"Barely know you. But…I feel like I do. I dunno."
"I know what you mean. But I promise, it's going to be okay. So just… relax. Breathe. And try to trust me, okay?"
He nods. "You, I trust."
Reluctantly, I slide off of him and to my feet. "Won't be long, promise."
He makes an expression that is the facial version of a shrug. "No rush on my end."
Now that I've tasted him and felt his mouth on mine, I'll never get enough; I bend at the waist and touch my lips to his. "Just one more."
Mistake. Big mistake.
I find myself falling into the kiss all over again, and his hands frame my waist. Slip upward, now. The thin cotton of my dress does nothing to dull the sharp heat of his touch. Higher. Pauses at the lower edge of my bra.
But then, instead of going where I know he wants to, he sinks backward with a growl, yanking his hand away from my body. "Shower. 'Fore I lose my goddamn mind."
I straighten, rubbing both hands over my flushed, flustered face. "Right. Yes. Shower." I let a harsh breath out past clenched teeth. "I don't want to stop, Bear."
His gaze searches my face. "No?"
I shake my head. "Not at all. Not even a little bit."
"Glad I'm not the only one."
Before I start something we really don't have the time to finish, I force myself away from him, heading down the hall for my bedroom. I bite my tongue to keep from inviting him into the shower with me. I do feel his eyes on my backside, and I shamelessly let my hips sway a little extra, just for him.
Right before I go into my room, I steal a peek back at him—just in time to catch him adjusting himself, lifting his hips and tugging at his fly with a pained wince.
I affect him.
A lot.
I like that. I like knowing I make him feel that way. That he desires me.
I shut my bedroom door and peel my dress off, and then my underwear and bra, tossing them all in the hamper. I twist my hair up onto my head and put a shower cap on while the water heats. Step in, wash up, rinse off—ignoring the damp heat between my thighs, the ache. The pulse of need. Ignore the urge to take the edge off with my fingers—I haven’t been with anyone in a very, very long time, but my fingers have been rather busy. A girl has needs, after all.
I wonder if he does that. I wonder if he's thought of me while doing that. I find myself hoping he does. Wanting him to.
I blush furiously as I shut the water off and dry myself, trying desperately to erase the image of Bear in the shower, water sluicing down his huge, heavily muscled body, his big fist stroking down his—
No.
Nope.
Can't go there.
I'm barely hanging on as it is—I've pushed him as far as he can go for now, I think. I have to keep myself in check.
Funny—Brennan always made me feel self-conscious about my sexuality. I can't pinpoint how, it was always just this vague sense that I wanted something he didn't. What, I don't know.
Our physical relationship started very slowly and stayed slow. It didn’t progress past an innocent kiss here and there foryears. When we did finally actually sleep together on ourwedding night, he finished within a minute or two, and I was left frustrated—and felt guilty for feeling frustrated.
There—that's it. That's the source of my negative feelings about my sexual relationship with Brennan: he didn't satisfy me.
I didn't want him.
I wasn’t turned on by him.
