Page 87 of Double Bucked

“Good. There’s a man’s robe in the bathroom. Help yourself.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I go into the bathroom, closing the door. Their bathroom is bigger than my trailer. Big soaking tub, a tall shower, a row of mirrors and sinks. I kick up the shower and drop my clothes. My belt hits the tile hard, and mud on my shoes leaves smudge marks on the white floor.

I get in the shower. It’s like a damn sauna. The hot water pelts down on me, and for a second, I let myself get submerged in it.

But that’s dangerous because the second I get comfortable, all my dumb brain can do is think about Claire.

Claire, in bed. Waiting for me.

Needing me.

Wanting me.

She chose me. That thought alone is enough to make my cock swell up.

I’ve gotta settle down if I’m gonna be any sort of comfort for Claire tonight.

The temptation to stroke one out to relieve this building pressure is strong, and I curse myself for it. So I flick the water to cold, shiver under it until I’m less riled up, and then hop out and towel off. I find the robe—a matching beige, satin thing—and I toss it on, feeling a little silly in something so decadent.

When I get back in the bedroom, Claire is quiet. She’s lying on her side in bed, facing the window. I slip into the spot beside her, pulling up the blankets, which puff up like marshmallows.

“Shower’s nice,” I tell her.

“Mmhm.”

Silence creeps in.

“You okay?” I ask her.

She rolls onto her back. She looks up at me. She’s taken off her makeup and taken down her hair. Now, she just looks like—Claire. My Claire.

“I want to go to sleep,” she says plainly, “and wake up and find out that all of this was a strange, bizarre nightmare. And…why are you smiling?”

“Sorry. It’s nothing. Strange nightmares.”

“No, you first. Tell me what’s funny?”

“It’s not funny. It’s just…this is the first time we’ve ever shared a bed together.”

Slowly, she blinks at me. A small smile touches her own lips. “I suppose it is.”

“Is it exactly how you imagined it?”

She reaches forward. Her fingers tickle down my bare chest, playing with the hair there. “No.”

I draw her hair underneath her ear.

“I wanna kiss you,” I tell her. I draw my hand down and press my fingers into the soft skin above her breast. “Right here.”

Her fingers curl in my hair. She nods. “Then do it.”

I tilt down and press my lips to her skin. I inhale her smell—buttery and vanilla. I want to lick every inch of her, but I refrain.

Instead, I touch her cheek. “And here.”

Those eyes flit over mine. “Yes.”

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