Page 21 of Sharing Silence

“Would you like to come up to my room, Dean?” There’s a chance that sentence merges into one, unintelligible word, but judging by Dean’s expression, he understood it.

He takes a small swig of his beer, running his tongue across his bottom lip after. I watch the movement, and excitement thrums between my legs at the idea of his tongue being in other places.

“Would it be just us?” he asks, searching my eyes. The bar suddenly feels too warm, too small. I hadn’t realized we were sitting so closely, but his knee brushes mine as he turns in his stool to face me.

“My husband … would be there.”

He takes my free hand, lacing his fingers through mine. “Joining us or watching?”

Oh, God. Suddenly, breathing is too difficult. “Watching. Maybe … lending a hand.”

Dean chuckles as he kisses the inside of my wrist, his lips warm, his gaze locked on mine.

“Yes, I’d like to come to your room,” he says, his eyes dancing with amusement, flecks of gold shining among a pretty collage of greens. “Can I kiss you first, though? I’ve been thinking about it since you sat down.”

Kisses. Touches. Moments shared before Zayden is close. We discussed this, too. Kissing is fine. A good way to determine if we’re a good fit, Zayden had said.

But I haven’t kissed another man in nine years, so I run through all this in my mind three times over before nodding.

Dean stands, towering over me, and with a gentle hand on my thigh, he opens my knees to stand between them. That same hand glides up my arm, goose bumps following the trail of his fingertips, until he finally cups my neck and tilts my head up.

I’m dizzy, my mind awash with excitement and fear, a cocktail of anxiety and arousal pulsing through my body that’s unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.

Dean glides his thumb across my bottom lip, his gaze flicking between my eyes as he moves closer.

When his lips meet mine, my blood ignites.

His cologne is different to Zayden’s, but no less intoxicating. His lips are soft, and his stubble tickles my chin. I grip his shirt, pulling him closer, his strong thighs flexing against my core as the kiss moves from a gentle brush of our lips to something more.

His grip moves to the back of my neck, controlling the angle of my head as his tongue sweeps lazily across mine. Heat erupts across my skin and slickness coats my thighs, my body reacting in ways I never thought it could.

The kiss breaks, and I pant softly against his lips.

“I’m really glad I sat at this bar,” he says, his voice low.

I grin. “Me too.”

Okay. We’re doing this.

I’m doing this.

Dean keeps hold of my hand as we walk through the restaurant. For a moment, I wonder if anyone recognizes that I’m with a man other than my husband, but it doesn’t matter. I’ll never see these people again, and I want this. I want it so much that I’m sure I drift across the lobby, only tethered to this earth by Dean’s touch.

“You okay?” he asks as we wait for the elevator. I nod. “Nervous?”

“Am I that obvious?”

“A little.” He guides me inside, and when the doors close, he kisses my shoulder. I close my eyes, leaning my head to the side. “You smell good.”

“Lavender body lotion,” I whisper, gripping his shirt as he kisses up my neck.

The doors open, and we walk hand in hand to the room. I’m trembling as I unlock the door and Dean follows me inside. It’s a suite, airy, beautiful, stylish, the windows looking out on the city set against the night sky. It’s stunning, the furniture plush and expensive looking, and any other time I’d be raiding the mini-bar, but tonight, all I can focus on is the bed. My heart thumps as I place my clutch on a side table, along with the keycard.

This is the first time another man has seen me naked in years, bar one unfortunate shower experience with Yale a while back. My anxiety swims fiercely through my blood as I decide the mini-bar is actually probably a good idea.

“Drink?” I squeak out, and he nods.

As I grab two beers, relishing in the cool air from the small refrigerator, Dean admires the suite.