3. Henry
I’m tryingto come up with a polite way to ask if maybe she can crank the heat, just until I recover from walking all the way over here right after showering, when she finally flips the deadbolt and turns to look at me.
The moment her eyes meet mine, they flare with interest, and suddenly I don’t need the heat on. If anything, I need to start taking my clothes off.
Whoa, slow down there, buddy. She’s not one of your usual conquests.
Well, that’s not entirely true. She’s an out of towner, only here for one more night, and hot as hell. There’s just something about her, something that’s caught me a little off guard even in the minimal amount of time we’ve spent together so far. The same thing that had me saying dumb shit when I was trying to hit on her.
This isn’t how things usually go. Normally, I lay all the groundwork before I end up in the bedroom. I’ll spend the better part of the night chatting someone up, getting to know them a little and letting them get to know me. I barely had a chance to get my flirt on with Gia. We’ve barely had any conversation at this point. All I know is that she’s drop dead gorgeous, has kind eyes, is smart as hell, and is different. I’m not sure how she’s different yet, but I already know I like it.
That, and it’s clear that she’s a little nervous. She hasn’t stopped flicking the ring on her thumb since I stepped foot into her room.
“This is a really nice room.” I manage to tear my eyes away from hers. Slowly turning, I take it in. I’ve never actually been in any of the rooms here at the bed and breakfast. No reason to when my parents own and run a lodge nearby. And as much as the rooms we have out at the lodge are nice, this is super updated.
Right in the center is a queen bed decked out in a soft-looking sky-blue comforter. A simple wrought iron frame made up of all clean lines lifts the mattress high off the ground.
There’s a tiny area that looks like a mini kitchen just off to one side next to what looks like the door that leads into the lobby of the bed and breakfast. The walls are lined with an interesting green wallpaper with a geometric pattern. There’s a long desk along one side of the wall, very sleek, with a modern desk chair that looks less comfy than fashionable. I spot her luggage sitting in the corner next to the desk.
Her suitcase is splayed open with clothes spilling out. There are at least two pairs of shoes that were clearly kicked off without a second thought. The bed’s made, but I can tell that she just threw the covers on in a way that looked neat. Actually, now that I look, there’s stuff everywhere, all spread out in no discernible order.
Gia wasn’t wearing much makeup when we met at The Well, but if she liked makeup, my guess is that her bathroom counter would be a nightmare.
Not that I’m judging. It’s not my business how she keeps her space. It’s just…not how I would do things.
“Thanks, it’s a lot nicer than I was prepared for.”
Her silky-smooth voice distracts me from the urge to tidy up. I let my eyes linger on the bed for a moment before I take a seat at her desk. It’s as stiff and uncomfortable as I expected, but I’m not planning on sitting for long, so it doesn’t matter. Swiveling the chair, I look over to where she’s still standing by the door.
“Did you think you’d be staying in some roadside motel that rents by the hour?” Quirking an eyebrow, I cross my leg and rest my ankle on my knee.
“No, of course not.” My question shocks her, and she laughs, visibly relaxing. “I don’t know. I live in the city. I haven’t really spent a lot of time in small towns. But the ratings for this place seemed good, so I booked it.”
“I’m glad you did.”
A sweet flush spreads across the bridge of her nose, making me grin even harder. “I’m glad too.” She clasps her hands in front of her, then unclasps them and lets them hang at her sides, then places them on her hips. After a moment, she drops her arms again and walks over to the bed.
Dropping onto it, she sinks into the plush comforter with her legs crossed. Mirroring me. When she’s finally situated, she sits on her hands and looks to me. “So, I don’t really do this.”
“Do what?” I know exactly what she means, but I get the feeling that having to explain might make her blush again. And I really want to see her blush again. That, and I do want to hear what she has to say.
I’m sure she thought I came here expecting sex, and it’d be nice if that happened, but I don’t expect anything from her. She might not even like me enough to let me kiss her.
And when was the last time that happened?
Not in a while. Women don’t tend to turn me down if I’m interested. I’m not cocky—well, not that cocky; it’s just the truth of the matter.
“This.” Raising her eyebrows, she pulls a hand out and gestures between the two of us.
“What are we doing, Gianna?” Her name rolls off of my tongue, and I like the way it feels. Dropping my leg, I lean forward, pressing my forearms onto my thighs.
“The random one-night-stand hookup thing. It’s not really my MO.”
“What is your MO?” She’s definitely not the first woman I’ve hooked up with who said they didn’t usually “do this kind of thing.” Some of them actually mean it, others definitely don’t. They just like to pretend.
