. Do you have any wine I can open? Or do you want some water?”
I shook my head. “No, but there’s a bottle of champagne chilling in the fridge.”
He went out, leaving the door slightly ajar, and I missed him already.
Tomorrow he’d be back in California, miles and miles away.
Closing my eyes, I leaned my head back into the neck pillow and willed myself to relax. That was tomorrow. But tonight wasn’t over yet ...
After we had the champagne, I lay cuddled on the couch with Layton, bundled in my fluffy robe. It was after one o’clock in the morning, and unease pummeled through my veins like the subway underneath the city.
What should I do? Should I ask him to get dressed? Kiss him good-bye? As my mind spun, I yawned.
Layton reached across my small couch to push my hair away from my eye. “Tired?”
I nodded. “A little.”
His hand went back to rest on my knee and then slid down to my feet, which were curled on his lap. “Want me to leave? I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”
A rush of air pushed out from my lungs, a pent-up breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. With it gone, the tension seeped from my body, leaving me feeling boneless.
“I hate to say this,” he said, “but maybe I could push my trip a night and we could have those drinks at the top of my hotel. We never got to do that. The view is unrivaled ... except maybe only by you.”
“Want to stay?”
“Yeah.” Layton brought his knuckles back to my cheek and caressed my skin. “I would.”
He grabbed my hand, and we stood together and walked back to the bedroom. I straightened the comforter from our earlier activities and pulled it back. He pulled off his khakis and I watched from under heavy lids.
