“You’ve seen me completely naked more than once,” I remind him.
The time we spent in the shower last night after he rode my cock comes to mind, making me wonder what he thought about me wearing only the bubbles from the bodywash we shared.
“It’s not the same,” he says, his eyes locked on the magnificent view in front of us.
“I don’t wear many casual clothes.”
“I figured you for a man who sleeps in lounge pants and an old college t-shirt.”
“I sleep naked.”
His smile grows wider, but he doesn’t look at me. I hate not being the full focus of his attention.
“I’ll have to adjust those fantasies then.”
I chuckle, but don’t question his words. I’ve had so many fantasies of him as well. His must’ve been hard to reconcile before this weekend, considering he hadn’t seen me naked until two days ago.
“Is that your goal?” I ask, wrapping my arm around his back and pulling him in close to my side.
He goes easily enough, but I can still sense a hint of reluctance. Maybe us crossing the lines we have has altered what we had in some way. Before, he melted into me, took everything I had to offer. His resistance isn’t strong, but it’s still there in the tightness in his back, in the way he keeps his eyes forward instead of closing them and burying his face in my chest.
“What’s that?” he asks, not looking up at me.
“Nothing,” I whisper, no longer wanting to talk about the erection he’s giving me.
The man doesn’t seem too interested in turning things sexual, and I can take a hint.
This isn’t for show.
He doesn’t even have to repeat the words for them to run on a continuous loop in my head. Hell, with the way he’s acting, he didn’t have to say it at all.
Things are different between us, and dread starts to settle deep in my gut. Even with him pressed against me, I can feel the distance starting to grow.
Maybe that’s best for both of us.
In fact, the longer I think on it, the more it makes sense.
This weekend was a once-in-a-lifetime adventure, a chance to scratch those itches. I know it can’t continue. It’s not like we can go back to the real world and be together.
Nothing has changed.
He’s a client.
I don’t do relationships.
That doesn’t mean I can’t bleed this weekend of every ounce of what I can get from him. It doesn’t mean that I can’t make enough memories, so I don’t feel so lonely once he’s gone.
What I do know is that Archer Bremen will be the man that got away.
Chapter 22
Archer
I thought privacy and seclusion would be best. I intentionally made those plans, but it was clear up on that bluff that Brooks wasn’t okay with it.
Yeah, he liked the view, but I got the feeling early on that he didn’t like the fact that he was sharing it with me. My mood soured quickly, and it didn’t take us long to decide to head back to the hotel.
“I guess I should head home,” I tell him as he pulls into the self-park garage at the hotel. It doesn’t slip past me that he didn’t pull up to the valet even though when we left, that’s where he had to retrieve his vehicle from.
“Why?” he asks.
“I’ve been here two nights already.”
“And we have one more night together.”
One more night. If that isn’t proof of exactly what this is, then I don’t know what would be.
“I’m exhausted,” I tell him as he turns off the SUV.
“And I have a rather comfortable bed upstairs.”
I have no idea when I turned into the man who doesn’t speak his mind, but I just can’t seem to open my mouth and lay it all out to him. I know I’m avoiding doing so because I’m the one who read more into this weekend than I should’ve. Sex shouldn’t be so damned complicated. Me crossing that line emotionally isn’t his fault, although it doesn’t stop me from being a little pissed at him for not getting on the same page as me.
“Just to sleep?” I ask, turning my face to look at him for the first time since we left the nature trail.
His face is emotionless. I can’t tell if he’s upset, happy, or indifferent.
“Yeah. That’s fine.”
When we climb out of the vehicle, I know I should walk away, but I follow him instead. Come tomorrow, when the magical weekend is over, it’s going to hurt so fucking bad.
We don’t touch in the elevator. He doesn’t try to get me out of my bad mood even though I know he can feel it rolling off me. When he dips his head out of the elevator to make sure the hall is clear, I want to scream. He’s hiding. Is it from guilt? Shame? Embarrassment?