I’m inclined to believe Gia. The nervous energy coming off of her doesn’t lie. I’m hoping that talking for a bit eases those nerves.
Normally, I’d just go with it. I never asked any of those other women what they usually do, but for some reason, with Gia, I want to know. I want her to be eager, not nervous.
Something about her innately has me wanting her comfortable, and wanting this as much as I do. Which has my brain all jumbled up. Hookups are fun, but normally if I get a whiff of nerves from someone I’m trying to get with, I just call it a night. No harm done. But most of the time, the girls I get with are just as ready to hop into bed as I am.
Gia… I want to give her some more of my time for reasons I truly can’t figure out.
“Long-term relationships with men who always end up being the absolute wrong person for me.”
She says it so matter-of-factly that I almost miss the small wince at the end. Clearly, the long-term relationship route hasn’t been working out for her. And she probably didn’t mean to say the last bit.
“You know we don’t have to do anything, right?” I get the feeling she needs to hear the words almost as much as I need to say them.
“You’d just, what? Leave?” Her mouth drops open, and the disbelief on her face confirms my suspicions.
“I mean, yeah, of course. If you wanted me to. Or we could just hang out. The diner’s open until pretty late if you want to grab a snack.” The offer to stick around even if sex is off the table flies out of my mouth faster than my brain can process what I’m saying.
Before I can backpedal, I realize that I don’t want to. There’s something here that has me really wanting to stick around for whatever reason I can.
Not exactly my MO.
Sticking around if there’s no sex on the table sounds a lot like relationship or friendship territory. Neither of which I’m looking for.
Well, a friend would be nice enough, but (a) she’s leaving, and (b) I don’t really have the time with how much I work, so even if she wasn’t leaving, it’s not realistic.
It’s simpler and more in line with where my life is to just stick to the one-night stands.
“You really mean that, don’t you?”
“I do.”
“You know, I actually believe you.” She seems pleased with the discovery that I’m not a liar, almost like she’s used to dealing with liars more often than not.
“Is it a general rule to be skeptical of what people say, or just with men?”
Her eyebrows shoot up, and a laugh tumbles out of her lips. “Men, usually. I tend to trust what people say and then find out down the line that it’s been lip service the entire time. But you’re pretty blunt, aren’t you?”
I’d be worried that maybe I stuck my foot in my mouth, but she’s smiling as she asks. “I’m the youngest of five. I learned a long time ago that if I wanted my parents to pay attention to what I was saying, I had to be straightforward. But I lean toward the truth as a general rule. Just so you know.”
“I like straightforward.” Her caramel eyes don’t leave mine, but her expression turns suddenly serious.
No, not serious.
Smoldering. She’s smoldering.
I take a moment to really look at her. When I saw her at the bar, I knew I needed to talk to her. Her light brown hair was swept up into a ponytail, with a few loose strands framing her face. I liked the way she was smiling at her phone, although I was happy to hear she was reading and not texting some guy.
Now, she’s got her hair piled on top of her head in a bun. It looks darker, probably wet from a shower. Her lips tip up into a soft smile, and all I can think of is how much I want to kiss her. She’s wearing a dark green pajama set that looks comfortable and soft. It’s snug enough that I can see her curves, but loose enough that I’m itching to see what’s underneath.
She’s stunning. Point blank. And when we spoke? I just wanted to know more. I still do.
“I like you.” The truth, no matter how ridiculous it sounds considering how little time we’ve spent together, trips off my tongue.
Even after a long moment of silence, I can’t seem to regret the claim.
“You don’t know me, Henry.” The teasing lilt of her voice tells me that we’re still on the same page.
“I could get to know you.” Leaning forward, I clasp my hands together.
“You’d like to get to know me?”
“Absolutely. You shouldn’t sound so surprised. I’m sure there are plenty of guys out in the world who would.”
“You’re coming on to me.” Clear interest flares behind her eyes, and this is what I love.
The back and forth. Banter. It all adds to the experience.
“That’s kind of what this all is, Gianna. I’d rather be making you come, but whether that happens or not is entirely up to you.” I sit back, unclasping my hands, and try not to focus on what’s going on in my pants.
Am I losing my touch? Getting hard from just a simple conversation with a girl?
“And if I say I’d be interested in that?” She tilts her head to the side and narrows her eyes just enough that the caramel brown is almost nonexistent.
“Are you interested?”
“I’m leaving in the morning.”
“I don’t usually do repeat performances.” That’s only a half lie. I don’t normally. Milly Carter, a friend and occasional hookup from high school, is a different situation, but she’s almost never in town, meaning we almost never hook up anymore, so it’s not worth the mention.
