leg, that was all it took and he wanted her again. He wanted her always. He’d had her any which way since last night and it wasn’t enough. He told himself when she was in the shower he’d lay off. Give her a moment to recover and make her want him more. Make him want her more. Then what did he do?
The moment he saw her in that robe, her hair wet and slicked back, her skin rosy from the warm water, looking sexy and beautiful and fucking edible? He’d knelt before her like he worshiped her body and licked her into yet another orgasm. All while the room service kid waited in the hall to deliver their food.
He restrained himself during breakfast, letting her eat, and he tried his best to eat as well, but he quickly lost his appetite. His appetite for food, he should stress. Watching her as she nibbled on a strawberry, the robe gaping open and giving him a view of his favorite spot on her body, the rarely touched valley of soft, creamy skin between her full breasts, drove him wild with lust. He told himself to get over it.
That didn’t work out so well.
After they ate, he convinced her they needed a nap, so they went back to bed. Where they proceeded to go at each other like wild, crazed teenagers ruled by their hormones. Which he sort of felt like when he was alone with Reagan—ruled by his hormones, by his cock. Owned by his body and the ever-growing need to have her, to possess her, to make her his.
Mine. The word pounded an incessant beat in his head, in his blood, in his soul. Stupid. Crazy. He’d lusted for plenty of women and never went nuts like he did for Reagan. Though it was more than just her body that drove him insane. He also liked her. Liked talking to her, liked learning about her, liked when she offered her opinion. She was smart, she had personality, she had a mouth and wasn’t afraid to use it.
In so many different and exciting ways.
He caught a glimpse of skin and he was enthralled. He tasted her lips and he wanted nothing more than to kiss her again. And again. Until he was sliding deep inside her and she was gasping his name, clawing at his back like a wild thing incapable of speaking.
He could relate. He did relate. If she seemed lost, then so was he. Ten times worse.
She fell asleep soon after that particularly hot encounter after their late breakfast and so he held her in his arms and dozed, his hand on her hip like he owned her, her head resting on his shoulder and curvy body tucked close to his as if they were a perfect fit.
They sort of were. That should scare the hell out of him, right?
It didn’t. And that should scare the hell out of him even more.
They never left the hotel suite the entire day and he felt sort of bad about that, but she reassured him she was exactly where she wanted to be, so he didn’t push it. They got room service again for dinner—sushi this time, made by the world famous chef who worked at the Japanese restaurant located in the hotel. They devoured it, feeding each other with their chopsticks, drinking beer and laughing and talking about everything and nothing.
It felt good. It felt normal and so fucking right. He was relaxed. On top of the world. And when Reagan suggested they take a bath together in that giant sunken tub that sat in front of a wall of windows overlooking a most excellent view of the city, he jumped on it.
Naked in a tub full of hot water with the woman he was more and more insanely attracted to as every minute passed? Hell yes.
The water was full of bubbles from the fragrant bubble bath Reagan had liberally poured in when she first started to run the water, and she sank beneath them before he got a good look at that gorgeous naked body of hers. He followed after her, surprised at how comfortably they fit in the giant tub together. He was a solid six-foot and she wasn’t what he would call short.
Though he did enjoy the way their legs tangled together. Her skin was soft and slippery from the water, her foot sliding along his calf
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