Soon we’re back at the bungalow. Thomas easily holds on to me as he unlocks the door and then kicks it shut when we’re in. He doesn’t ask which bedroom I want to go to, moving straight to his.
“I’ve been imagining you in this bed since the day we got here,” he says as he carefully lowers me to the mattress. “I’ve thought about it every night. And every morning I’ve woken up with my hand around my cock, wishing you were there.”
My breath catches as he pulls back, standing at the foot of the bed to stare down at me, like I really am a fantasy come to life.
“Am I living up to expectations?” I ask when I find my voice.
“You’re better than anything I could have come up with.”
I gaze at him, a work of art backlit by moonlight. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
His lips quirk, amused, but it doesn’t take away from the intensity in his eyes.
“Take off your dress,” he instructs. We’re done with the small talk.
Heat floods through me and pools at my core. My instinct is to banter with him, to dare him to do it himself, but his tone has me sitting up and reaching behind me to grab the zipper. It’s a smooth slide down, my fingers stopping at the small of my back. I let the material fall down to my waist, then push up onto my knees so I can wiggle it past my hips. When it’s over my thighs, I lower myself again and slip it the rest of the way off. Thomas is kind enough to pluck it from the bed and place it on top of the dresser.
“So considerate,” I muse from where I’m lounging on my elbows, the line of my body and lace lingerie on full display.
“Bra next,” he says, ignoring my quip.
I comply, his deep voice and the breeze of the air-conditioning pebbling my nipples. Before he can reach to take the bra from me, I toss it to the floor. My own little act of defiance. I go for another when I hook my thumbs under the sides of my underwear before he gives me the order to do it, dragging them slowly down my legs. It ends with me kicking them off the bed as well. And then I’m bare for him.
“You’re such a brat.” His eyes rove my body, drinking in every inch. “And you’re fucking beautiful.”
I bask in his admiration, chest lifted, knees parted so he can see exactly what’s waiting for him. I’m soaked and aching, ready for this. I need him to satiate this craving so I can finallythink clearly again without him being on the edges of all my thoughts.
“I’m better up close,” I say, opening my legs a little wider.
The invitation is there, and I expect him to come to me. But instead, he starts to unbutton his shirt, taunting me back. Each move is unhurried and deliberate, and while I would love for him to pick up the pace, I’m enjoying the show. It doesn’t matter that I’ve seen him in nothing but swim trunks all week—this is different. This is just for me.
His pecs and abs are perfectly defined. It’s the body of an athlete, long and lean, honed over hours in the gym. It’s the dedication that I respect more than anything. He’s a man committed to his craft, determined to do what he can to be the best.
And I get to reap the benefits, so really, I’d say I’m the winner here.
When his shirt is off and has joined my underwear on the floor, he grips me behind my knees and yanks me down to him at the edge of the bed. I gasp, hands flying out to find purchase in the sheets as he kneels in front of my spread legs. My prince is officially gone. My rogue is back.
“Thomas,” I exhale, moving to sit up, but he puts a hand between my breasts to push me back down. When he hooks my thighs over his shoulders, my mouth snaps shut, protests going up in smoke.
“You’re right,” he murmurs, stubble brushing against my skin. “Much better up close.”
He bands an arm across the tops of my thighs, keeping my hips pinned as he bites and licks and sucks his way down to where I want him most. He takes his sweet damn time, savoring each taste and forcing me to tolerate the torture. Right when I think his mouth is going to give me relief from thebuilding pressure, he switches to the other side and restarts his slow journey until I’ve found the edge once more.
I’m begging and swearing by the time he makes his way to the crease of my thigh for the second time. I’m whining, dripping for him, wound so tight that the second hereallytouches me, I’ll combust instantaneously.
“You know, I’m glad we waited to do this,” he says, breath ghosting over my slick skin. “I know you so much better now. What you like. What makes you tick. Better than being strangers with no concept of each other.”
“I bet you would have done just fine back then,” I pant, daring to lift a trembling hand to run my fingers through his soft hair. A desperate part of me considers pushing his face down between my thighs, but the way he’s looking up at me, eyes full of worship, has me stroking his cheek instead. Damn this man. And damn everything he’s made me feel.
“Is this still what you want, Stella?” he asks, as if he can sense the way I’ve softened for him. “One night?”
Right now, if he offered more, I would take it. But this is a heady reminder of our agreement. He’s set the rules this time and I’m determined to respect them, just like he’s done for me over all the weeks past.
“Yes,” I breathe out, sweeping my thumb over his cheekbone. “I want this.”
He turns his head to press a kiss to my wrist—and then his mouth drops to where I’ve wanted it all along.
The first swipe of his tongue has me nearly levitating off the bed, my hands back to clutching at his hair. “Ohfuck.”
