I’m not selling myself in the sexual sense—although having felt August’s body crushing into mine and his lips devouring me, I’m feeling less opposed to the idea—but I am getting paid for my presence. I’m basically an escort.
I wind up the conversation and promise to call again tomorrow. Then I climb under the covers, exhausted, falling asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.
Augusto
When I wake up, she’s still sleeping, her chest moving faintly, her breath slipping soundlessly in and out. A cloud of blonde hair is splayed across the pillow and her expression is peaceful.
I thought the run last night would have helped, but the heat traveling to my cock and balls at the sight of Erin lying beside me, is clear, irrefutable evidence it did not.
I tore through the wooded trail like I was being chased. My lungs burned, the branches lashed at my legs and sweat ran down my back. I didn’t stop. I just pushed myself harder, faster, until my vision blurred. But nothing could shift the sound of her little moans and the feel of her soft and eager lips kissing me back.
I turn my focus back to the ceiling. We’re only on day two of a seven day retreat, and while I knew bringing a woman Ifancied the fuck out of here was a little risky, I had no idea it would be this hard.
I shouldn’t have kissed her. But then, I couldn’t think of what else to do to cover up our blunder. That, and a small—okay, large—part of me had been wanting to do it ever since I saw her returning to the stables on horseback.
And now I know what she tastes like. I know how warm and soft and skillful her lips are. My ears are now familiar with the sound of her desire, and they want more.
One taste and I’m a fucking addict.
How the hell am I going to get through the rest of the retreat without reaching for her again and mashing my lips to hers? How can I possibly share a bed with her after having a small taster of her moans?
Christ, I’m screwed. Way to make this mission the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
“How was your run?” Her husky morning voice sends a fresh dart of sex into the base of my spine.
“Good,” I say, not moving. “Sleep okay?”
“Great.” The pleasant lilt to her tone sends a gentle warmth through me. Neither of us speaks again for a few moments.
“Can I ask you a personal question?”
Okay, not relaxed anymore.“Sure.”
“Why aren’t you married?”
Stunned at the choice of topic, I turn my head to the side. She’s still staring at the ceiling.
“I don’t do relationships.”
She falls silent. Then, when I think the subject has been dropped, she speaks again.
“Why don’t you ‘do’ relationships?”
I exhale a long breath. “I don’t have time for one.”
That’s a lie. I could find the time if I wanted to. And I’m getting close to wanting to—with Erin. Another reason whyI need to just get through the next four days then leave it all behind.
“Have you ever been in a serious relationship?”
My jaw hardens until I breathe again. “Yes. Once. A long time ago.”
Her voice is quieter. “What happened?”
A minute or two passes as I think about telling her. I haven’t spoken about Francesca in over ten years.
My voice cracks. “She died.”
Erin’s face is white when she turns to me.
