Page 68 of Omega in Hiding

I start to roll over, but then groan because my arms are still cuffed to the headboard. They’ve been stuck in the cuffs since Paolo left and my arms ache like a son of a bitch. The door to the bathroom opens, and Paolo walks out in a cloud of steam. Lightfrom the bathroom illuminates his naked figure, and despite my painful arms, my dick twitches with interest.

He doesn’t move for a few moments. He watches me from the bathroom doorway, toweling off his shoulders. He lowers the towel and comes over to stand at the foot of the bed. Our eyes meet, and I slowly run my eyes down his naked frame. I can’t help myself. He’s so fucking sexy and I want him so bad. Even though I’m mad at him for cuffing me, I want him.

Stop being pathetic.

To distract myself from lusting after him, I lift my head and say snidely, “Did you havefun?”

“So much fun.” He slurs slightly and really doesn’t sound like he had much fun. His tone is sort of glum.

I frown. “Are you drunk?”

“No,” He scoffs.

“You sound drunk.” I look pointedly at my cuffed hands. “Could you please uncuff me now? My arms are killing me.”

He comes around the bed and he leans down. I can smell the hotel bodywash and the scent of his warm skin. Little drops of water hit my cheek from his wet hair. “Hey,” he says indignantly. “You didn’t eat any of your cheese or apple.”

“No. I didn’t.”

“You said you were hungry.” His tone is accusing. “I ordered food because you said you were hungry.”

“I never said I was hungry.”

“You did say that. Out in the car.” He wrinkles his brow and mutters something under his breath.

“I guess being in cuffs took away my appetite. Can you please just undo the cuffs?” I ask gruffly.

He leaves me and returns a few seconds later with a little key. He wiggles it until the mechanism releases. I lower my arms, groaning and wincing. He watches me with a guilty expression. But when he notices me watching him, he moves away. I watch him go, annoyed he’s too prideful to apologize for how he’s treating me, but equally distracted by his firm ass.

I sit up and rub my wrists. Then I crawl off the bed, slip on my jeans, and go into the bathroom. Paolo is in there brushing his teeth. He now has a towel around his waist.

“Where did you get a toothbrush?” I frown, envious he gets to brush his teeth.

“Front desk. I got you one too.” He points toward a little yellow toothbrush wrapped in cellophane. “They were complimentary.”

I smile, happy he got me a toothbrush too. I like knowing he thought of me, even though that’s a foolish thing to care about. “Do you think I could shower?”

“Knock yourself out.” He watches me in the mirror.

I start to undo my jeans, but hesitate. “I’ll wait until you’re out of here,” I murmur, grabbing a towel from the rack over the toilet.

He snorts. “Are you shy? We’ve seen each other naked, Connor. Just get in the shower.” He still has a slight slur. I suspect he must have had a lot to drink when he left the room. He can walk fine, but it’s definitely affecting his speech.

“I said I’ll wait.”

He shakes his head and spits in the sink. Then he rinses his mouth, and leaves the bathroom.

I close the door and strip off my jeans. I turn on the water and once it’s warm enough, I step into the roomy shower. I wash my hair and body, annoyed that the entire time I have a boner. I can’t be near Paolo and not get hard. Even with him in the other room, just the thought of him has me stiff. Plus, unless he sleeps in the chair by the window or makes me do that, we’ll be sharing a bed tonight. I wince just thinking about his body a few feet from mine in that damn bed. This is going to be a torturous night.

Once my shower is done, I dry off and put my jeans back on. I brush my teeth and then leave the steamy bathroom. Paolo is reclined on the bed watching TV, wearing only his black briefs. He’s on the side nearest the night table, so I start to get on the bed to take the other side. He holds up his leg and his foot rests against my chest.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Getting in bed.” I frown down at his foot that still rests against my pecs.

“Not in your jeans. They’re dirty. You’ll get the sheets filthy with outside germs.”

I laugh. “Who are you, Howard Hughes?”

---