Page 154 of Charming Deception

I can’t believe how erotic it is, just holding her hand, or brushing against her in public. It feels like I’ve been starving for her for long, aching years. So much longer than I’ve actually known her.

“Do you want to shower? Or take a bath?” I put my champagne down to unbutton the collar of my shirt, and go over to where my open suitcase is spread on a luggage rack, avoiding that look in her eyes.

“You can go first,” she says softly. “I’ll just enjoy the view.”

I look at her like she’s zapped me with an electric current. My pulse beats in my cock like a ticking bomb about to go off. I couldn’t be harder if she dropped her dress right now.

I know, when she smiles wryly, that I’ve mistaken her meaning. “The view from the balcony,” she clarifies.

Heat floods me as her cheeks grow pink.

I head stiffly into the bathroom, and start running her a bath. Maybe I want to do nice things for her to make up for what’s missing. And somehow, it’s getting more difficult to read her, to know what she wants, to figure out how to make her happy, instead of easier.

No. That’s not true.

She wants sex, asshole.

She wants you to take her in your arms and kiss her.

You’ve seen the way she looks at you.

You’ve read her books…

She wants you to be her goddamn hero.

She told my siblings I was some kind of superhero. I think half of her believes it. And the other half desperately wants it to be true.

I drag my hands over my face. I feel like a fucking fraud.

The idea of sleeping next to her in the hotel bed…

My heart is racing just thinking about it.

At home, I’ve taken to hanging out in the living room when she goes to bed, passing out on the couch. I set an alarm to wake me before she gets up in the morning so I can slip in next to her.

Because going to bed with her at night, and sleeping next to her, is impossible.

I’m way too aroused for that.

You’d think I’d be jerking off on the hour.

Instead, I’ve stopped masturbating at all. When I realized there was no way I could do it without picturing her, and picturing her while I did it was only making it harder to resist touching her, I decided it would be a better idea to stick with cold showers and abstinence.

Just avoid sex of any kind, all together, until the challenge ends.

Stupid.

In the hotel room, what excuse do I have to avoid sleeping in the bed with her?

I’ll have to sleep with her. And maybe I won’t get a minute of sleep because I’ll be picturing her in that glittering dress, looking at me over dinner all night like she wanted me to be her dessert.

Thirteen more days.

I walk back into the room, and when I tell her that her bath is ready, she looks sweetly surprised.

“Come here.” I hold out my hand to her.

She comes to me and slips her hand into mine, and I lead her into the bathroom, where the tub is nearly full.

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