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“You don’t sound like you want me to stop, Angel,” I reply between kisses.
Her sexy pants fill my ear, sending shivers into my system as I continue kissing back up towards her plump lips.
“Xander,” she moans, and a groan pulls from my lungs.
“Keep saying my name like that and I’ll bend you over this bar.”
I trail down to the crook of her neck, digging my teeth into the sensitive area.
“Xander,” she exhales, but this time, she pushes gently on my shoulders, and I immediately pull away from her.
I meet her hooded gaze, her lips swollen from our kiss. I search her face, but she gives nothing away.
“Stop running from me,” I murmur, running my hands up the length of her toned back. She shivers beneath me, spine slacking as she drops her head backwards and blows out a breath, a stray strand of hair flying out of the way of her face.
My face softens, breaths becoming more even, as realisation dawns on me.
“You’re not scared of me,” I state. If I keep telling myself that enough times, maybe it’ll sink in.
She snaps her head back to me, eyebrows in a frown now. She slides her leg off me, followed by the other, and my hands withdraw from beneath her top as she slinks back into her seat. My skin ices over at the loss of contact, but I steel my spine and ignore the burn. Ignore the impulse to pull her right back into me.
I watch as she moves, just as graceful as when she dances.
Her finger taps on the marble next to her glass. I don’t want to break the silence. She’s thinking. And I want to give her that space to think, as much as it kills me not to say something—do something—to convince her that this is right. We are right.
The tapping stops. She averts her gaze. My fists clench.
“I’m scared of what I feel when I’m around you.”
I swear my heart stops beating in my chest.
Out of everything I expected her to say…
That I’m too much.
That I’m not good enough for her.
This was the last thing that I expected her to say.
Thunder rumbles in the background as she looks to me, green irises bouncing between mine.
For once in my life, I’m speechless. I don’t know what to say.
So I just stare.
She stands from her chair. “I’m tired.”
“Okay,” I reply, voice strained.
Abandoning our drinks and snacks, I lead her up the stairs to my bedroom.
The white, carpeted halls are lit with the same red LED lights as the main corridors. I pull a key out of my pocket and unlock the bedroom door.
The smell of fresh, untouched linen hits us as I guide Camila into the dark bedroom. Stand By Me by Ben E. King quietly plays through the speaker. I must have forgotten to stop the radio the last time I was here.
“I love this song,” she whispers as she tentatively walks up to the floor-to-ceiling windows which showcase the city. Water droplets cover the windows, and the only noises in the room are the sound of rain, wind howling, and the deep tune of the song.
City lights illuminate the bedroom, though it’s hard to see outside. I watch her small silhouette as she wraps her arms around herself.
