Page 27 of Saving Bonnie

My heart beats faster as I fumble with the knobs, cutting off the water. The metal’s shrill protest cuts through the silence, loud enough to make me cringe. Swallowing hard, I curl my toes against the floor tile. Should I wait?

“Planning on staying in there?”

His deep voice breaks the silence, making me jump. From the sound, he’s by the door…waiting on me.

The headiness of anticipation rolls through me, lending weight to my swelling sex. I nearly gasp over the intensity of it. How can a man I just met do this to me with just a few words?

Hooking a finger into the curtain, I peek out. Tino’s leaning against the linen closet, arms crossed over a midnight-blue shirt, relaxed as can be.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t coax, and doesn’t look beyond my face. It’s unnerving the way he does that. A second later, he pulls away, reaching into the small closet for a fresh towel.

I pull open the curtain, stepping onto the bath mat. There may have been a split-second’s hesitation when I catch sight of the tall, rectangular cardboard box he’s left sitting by the cabinet. It’s time...

Tino unfolds the towel. The fluffy teal terry cloth looks soft and inviting against his hard angles and ever-present darkness. I reach out, but he takes each corner, stretching his arms. My breath catches at what is clearly an invitation. My pulse pounds harder, racing at my neck, as the image of him holding me fills my mind.

As I take a few steps closer, he doesn’t look anywhere but at my eyes. Even when I’m in front of him and he’s patting the side of my face. He finally breaks eye contact, his attention going to my cheek, where he’s drying my skin with a gentleness I find astonishing. Something I wouldn’t have expected in such a fierce man.

The sharp, searching look in his eyes is missing. Instead, he’s pulling away the towel to discover all of me.

He moves along my body to my shoulder, arm, my side then the underside of my breast, where he takes his time. My nipples have pebbled into hard peaks, thanks to his attentions. Will he touch? If so, will he use his hand or his mouth? The anticipation inside me is coming to a rolling boil while he’s still on discovery.

The towel moves on. He may be drying my chest, but his gaze is devouring every inch of skin he uncovers.

The first night he had that same sharp edge of wanting. Like he was holding himself back from something. Again, I’m wondering if he wants to touch but won’t.

He’s at my belly. I tighten the muscles under his hand, knowing I’m carrying more weight at my midsection than I’d like. His brow twitches, and he stays in the same spot. Reluctantly, I relax the band across my waist and he pauses, taking me in at a natural pose. What is he thinking? Insecurities start rearing their ugly head.

The damp terry cloth lowers, covering the triangle at the juncture of my legs. My inner muscles clench. But he goes across to my hip then slowly slips down. He pulls my leg up to set my foot on the box before going behind my thigh. Long fingers brush my sex, pressing the towel between my legs for endless seconds.

A gasp escapes me as a shot of electricity runs through my body, circling the inside of my head, showering sensation through every limb. I could come so easily right now. But I’d be finishing alone.

He continues to my calf and foot. A full second later he starts on the other leg. His gaze following his progress along my body. By the time his hands are at my thigh, his focus is between them. He lingers, and I wait to see what he’ll do.

The delicate skin is tingling. I can barely breathe. Every fiber of my being is screaming for him to do something, but I’m not sure what.

Yesterday, his mouth was focused at my most sensitive spot. I could still feel the pleasure in the middle of the night. So much so, I would have welcomed him coming through the door, regardless of the time.

He rises from his crouch at a maddeningly slow pace. His attention is on my body, at every level he passes, until he’s standing straight.

My body is buzzing, focusing need between my legs and at my nipples. I reach out, curling my fingers along the counter to hold steady. Dear Lord, I’ve had sex before, but I’ve never had this kind of sexual experience. I’ve never wanted to rip a man’s shirt open to press myself against the hard muscles at his chest.

Yet, Tino just studies my face. His hand skirts my pussy, reaching up to run the towel along my hip. He puts both hands at my waist, bringing me to stand fully on the box, facing the wall, to finish my back.

With the oval mirror covered in fog, I’m blind to what’s happening. All I can do is ride the wave of sensation as he moves over my ass to put pressure on my inner thigh. I clutch the counter with both hands and adjust my footing at each edge of the box.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as he drops the wet towel next to me with a heavy thud. There’s nothing else to do now…

A zipper’s teeth gives way behind me. I shoot my gaze to the mirror. I barely recognize my outline, my lips parted to drag in enough air, while he fills the rest of the frame.

The condom wrapper he discards lands at the edge of the sink, falling to sit next to the drain. I have yet to see his cock, but the memory of it leaves me wet and ready for him.

He isn’t going to touch, or kiss, or any of the other things I’ve told him not to do. He’s sticking to the deal we made, and I’m the one regretting it.

Placing his hand on my shoulder, he bends me over, just as I’d asked. The tip of his cock probes my body, finding my entrance and sliding in with an achingly slow stroke.

My shuddering breath echoes around me while he lodges himself to the hilt. My lashes lower, blinking of their own accord. Why did it have to be him to do this to me?

His right hand comes around me, unerringly finding my clit. One brush of his index finger, and my body bucks. A second brush and I whimper. Two fingers slide deeper between my folds, and I clutch his wrist. The intensity of what’s building inside me is nearly enough to overwhelm me.

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