Page 40 of Raff
“You underestimate me. I come with a lot of practice and knowledge. So you can come… well, so you can come.”
“And on that note, I’m going to wash off all those oils and serums they slathered on me before we talk food.”
“I’m pretty sure I still have that mud on my back,” he agreed as I unlocked my door. “Meet you here in half an hour? Forty minutes?”
“An hour?”
“Sounds good.”
“Hey, Raff,” I called to his retreating form.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. I can’t tell you how much I needed that.”
“Don’t have anything to thank me for.”
With that, he strode to his room and disappeared. Leaving me to step into my room, lean back against the door, and let out the pathetic, needy, aching whimper that I’d been tamping down since parting ways with Raff before the spa treatments.
I couldn’t tell you what it was.
Was it simply the talk about sex?
Just biological. Nothing personal.
Or was there more to it than that?
Something about him, in particular.
But why?
When he wasn’t my type. Not even close.
I couldn’t think of a situation in my past when I found myself attracted to someone that didn’t check off a list of very specific characteristics. Not the least of which being someone I could see a future with.
And Raff, well, Raff didn’t fit that future.
So maybe it was more about being close, being vulnerable, and being pampered by someone who felt safe and comfortable after being screwed over by someone whodidcheck all my boxes but ended up screwing me over worse than anyone else.
And as much as my body may have been reacting, logically I knew that I couldn’t let anything happen. Not when it wouldbe nothing more than an itch being scratched for me… and a lot more for Raff. It wouldn’t be fair to him to let anything happen.
I walked into the bathroom, shucked off the robe, and climbed into the shower, trying not to feel disappointment at my decision. But it was there underneath all the certainty that I was making the right choice. Because everything about Raff suggested it would be an incredibly satisfying time.
Even just the thought had desire pressing on my stomach, had a deep ache forming, had my heart racing.
It was going to be an impossibly long three more days in the car with him if I didn’t try to control my growing need.
My hand slid down my body and slipped between my thighs.
The problem was that when I closed my eyes and sank into the sensations, it was no longer just me in the shower. Raff was there in my mind, his hand replacing mine, his lips on my neck, his breath warm in my ear as he dirty-talked into my ear.
I came harder than I ever had on my own in that shower, loud moan and all, before I finished showering, dried off, and climbed out.
I removed my bonnet, fluffed my roots, smoothed my edges, and applied a small amount of leave-in conditioner to the strands. The dry heat had been stripping my hair of what little moisture it held onto naturally. Being in the car for days on end made wearing a bun less than ideal.
I skipped the makeup—thankful that the lash lift made it look like I had on mascara when I didn’t—then slipped into a lightweight sundress before stepping out of the bathroom.
And a small shriek escaped me.
