I’ve spent the past year determined to stay out of her way and keep my hands to myself. Now that she’s here, in my space, exceeding every fantasy I’ve ever had, I don’t know how I’m supposed to keep my hands to myself.
I only know that I will keep my hands to myself. If it’s the last damn thing I do.
I was trained to withstand torture, for fuck’s sake. I can do this.
By the time evening rolls around, we’ve done everything we can to secure the building and there’s nothing left to do but wait for the storm to roll in. Outside, the wind is already picking up, and it’s been raining for the past hour. Now it’s just the two of us in the cottage.
We left Taco in with the turtles because that building is more secure. If we need to, we’ll head over there as well. I didn’t bother putting a bathroom into the station since the cottage is right next to it. It has running water and a mini-fridge, if the storm gets bad.
But for now, the storm isn’t bad, so we’ll stay in the cottage for the night where we have a kitchenette, a bathroom, and a bed. Not that I have any idea how that’s going to work.
Who am I kidding?
I know exactly how that’s going to work.
I’ll offer her the bed because I’m a goddamned gentleman, and then I’ll spend the entire night lying awake on the sofa with a hard-on, trying to resist going to the bathroom to jerk off. And if the storm lasts more than twenty-four hours, I’ll have to consider her plan to lash together the turtles and surf to another island.
Honestly, I’m not even sure I can last twenty-four hours in the same house. The cottage is less than four hundred square feet. There is not enough space in here to get away from her.
At least when we were outside, every breath I took wasn’t filled with the scent of her. But in here?
In here, it’s pure torture.
When we got in, I went straight to the kitchenette and started on a beer and some dinner. She’s been in the living room, moving around, digging through her bags, and doing I don’t know what. It’s not that she’s loud, but she’s there.
And that’s enough. More than, actually.
She clears her throat. “I’m going to go take a shower, unless you want to take one first.”
I turn to see her standing by the door to the bathroom, a small stack of clothes in her hands.
When I don’t answer, she adds, “If that’s okay with you.”
I nod but can’t summon the energy to speak out loud.
Is that okay with me?
Clara is going to be naked in my shower. Is that okay with me?
Hell-fucking-no, it’s not okay.
I’m not okay with her being naked anywhere within a hundred yards of me. If she’s naked in my bathroom… Fuck me. How am I supposed to recover from that? I’ll have to burn my house down and build a new one. On the other side of the island. After giving myself a head injury to induce amnesia.
But it’s not like I can tell her not to take a shower.
“There’s not much hot water. The solar water heater isn’t much help on a cloudy day.”
She smirks. “Still trying to scare me off, huh?”
I just shrug.
She walks into the bathroom. “I’ve lived in the Caribbean every summer since I could walk. So I can guarantee I’ve had more cold showers than you have.”
I nearly choke on my own tongue as she shuts the door behind her. Yeah. There is no way that’s true.
A minute later, I hear the shower crank on. My imagination supplies the image of her stripping out of her clothes. My dick goes from the half-hard state it’s been in all day to hard-enough-to-hammer-nails.
I reach down, adjust my cock, and give it a squeeze through my shorts. A shudder goes through my body.
