Page 43 of One Bed

She knew he was close, and so was she, and when he pulled his mouth off hers and looked deep into her eyes, she felt powerful and feminine and so damn sexy.

‘You, this … feels so good …fuck!’ Gib’s eyes slammed closed, and he jerked, then jerked again, spilling over her hands. Seeing his pleasure, she tipped over herself, her orgasm rolling over her in delicious waves.

When she was done, she slumped against his chest, conscious of his rapid heartbeat and his shallow pants. She felt him kiss her hair as he pulled his fingers out of her and when he squeezed the hand still holding him, she looked up at him. ‘As much as I like your hands on me, I think you can let go now, sweetheart.’

She jerked her hand away, heat flooding her cheeks. She turned her head into his neck so he wouldn’t see her mortification. Gib stroked her hair, kissed her temple and, with no embarrassment, stood up and walked into the bathroom. Through the open doorway, she watched him wet a flannel and wipe himself clean, before rinsing it and walking back over to her. Embarrassed, she tried to take the flannel from him, but he held it out of reach, shaking his head.

‘No, let me,’ he murmured. He gently stroked the fabric over her hands and then tossed the flannel through the open door to the bathroom where it landed in the freestanding tub.

Instead of picking up his phone, or rolling over and falling asleep, Gib slid in beside her and pulled the covers over them.

His fingers tunnelled into her hair above her ear, and he softly cursed. ‘Your hair is still wet.’

He rolled away again, and went back to the bathroom for a towel. He sat on the edge of the bed and gently rubbed her head with it, before scrubbing it over his.

‘Better?’ he asked.

‘Much,’ Bea replied, caught off guard by his actions. Since she’d always been the one to look after someone, not the other way around, it made her feel…

Weird. Admittedly, it was nice, but it was definitely weird.

The towel landed on the floor, and Bea resisted the urge to hang it up. He resettled them, her head on his shoulder, his leg between hers, his big arm holding her close.

When had she last been so loved, so well looked after, so cherished?

Uh … that would be never.

In his arms, nothing seemed to matter, and she could just be Bea. It was both liberating and lovely. She yawned and her eyes fluttered closed. She loved his body and this bed, it was the best of both worlds.

So much better than the fugly divan. She yawned again and snuggled closer to Gib. So much better than her vibrator. So much bet…

* * *

Gib was not a morning person. Generally, his blood didn’t start to circulate until he’d been for a run or to the gym, and he was unable to form words until he’d swallowed two cups of coffee. In his normal life, all that usually happened before seven a.m., and nobody knew he needed exercise and coffee to jumpstart him in the morning.

Waking up to someone singing along to a hiphop song, the sun in his eyes and morning wood the size of a Sequoia tree –and unable to do anything about it because he had no goddamn condoms –made him grumpier than usual. And that was saying something.

Gib rolled onto his back and lifted his head to look down at his aching cock. Jesus. Even he was impressed by the tent it made of the sheet. But there was fuck-all he could do about it, unless he jacked off in the shower.

He might just have to, because having Bea give him a handy wouldn’t work for him. He wanted to be balls deep inside her… OK, that wasn’t helping.

Irritated with himself, annoyed that she’d left the bed without him noticing, frustrated in general, he sat up and looked around the spotless bedroom. Bea’s side of the bed had been made, as well as it could be with him still in it. The shorts and towel he’d left on the floor last night were gone. On the whitewashed credenza sat his now closed laptop and a small vase holding what looked to be wildflowers. He didn’t remember them being there last night…

Worst of all, on the chair in the corner was a neatly folded pile of his laundry. What the hell? He knew room service wasn’t included in Golly’s rate, neither were meals, so who’d tossed his clothes in the washer?

The same person who was, he guessed by the delicious smells wafting into the bedroom from the kitchen, frying bacon and making coffee. Annoyed –he loathed being fussed over –Gib left the bed and stalked into the bathroom. He did what he needed to, grabbed a pair of shorts from the clean laundry pile, upending Bea’s carefully folded pile of clothes. Toppling the stack, he whipped out a T-shirt, pulled it over his head, and headed into the kitchen…

He stopped abruptly and lifted his eyebrows. Bea stood in the small kitchen, humming as she pushed bacon around a pan. She wore a bright aqua bikini under a loose, long sleeved orange cotton sweater. A black sarong was knotted on her left hip. Her hair was wet again, and finger-brushed off her forehead, and her sarong showed patches of wetness on her butt. It was obvious she’d taken an early morning swim.

She turned, saw him standing there and jumped half a foot in the air. ‘Jeez, you gave me a fright,’ she laughed, hand on her heart. She gestured to the pan. ‘I’m making breakfast. Do you want some coffee?’

Only as much as he wanted to keep breathing. And why did she have to be Sunshine Suzy so early in the morning? He walked over to the cupboard, planning on grabbing a mug to make his own coffee, but Bea beat him to it. She shoved a mug under the spout and hit the button. He noticed it was preset to dole out an espresso.

What if he wanted a latte for a change? He didn’t, but that wasn’t the point. Bea looked up at him, smiled and raised her chin, and Gib knew she was expecting a kiss. He’d yet to brush his teeth and was sure his breath could drop a lion at twenty yards. But that wasn’t the only reason he ignored her silent request.

This was all too domesticated for him. He never slept over, and if a woman spent a night at his place, he made sure she left at the same time he went for a run. And, funny, nobody appreciated being booted out of a warm bed at five in the morning. Not his problem because he always warned them what would happen, but none of his dates believed him. Every one of the women he took home suggested he ditch his routine and stay in bed for another round, then breakfast. He never said yes.

Sex was always good, he made sure of it –if a woman was gracious enough to share her body with him, it was his job to make it good for her –but it was still just sex. A brief physical connection.

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