He smiles when he sees me.
“Hi.”
“Hi.” My voice is tinny in my ears.
Mangorean says you have to be careful, a little voice reminds me. Yeah, careful of what? We have already done the deed, and I was a willing participant.
He stands there, just watching me – smiling. Oh, but he’s so handsome, with the sun streaming through the windows lighting his dark hair into a rich golden brown. I’ve seen his naked arms before, but framed upon that wife-beater, his biceps appear even more pronounced.
I lick my lips. “You asked me to clean your room.”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“Good question.” He chortles. “Maybe I just wanted an excuse to see you again.”
“And getting me to clean your room is an excuse to see me again?” This cheeses me off . . . a little.
“It is your job,” he replies, deadpan, “and I happen to find you sexy in a maid’s outfit.”
OK. I think I know where this is going.
Never mind that my blood is doing Niagara Falls in my ears, and my pulse is thundering all the way down in my groin. (Yes, my groin.) Mangorean was right. Alexander Vassar does not have the most honorable intentions for me, and I find the notion incredibly sexy.
I should be outraged!
But no – my loins are melting as if a torch has been held to them.
Alex senses this. He moves closer, and I can smell his musky, sweat-soaked scent – as masculine as any love drug. Ohhhh, he’s sex on legs all right. He’s betting I can’t resist him.
But why is he betting on me? Part of me – hell, all of me – still can’t come to terms as to why he would desire me. Chalk it up to a lack of self-confidence, but my physical attributes have never been spectacular. Maybe it’s the maid outfit.
Yes, I’m willing to bet it’s the maid’s outfit.
“You know,” Alex murmurs, “I didn’t know that you were a virgin when we were together the last time. You should have told me.”
I don’t what to say to that. He’s very close now. Elbow length close. His heat emanates from his body, whose metabolic rate is off the charts due to his recent workout.
Maybe that’s it. His inexplicable attraction to me. The fact that I was a virgin when he took me the first time.
He leans over and takes my face in his damp palms. His pheromones – sexy as hell – fill my nostrils. His lips press against mine, and oh – they are so heavenly. So tender and so soft and a thousand different things that courses right down my belly to the nub within my pu**y, and I feel a flower of desire open up in me.
His arms wrap around my body and his sweaty chest closes in on my br**sts. He opens his mouth and his tongue thrusts suggestively into mine. He explores my tongue and teeth. This boy really knows how to French-kiss . . . maybe it’s because he’s European? Anyway, I shouldn’t overanalyze anything. I should just be in this moment, and hope it lasts forever.
His hands move down my back – down, down, down to cup my bu**ocks beneath my skirt. It’s very obvious what he wants, especially since I can feel his hardness poking through his shorts. I swear he doesn’t wear any underwear beneath those shorts, and this further excites me to know that his c**k – that wonderful pleasure tool that has pounded and driven home into me – is just there, hidden by that soft, silky fabric.
We part for air.
“You know,” he murmurs against my lips, “I really need to shower. And it would be great if you can join me.”
OK. As tempting as that sounds, I’m going to have to draw a line here. No, it’s not about the shower. His mentioning me just triggered an alarm bell, that’s all. I know I’m a consenting adult . . . but still!
I place my palms upon his damp chest and push him away.
“No.”
He’s surprised. “No? But I thought you – ”
“You thought wrong.” It takes my every ounce my strength to do this. “I’m not some cheap floozy you can pick up and get laid with every time you snap your fingers, Alex.”
“I didn’t – ”
“Oh yes you did.” I take a step back, and I’m very aware that behind me is the bed I have just made. The bed in which his hot body has indelibly imprinted. That very hot body that stands before me now. “And I’m not going to do it.”
I’m going to regret this, I know. Every part of my Id – the primal urge that drives human beings – cries out for his touch and what must naturally occur between a man and woman who are wildly attracted to each other. But I must let my head rule in this. I mean everything I said.
I am not some cheap floozy.
That encounter in the restroom will be the first and last time this kind of stuff will ever happen for me. I’m not the sort of girl who drops her panties at a bat of an eyelash – even if it belongs to a superrich entrepreneur/Harvard alumni/European crown prince.
He’s evaluating my non-consent, and probably debating if he should proceed. The narrowing of his beautiful eyes suggest that he is wary – and rightfully so.
“I don’t think you’re some cheap floozy,” he shoots at me.
“But it doesn’t give you a right to think I’m going to sleep with you every time you want it either.” I’m surprised at how calm I sound. Even though I’m going shit, shit, shit – this is the last time I’m going to ever see him. But I have to be true to myself. Just because the most gorgeous guy in the world throws me a curveball, doesn’t mean I have to catch it every time.
He contemplates this for a long time. There’s a serious light in his eyes, and he parts his lips to lick his lower one. Even in this thoughtful gesture, he’s sexy.
“I’m sorry,” he finally says. His beautiful blue-green eyes are stony. “I misread the situation.”
Yes, you did. No, you didn’t. Oh help, I’m a helpless mess.
I move away from him. It’s difficult. He’s so overpowering and in your face, so I have to move sideways and then scramble away guiltily.
I don’t look back. I’m afraid I will succumb.
Did I do the right thing?
Now I’ll never see him in the flesh again. Guys like that don’t come crawling back.
Oh shit shit shit.
Have I made a mistake? It’s too late now. I’m committed.
I can’t look back.
7
I spend the next few days moping. And I won’t tell Deanna why.
She’s all over me, of course. She wants to know why I’m so down, and why I can’t seem to get my spirits up even when she bakes me cupcakes. But I don’t tell her, of course.