He strides over to where our things are lying on the deck, picks up his towel, and begins to dry himself off. I know I shouldn’t be staring at what feels like a private activity, but I can’t help myself. Besides, the man saw me naked, so it’s only fair I get to check him out semi-naked.
Jarrod spins on his heel, surprising me and catching me gawping at him. There is probably drool running down my chin along with lust in my eyes. But all he does is direct a slow, knowing smile at me as he pulls a dark hoodie on and zips it up.
He picks up my towel and walks back to the edge of the hot tub. Then, opening it wide between each hand, says, “Your turn, Mads. Honestly it’s not that cold.” There he goes, using my nickname again, and I like the sound of it on his lips as much as last time.
I stand up on slightly wobbly legs, and with a shiver, I step up into the waiting towel, which is quickly wrapped around me, along with his arms. Heat suffuses my skin. Maybe it’s the aftereffects from the hot tub or maybe because Jarrod is continuing to hold me in his arms. He rubs the fluffy towel gently over the skin on my back, which is coated in goose bumps, and my cheek drops heavily to rest against his hoodie.
All of a sudden, I feel a tiredness engulf me, and my eyelids flutter closed. It’s either too many whiskeys or the heady scent of pure alpha male weaved through the fabric my face is embedded in. It’s way too comfortable, and I don’t want to move.
Was that a kiss he just placed on the top of my head? Or is my fuddled imagination playing tricks on me? My eyes pop open, and I look up at him. His face is in shadow with the light from inside directly behind him, and it’s impossible to see his expression.
I reach a hand up from the cocoon of his arms and pull his head down to my level so I can place my lips on his. The slightest touch is dizzying. I stretch higher and pull his head lower. I want more of his mouth. A hunger has been ignited, and this delicate touching of lips will never leave me sated. I want to taste the whiskey on his tongue and have him taste the same on mine.
I push my lips firmer against his, molding my wet body to his dry, warm hoodie. His arms draw me in tighter, and a moan escapes from my lips onto his. Our lips part in an unspoken agreement to take and give more, my tongue darting out to meet his in a duel of passion. Who will win? I don’t care, as this all feels like winning to me.
My body feels so alive in this moment. As heat from the man in front of me mixes with the cold night air, a shiver runs through my entire body.
Jarrod lifts his head. “You’re cold. Let’s get you inside.”
I want to stamp my foot like a toddler and shout at him to not stop. But it’s too late. He has already stepped back from me and is wrapping the towel around my body, then he picks up my bathrobe and helps me to put it on. Nooo, I want him uncovering my body, not covering it.
It’s all done so quickly and efficiently—more efficient than my fumbling attempts could have managed after the wine over dinner and the whiskeys in the hot tub. My head is fuzzy, and my limbs feel heavy. I thought I was tired, but now I think I’m drunk.
Jarrod holds the door open for me to walk inside, but I still manage to trip, his rapid reflexes and strong, muscled arm the only reason I’m not flat on my face on the floor.
“Oops! Who put that step there?” I demand with my hand on my hip before swaying into Jarrod’s chest with a giggle. I don’t know what’s so funny, but I can’t stop giggling.
Jarrod says something about bed, but I wasn’t listening hard enough, so I didn’t get all his words. “Did you say you want to take me to bed? … ’Cause I like that idea.” I hear him laugh as his arm wraps firmly around my waist to support me.
Then, bending his head to mine, he says, “Madison, you’ll have to be quiet, or the others in the living room will hear you.”
I hold my fingers to my lips. “Shhhhhh, I can be realllly … quiet.” I think he is shaking his head as he leads me to the stairs. At least my muscles in my legs don’t hurt anymore. I get to the top of the stairs with a lot of assistance and begin to drag him along the hallway and into my room.
I don’t bother to close the door before I’m reaching up to pull his mouth down to mine again, kissing him hard and deep. Loving the way he pulls my bottom lip between his, then slowly releases it again. Our kisses are needy and hungry, filled with pent-up sexual tension from the last couple of days. I plaster my body to his, feeling his hard cock as it nestles against my tummy. I want to lose these damn clothes and press against him, skin on skin.
His hands loosen the belt on my bathrobe and slip in underneath, running up from my waist, around to my ribs and finally reaching their destination: my breasts. I moan at the touch of his large warm hands cupping my breasts, feeling their weight, then thoughts of him sucking my nipples have me gasping out, “I want you so badly.”
In an instant, his hands stop, his mouth disappears from mine, and he is stepping back from me. Those hands that just seconds ago were all over my body are now being dragged through his hair.
What the fuck?I think but for once don’t say. Instead, I ask the only question that needs an answer, “Why?”
“I’m sorry, Madison, but I can’t sleep with you. Not tonight … we’ve both had too much to drink,” he attempts to explain, but I don’t want to hear his excuses. All I’m hearing is that he doesn’t want to have sex with me. It’s a sobering thought, and I turn my back on him. I walk as steadily as I’m capable of doing toward the adjoining bathroom door. Again, this is my refuge from another embarrassing encounter with Jarrod.
“You should go,” I tell him over my shoulder just as I reach the door.
But before I can close the door, I hear him mumble, “Yes, I should, and I won’t let the door smack me on the ass on the way out.”
Funny, I was just about to say that.
DAY FOUR – CHRISTMAS EVE
Waking up to the blinding sun streaming in the picture window in my bedroom and right on to my pillow should feel good. But with the way my head hurts, it most definitely isn’t good.
I pull the pillow grumpily over my face in an attempt to block out the bright light and groan loudly into it.I am never drinking whiskey again, I tell myself before I groan again, louder this time, into my pillow. Memories of last night are slowly filtering through the fog engulfing my hungover head. Oh my God, I threw myself at Jarrod last night … and he rejected me. I don’t think I’ve ever embarrassed myself to this extent in the past. This could be more embarrassing than him seeing me naked.
What if he rejected me last night because he has seen me naked? For the third time in five minutes, I groan into the pillow.
My phones buzzes next to me with the alarm to get up. No … I don’t want to get up. I certainly don’t want to face Jarrod, the source of my latest humiliation.
