Time (Laws of Physics #3)(61)

“Abram. Talk to me. Please.”

He cursed, flipped off the shower, turned completely around while reaching for a towel to hide his glorious engorged erection. The action left me feeling uncertain, so I plucked a washcloth off the counter and used it as a fig leaf of sorts for my vagina, covering my breasts with my arms.

“Mona,” he began, frowning at where I held the tiny square in front of myself. Shaking his head as though to clear it, he started again, “Mona. Last night, you shared yourself with me. I am so appreciative that you trusted me, thank you. And, because of what you shared, I’m doing my very best here, trying to keep my hands to myself. Which—” he glanced down at the tented towel at his pelvis “—I am incapable of doing while you’re next to me touching yourself.”

During his speech, I’d opened and closed my mouth many, many times, mostly planning to object, or question the validity of his logic. Conversely, as I listened and I realized the truth—that he was trying to be respectful and save me a visit to shame town—I snapped my mouth shut.

Glaring at me like I was a roast beef sandwich he’d been denied (the most exceptional of all sandwiches), he cleared his throat, stretched his neck, and waited.

At first, I didn’t know what to say. I mean, he had a good point. But on the other hand, no. Hadn’t he been the one to suggest me taking the lead last night? So why was he—Oh!

“Ohhhhhh!” I nodded, my nods slow and exaggerated. “I get it!”

He gave his head a subtle shake. “What do you get?”

“You want me to dominate you, tell you what to do.”

Abram flinched, sucking in a breath.

But before he could speak, because that was my job now, I tossed the washcloth back to the counter and once again stood before him proudly, hands on my hips.

“Abram, my love, please step out of the shower.”

He lifted an eyebrow over narrowed eyes, his lips parting and his jaw shifting to one side, a spark of something in his stare that had me grinning. Was that defiance? How wonderful.

Eventually, he did it. He stepped out of the shower, letting the towel shift to his hip where he gripped it in one hand.

His eyes struck me as sardonic and so did his tone as he asked, “What now?”

“We’re going back to the bed.” I mean, obviously, right?

I watched as he took a deep breath, like he was steadying himself. With reluctant movements, he began using the towel to dry his skin.

“No,” I said, frowning.

“No?”

“Don’t dry off. I want you wet.”

He blinked again, like my words landed somewhere sensitive. His grin a tad incredulous, but also amused, he nodded and placed the towel on the edge of the tub. My gaze dropped to his erection and I licked my lips, the electricity of excitement making me restless.

Crooking my finger as I backed out of the bathroom, I motioned to him. “Come on.”

Turning, I didn’t wait to see if he would follow and crossed to the bed, standing at the edge of it, waiting for him to appear and nervously worrying my lip.

With the males of my previous acquaintance, providing directions before and during intercourse had felt a bit like giving a lecture, or explaining how to make poached eggs. But with Abram, I was a bundle of nerves, wanting to make this good for him, wanting to make it amazing like he’d done for me.

The main impediment as far as I could tell was my libido. I was already so incredibly turned on. Therefore, I concluded, I would just have to take things slow, get him worked up with foreplay in order to ensure his orgasm was pleasurable.

Go slow. I nodded at the assertion.

He appeared in the doorway, and I straightened. Realizing I’d been twisting my fingers, I stopped, scratched the back of my neck, and then pointed to the mattress. “Lie down. In the center.”

Saying nothing, Abram strolled to and stopped just two decimeters in front of me. His eyes on mine, making my heart beat like crazy, and I recognized something about myself. The fear was back. Just like before, it made everything brighter, colors sharper, my skin too tight, my breasts heavy, so heavy, sensitive.

Huh.

But before I could give this realization much thought, Abram’s eyes dropped to my mouth, heated. He swayed forward, like my lips were magnetic. The way he looked—again, like a tiger pacing in a cage—sent a sharp thrill from the top of my skull to the base of my spine. I shivered.

I actually owned a pair of tiger-print underwear and matching bra, and I’d brought it with me. Note to self, wear sexy tiger underwear today.

His eyes cut back to mine. His jaw worked.

“Lie down,” I whispered, holding his gaze.

He did.

He lay down. In the center of the bed. His body visibly tense. His hands balled into fists. His muscles flexing. And his gorgeous penis. Sigh.

Swallowing the thirst, I climbed onto the bed, now on all fours, and crawled to where he lay. Nudging his legs apart with one of mine, I placed a knee between his thighs, my hands on either side of his torso, and bent to lick the water from his chiseled abdominal muscles.

Oh yeeeeah.

Desire pooled low and insistent in my belly. He flinched, then groaned, his penis pressing tenaciously against my stomach, hard and hot, smooth like silk. I gripped it. He was rock hard.

I felt dizzy. My sex clenched around nothing, reminding me of how neglected it was, how empty, and—