Gia considers my words, and I witness the moment she decides for sure where she wants this to go. In the next beat, she stands and strips out of those pajamas. I blink, and she’s standing in front of me in red cotton panties and a matching bra. Her brief moments of boldness are such a turn on, I have to bite back a groan.
I let my eyes drag down her body, snagging on every curve and dip. Her skin is a light tan that I suspect persists year-round, despite the season. There’s a freckle just above her navel, and my mouth waters just thinking about getting my tongue on her.
Without another word, I stand and pull my long sleeve tee off in one fell swoop. I let her look at me for a moment before saying anything myself. I can feel her eyes as they roam over my exposed skin, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t flex a little.
I don’t work out all that much, but the nature of my job keeps me pretty fit. I’m solid, and I know how I look. I look good.
I most definitely feel it when her eyes snag the CGM that I have on my stomach. Normally, the women I have sex with don’t bother asking about it. Even when I volunteer the information, they’re more interested in getting to the main attraction.
But I get the feeling that Gia will want to know.
“It’s a monitor for my blood sugar. I’m a type 1 diabetic.” I shift to show her the insulin pump site on the back of my arm. “I’ve got a pump that delivers the insulin I need. I use this kind of bandage over it just to keep it secure.” I mention it because the only time women tend to worry about the devices I use is if they think they’ll rip them out accidentally. Which, to be fair, could happen. I’ve almost done it accidentally a couple of times myself.
“Oh, okay. Thank you for telling me.” Concern starts to cloud her eyes, and I definitely don’t want that. Part of the allure of one-night stands is that the women don’t usually care about me beyond what I can do for them physically.
“No worries. It’s not a big deal. I just wanted to let you know. I promise I can still fuck with the best of them.”
Why the hell would I say that? This woman”s got me all twisted up in the head.
I can tell she has more questions, but I don’t want this to derail us, so I take a few steps forward until I’m standing right in front of her. Being over six feet tall puts me at a serious height advantage in most things, but I swear it makes kissing people much shorter than me a pain in the neck.
Literally.
Gia’s sitting at around five eight, so thankfully, it’s not a hardship kissing her.
Leaning down, I dip my head to her ear. “Is it okay if I kiss you now?” I drag my nose down her jaw, bringing my face a few inches in front of hers, and wait for her to answer.
And her answer is so clear I couldn’t miss it if I tried. Her lips gently press against mine; her body sways into mine.
I let her control the pace of the kiss, keeping it soft and sweet. When I don’t pull her in closer or slip my tongue into her mouth, a low, frustrated sound escapes her.
And then her arms are up and around my shoulders, and her fingers are in my hair. Looping my arms around her waist, I pull her in closer and try to bend low enough to accommodate our height difference.
In the next second, she jumps and wraps her legs around my waist, completely negating the issue.
“You’re annoyingly tall,” she mumbles against my lips as she adjusts against me.
She captures me in another kiss before I can respond, so I just smile against her lips. My hands travel up and down her back, and I slip my fingers just beneath the band of her bra.
A rough tug jerks my head back and pulls a sharp gasp from me. I swallow a moan at the aggressive move and try to tamp down the arousal coursing through my veins. I don’t want to rush this. Not even a little bit. But fuck, this feels almost too good.
In this position, Gia and I are more or less at eye level, and when I meet her gaze, there’s annoyance very clearly twinkling in her eyes.
“Why aren’t you doing anything?” she demands, squeezing her thighs around me.
It takes me a moment to respond because I’m still trying to figure out why her pulling my hair like that has me so keyed up. Then she does it again, angling my head back so she’s almost looking down at me.
This time I can’t contain the moan that slips out, and I watch as she realizes she’s the one who made that happen. Her fingers quickly loosen, and she drops her hand to my shoulder, her eyes wide. For just a millisecond, her eyes smolder impossibly darker before they shutter, leaving me almost cold with the loss of the fire in them.
I clear my throat and finally answer. “I’m not trying to rush this, and I actually really like making out.”
“Is this how you always kiss the women you hook up with?”
As I open my mouth to respond, I realize the answer is no. But she’s not them. Not even a little bit, it seems.
It’s not like I treat anyone badly…but the women I usually hook up with tend to do this kind of thing just as often as I do. Or at least more regularly than Gia. So maybe I am pumping the brakes a little more than I usually do.
By the time I figure out how to voice that, she beats me to it.
“I trust that you know how to show a girl a good time. So feel free to do the same for me.”
The conviction in her voice is so honest and real that I only hesitate for one heartbeat before doing just that.