I cover my face. What must he think of me?
I tiptoe as quietly as I can to my bathroom, closing the door softly behind me and pressing my back to it.
I wish I could have a shower without waking him up. If he wakes up, I’ll have to face him, and I don’t think I’m ready to do that yet. Maybe I can put on a robe and pad to the end of the corridor and wash the sweat and … other bodily fluids off under that big waterfall shower? It would feel so good to get clean right now.
I put the robe from the back of the door on and pad back into the bedroom—start mentally planning my great escape.
“Ben?”
I stop dead on my way to the door. Consider ignoring the voice for a second before changing my mind.
“Yeah?”
“Where are you going?”
Why does he have to sound all sexy and gravelly in the morning? Oh god, did he hear me snore last night? Did I talk in my sleep? What on earth did I say?
“To shower?”
He sits up. It’s dark enough to blur his features, but there’s no missing that incredible physique. My mouth waters.
“Come back to bed. You don’t need to take a shower.”
“But I’m all … sticky.”
He laughs, running a hand over his face. The sandpaper scratch of his stubble makes goosebumps stand up on my arms. Suddenly I’m aware of why certain parts of my skin feel tender.
“Ben,” he says, his voice softer this time, almost a whisper. “Come back to bed.”
I do as he says, keeping the robe on, dodging the wetpatch as I climb into bed and Elias pulls the sheet up over us.
I get a waft of sweat and sink into the mattress with shame.
“You’re freaking out.”
“I’m not,” I lie.
“Don’t freak out.”
“Oh, okay, I won’t then.”
He chuckles. “Shh.” A heavy arm drapes itself over me. I go stiff before giving into it.
“Elias, I?—”
“You have nothing to be embarrassed about.”
“I fell asleep.”
“Most men do.”
“But I didn’t….”
“Say it, Ben. It won’t kill you.”
“I didn’t make you …” I whisper-shout, “Make you come.”
He pats my chest. “I’m proud of you.”
