Page 60 of Wrecked By You
“Do you want something to drink? Or eat?”
Johannes sounded tentative, almost as if he’d never spent time with a woman after they’d slept together.
Maybe he hadn’t.
“Some water would be good.”
He climbed off the bed and disappeared into the living area of the suite. Less than a minute later, he returned with two bottles of water. He loosened the cap and handed one to me. That small, kind act set off a swarm of butterflies in my stomach. For all his broodiness, he had an almost sensitive quality, that somewhere within him, hidden too deep to mine, was the kind of empathy a woman could drown in if he ever allowed it to surface. The amateur psychologist in me wondered whether, in spite of his radiating “keep away” vibes, underneath it all, he was desperate for love. To give it, and receive it.
His relationship with his brother had intrigued me, and with Gia, too. It was as if he was determined to push them away with his barbed comments and sullen refusal to join in with any kind of fun activity, yet at the same time, he craved their approval, their acceptance.
“Thank you.” I drank a third of the bottle, then set it on the nightstand.
“Are you cold?” He pulled the sheets over me without waiting for an answer.
I pushed them off. “Are you scared of looking at my nakedness in case it tempts you for a second time?”
He swallowed, his eyes shifting to my boobs. “No.”
“No you’re not scared, or no, you’re not tempted?”
His tongue dampened his lips. “I’m not scared.”
“But you are tempted?”
“I’m just a man. You’re a beautiful woman. I’m constantly tempted.”
I rolled onto my side and snuggled against him. He stiffened, but I persisted, running my hand over his abdomen. The muscles flexed beneath my palm.
“Do you have a six-pack?”
He let out a huff of air. I wasn’t sure if it was through irritation or humor. “I work out and watch my diet. So yes, I do.”
“Can I see?”
I was pushing him when I’d promised myself that I wouldn’t. I blamed the devil on my shoulder, egging me on. But I craved a deeper connection, some skin-to-skin contact. I braced for him to throw me off and stomp out of the room, or blurt that he was taking me home. Or just ignore me.
He grasped my wrist and removed my hand, and my heart sank a little. Until he gripped the hem of his sweater and pulled it up to his chest, revealing smooth, pale skin and those delicious ridges of muscle I found irresistible.
“There. Happy now?”
I pressed the flat of my hand to his abdomen. He flinched, but he didn’t push me away or tell me to stop touching him. I grew a little braver. “Can I kiss them?”
“You’re talking about muscles as if they’re sentient beings.”
“My clit wants me to kiss them.”
His full lips twitched. “Does it now?”
“Yeah. It’s pulsing. That’s a sure sign it wants me to kiss them.”
He smiled, and elation coursed through me.
“Well, I wouldn’t want to disappoint your clit.”
“Now who’s talking about body parts as sentient beings?”
“You’re a bad influence.”