She turns around with her back toward me.
Right, we are doing first-aid care.
I take her towel from the desk and wipe her back, which is wet from the shirt. Cleaning her is arousing as fuck, and I can’t hold back a smile.
Her skin is already tanned, her shoulders slightly burned, the white skin peeking from the edges of her lime bikini top. I want to lick those white lines off her skin to make it perfect.
S-s-stop.
I don’t know if it’s adrenalin, but I feel confident, unlike any other time around her. She is in my domain. Four years ago, I would’ve been too nice, talking some nonsense to distract myself. I’ve always been a good guy. Girls always came along. Archer got the feisty ones. I got the nice ones. I didn’t care.
Until her.
She is silent. I gaze at the scratch just beneath her bikini strings. It doesn’t need dressing. Maybe a swipe of an alcohol pad, that’s all. But hey, what wouldn’t a guy do to touch the girl he likes?
“Is it bad?” Her voice is low and soft, making my skin hum.
“You’ll live,” I say with a chuckle and toss the towel away.
My body rises to the awareness of her standing next to me. Alone. Unprotected. Willingly. I want to push her just a little to see where it goes.
So in one swift motion, I undo those ties on her bikini top and pull them down.
Her hands fly to hold her top at her breasts.
“Kai,” she snaps and wants to turn, but I place my hands on her waist to keep her in place.
I bring my lips to her ear. “They were on the way. Relax,” I say softly.
I love when she says my name.
I grin as I squeeze the ointment on my finger and touch her wound.
She flinches. The more I rub it in, the more her breath quickens.
So does mine.
Damn. Who would’ve thought nursing is so arousing?
The skin on her back is perfect to the touch. Her damp blond hair is pulled back and hangs like a messy rope along her spine. I push it to the side, just to touch more of her, my fingertips brushing her skin.
I squeeze more of the stuff on my fingers and rub it onto her scratch again.
She turns her head sideways as if trying to see what I am doing but says nothing.
I am gentle. Careful. I don’t want to spook her. And the more I touch her skin, the more I feel that energy rising inside me.
It’s not lust. Or that, too. But there is something else. The feeling of caring for her. I want to wrap my arms around her and hold her. I want to slide off her clothes and kiss her naked body. I want to pick her up, carry her to my bed, and wrap her in my sheets so that she smells like me. Besides other things, of course, that I want to do to her in my bed that make my cock stir in my board shorts. I want to dry her and make her wet in the right way.
The more I rub that stuff on her, the more I get aroused. And soon, my cock is rock-hard and pitches a tent in my board shorts.
I need to stop this, but I don’t want to.
Her skin breaks into goosebumps, and I chuckle.
“What’s funny?” she asks quietly.
“Goosebumps. It’s not cold here. Are you turned on, petal?”