“Yes.”
He’s here. Inches from me, eighty-two percent naked with water droplets still tumbling down his chest, between his pecs, curling around and down the center of his abs… right to that towel.
Oh… to be a water droplet right now.
“Tell me you didn’t like what I did to you and you don’t want more and we can go down to dinner and forget this conversation.” His hand brushes my cheek, making me jump. His thumb, warm and smelling like my body wash, presses the bottom of my chin, snapping my gaping mouth closed and lifting my head away from the towel.
Where it’s now very obvious he likes where I’m looking.
“Look at me.”
In all honesty, I prefer my current view. I swear he grows harder, larger while I struggle against Klaus’s thumb at my chin, applying gentle pressure.
“Keep staring and he’ll want to say hello. He likes handshakes but prefers kisses. And he’s waited a very, very long time to greet you properly. He might demand a lot of kisses. Open-mouthed.”
“You’re talking ‘bout your dick.”
“I am.”
I grin. “Like he’s his own person.”
He smirks. That godawful, tempting smirk. “He’s big enough to be.”
That is not a lie.
He’s also losing his mind.
“I think all the blood in your brain is rushing to your dick and you’re not thinking straight.”
“Funny.” His hand at my cheek slides to the back of my neck, cupping the back of my head. Fingers tangle in my hair as he leans closer. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a more clear thought in my life.”
He kisses me, firmly, sweetly. He kisses me until I melt into him, my hands finally falling to that tight towel.
“I want this, Jilly-Bean, but if you don’t, we can forget it ever happened.”
There’s not a snowball’s chance in hell I’m ever forgetting this moment.
But is what he’s saying smart? The best thing? Fear rushes in, slow and angry like the ocean waves before a storm, loud and rumbling in my conscience, screaming at me to slow down. To put a stop to this madness.
And yet still, he’s bewitched me. My thoughts still scrambled from the orgasm and his kisses and that hard bull pressing my still wet center and all my fears flee like a popped balloon.
“Okay,” I whisper.
Klaus pulls back, shock in his eyes and a sweet, surprised smile on his lips, and I duck my head.
I have no idea if I’ve just made the best decision of my life… or the worst.
12
Jillian
To my complete non-surprise, Roman is already at the dinner table when Klaus and I enter, fingers entwined and linked together.
“Are you fucking serious?” he mutters, loud enough for only me to hear.
Funny, because the same question still lingers on my tongue from everything he said upstairs less than an hour ago, and yet I’m not nearly brave enough to ask.
At this point, Roman at my family’s less formal dining area, at an empty table because my parents aren’t even here yet, doesn’t surprise me one bit.
“Going in search of a food truck sounds like a really damn good idea to me right now,” Klaus says, making me laugh.
“Don’t be silly. Food trucks have horrible vegetarian options.”
Not that my parents’ menu will be any more palatable for me, but I’ve long since stopped reminding them I don’t eat meat. Whether they don’t honestly remember or don’t care, my dinners here have me relating to rabbits considering I can only eat a few sides and a salad. No rolls, because carbs are my mother’s devil child.
“Dinner with us again?” I ask Roman.
“Your mother insisted.”
“Of course she did.” I avoid the table and head straight for the bar on the other side. Klaus follows me and pours me a glass of red wine, without asking.
He knows me well… very well after earlier. What he’s offering is something I’ve wanted for so long and he’s easily handing it to me. So why aren’t I more excited?
Possibly because of what he exactly offered. I don’t want to pretend this weekend. I want to live it.
So what happens when the weekend is done?
“Don’t let him get to you,” Klaus says quietly as he pours himself a whiskey.
“I can find some tea or water for you.”
“Nonsense. Something tells me I’ll need this tonight.”
“No doubt.” I start to turn, but Klaus stops me with his hand at my waist, pulling me back to him and kissing my temple.
“Say the word whenever you want and we can get out of here. It’s always an option.”
I bring my glass of wine to my lips. Out of the corner of my eyes, Roman is at the table, eyes narrowed at a blank space in front of him, jaw set. I’m beyond caring about rubbing my faux-maybe-real-relationship with Klaus in his face, but seeing him upset makes me grin.
As if he has any reason to be mad at me.
Klaus pulls back and escorts me to the table. As he holds out my seat for me and waits for me to drape my napkin in my lap, my parents enter, Nana immediately behind them.
She looks like smoke is ready to pour out her ears and mother’s lips are pressed tight together.
Great. When Nana and Mom get mad at each other, all bets are off on southern politeness and hospitality. Their fights are more reminiscent of a cage match.
Probably why Mom can’t stand Nana. Nana brings out the small town, low country girl she used to be and not the refined socialist she turned herself into.
As they go to the bar and get drinks, Nana plops down in the seat next to Roman with a grumpy flourish.
“Everything okay?” I ask, despite the fact it’s clearly not.
She shoves her thumb toward Roman. “Ask him.”
Nana might have her own sense of comedic flair and a laissez-faire attitude, but she’s rarely mean or outright rude.
Before I can do as she commanded, Roman clears his throat. “Your mom says there are details to finalize for the rehearsal celebration tomorrow night.”
“And that has anything to do with her, because…?”
I can’t finish. Roman leers at me in a way that makes something cold and heavy settle low in my gut. “Because the rehearsal celebration is here. You should really call your mom more often. Do a better job of keeping in touch.”
And here’s the part of Roman I remember hating before I hated him. His condescension. Thinking he knows what’s better for me than I do.
I ignore the dig at me, keeping in touch with my mom. She only calls me when she’s requesting my presence back in Charleston. Never, in all the years since I left for college, has she once called to see how her only child is doing. Settling into freshman college life? Didn’t hear a peep. Congratulating me on my new job? Not a single text. Being proud of me for being able to afford my home at the age of twenty-five without relying on a trust fund? Nothing.
I’m seething, fingers reach out and dig into Klaus’s thigh. I’d apologize for it, but he has to be used to the way I claw him by now. He’ll have physical reminders of his hands on me like I do him in one way or another by the time we blow this pop stand.