“This reminds me of New Year’s.”
“Oh God,” I mutter, pulling away. But he tugs me back by my hands, pressing a kiss to my mouth. “I’m not complaining. But I want to do this right.” He slips his hand into mine and leads me across the living room. And just as he does, a thought occurs to me.
You see, the thing about being a single girl, in the middle of winter, with no prospects on the horizon, is this: you don’t spend a lot of time tending to your overgrown nether regions. It was all fine and good when it was just me, without a man in sight. But now, with Michael leading me towards his bedroom, I cry out in fear.
“Wait!”
He stops abruptly, his forehead scrunching as he turns to me. “Are you okay?”
Right. I am just going to be straightforward, no matter how embarrassing it may be.
“Look. I know this is stupid, but… when it’s winter and you’re single, you don’t always… maintain the highest standards of… personal grooming.” Oh shit, that sounds even worse than it is—like I don’t shower, or something. “I haven’t shaved my bikini line in ages,” I blurt, and heat streaks across my cheeks.
“Is that it?” He gives a little chuckle. “Alex, I don’t care. I want you as you are, warts and all.”
“I don’t have warts!”
He laughs again. “I was kidding. But, listen. While we are making disclaimers…” His expression turns serious and he rubs the back of his neck, his gaze falling to his feet. “I, uh, haven’t had sex in a long time.”
I feel a flash of surprise. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“Wait.” I narrow my eyes. Men have a habit of distorting this sort of thing. I bet it’s been, like, three weeks or something. “How long is a long time?”
“Um, over a year.” He glances up at me sheepishly, and I can’t stop the delighted smile that breaks across my face. When I first met him I was convinced he was a womanizer, but instead, he’s been off the market completely.
“You don’t have to look so pleased about it,” he says dryly.
“It’s a good thing.”
“Yeah, well, you might not think so once we get down to it.”
“Why not?”
“Because…” Pink stains his cheeks. “It just, uh, the first time… it might not last very long.”
“Oh.” I give him a gentle smile. “I don’t care.”
“I don’t want you to be disappointed.” He looks worried and my heart squeezes. I’ve never wanted him more.
“Michael, I could never be disappointed.”
His expression relaxes and he cups my face, lowering his lips to kiss me. His tongue dips into my mouth, licking against mine. It’s tame, but I can sense the wild appetite underneath. When he sucks my bottom lip into his mouth and drags his teeth across it, my legs shake with need.
Fuck.
This man… he can do whatever he wants with me. I’m ruined. I let out a whimper of surrender, knowing I’ve crossed the line now and there’s no going back.
32
I lower myself to the edge of Michael’s bed. When I look up, he’s gazing at me with dark eyes, flushed cheeks and parted lips. He almost looks a bit stunned, like he can’t believe I’m here. Hell, I can barely believe it.
“You okay?”
“Yes,” he says, his voice scraping up his throat as he takes a step closer. “Fuck yes.”
Shit, my hands are trembling. It’s like I’m nervous or something, which doesn’t make any sense. I’ve had sex before—loads. But this feels different, somehow. This feels significant. Like once we do this, things will be forever changed—I’ll be forever changed.
And I want that, I realize. I want him to change me.
I reach for him and he takes my hand, dropping to his knees on the floor in front of me. His hands slide around my waist and slip under my sweater, warm against my back. When I lean in to touch my lips to his, I see a hint of vulnerability in his eyes, completely at odds with his huge frame and strong hands. I try to reassure it with my kiss.
My lips move across his cheek and down, so I can tuck my nose into his neck, under his ear, breathing in the scent of his cologne. It’s a woodsy smell, like cedar. And then there’s the smell of him. It’s just him—his skin, or something. Fuck, it’s amazing. I want to buy it in bottles and spray it all over my sheets.
“You smell so good,” he murmurs into my hair.
“I was just thinking the same thing.” I press my mouth to the soft skin of his neck, sliding my tongue out to taste him, biting gently. He sucks in a ragged breath, his pulse quickening against my lips.
I’m trying to be patient, but it’s not working. My hands snake their way down again, twisting in the hem of his shirt. When I give it a little tug, he raises his arms obediently, watching me take in every inch of his gorgeous body with thirsty eyes as I slip it over his head.
Holy hell. I can’t stop looking at him. He has such a man’s body; not flawless or overly chiseled, but real and solid and firm. My fantasy self spent a lot of time constructing a mental image of what was under his clothes, but what a joke that was. I couldn’t have imagined the scar down the side of his stomach, a tiny puckered line that I trail my fingertip over with a smile. I couldn’t have imagined the way the dark hair on his chest, peppered with a few grays, spans from one nipple to the other and tapers down to his waistband. And I couldn’t have imagined the gentle dip in his lower back, which I discover as I slide my palms around his waist and down over his hot skin, skating onto the curve of his firm, denim-clad ass.
A small moan escapes his mouth as I lean in to
