Page 51 of Reticent

He starts down the hall as I open the bedroom door. As much as I want to look back at him, I don’t.

Chapter Twenty

I’m trying to rub cocoa butter on my back when there’s a knock on my bedroom door. I get up from the bed and wipe my greased hands on my bare thighs.

“One second,” I say, looking around for something to cover myself since minutes after Hunter walked me to the guest room, I stripped down to my sports bra and low-cut boy shorts.

I grab my shirt and pull it over my head before opening the door. I almost have a mind to close it in his beautiful face. He’s shirtless, and with his hair wet from a recent shower, he’s not playing fair.

“What’s up?” I ask, training my eyes on his face.

“You left your phone downstairs.” He holds up my cell. Even in the muted light, I catch the subtle way his eyes dart to my thighs.

“Where?”

“On the couch.”

“I’m not surprised. I leave it everywhere.”

“Did I wake you?”

I shake my head. “No. I like to lotion before I go to bed. I know it’s a lot to ask, but can you help with my back?”

Sometimes Hunter is hard to read. As he stands in my doorway, still clutching my phone, this isn’t one of those times. I shouldn’t have asked.

“It’s not,” he says after a beat.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to.”

“No. I can do this.”

I can do this. That can be interpreted in a variety of ways. He can do this. But can I? I should make this easier on both of us and let him off the hook. But I don’t. Instead of turning him away, I open the door wider.

We can both behave, despite the sexual tension between us. It’s cocoa butter, for goodness' sake. Not lube, I tell myself as I lift my shirt over my head.

* * *

I underestimated how good Hunter’s hands would feel on me. We were supposed to stop at my back, but now I’m on my back.

“This feels so good,” I say drowsily with heavy lids.

He stills his slippery hands on the sides of my belly. “What about your legs?”

“Yes, please.”

A knowing smile curves his lips, and I know what he’s thinking. Yes, please is what I said that night when he offered to buy me another drink. It was the moment I knew I wanted to sleep with him. Back then, I told myself that I could survive one night with him. Anything more and I’d be asking for trouble. I still feel the same way, and yet here we are.

Relaxing into the mattress, I close my eyes as he works his magic with the tub of cocoa butter. The quiet in the room feels intense, but if we fill it with conversation, he’ll hear how turned on I am.

“Mind if we turn something on?” I ask. “A podcast? Music? News radio.”

The bed dips, and I open my eyes to see him reaching for my phone. “News radio?” he says with humor.

That’s the safest choice. “It’s just an option,” I say, sitting up on my elbows.

He hands me my phone. This is on me? I don’t listen to podcasts, and I read the news, not listen to it. A song it is. But which one?

“Let’s see.” I scroll through my phone with no clear direction. Slow tempo or fast? R&B or hip-hop? Maybe some lo-fi? It has to be something that fits the current vibe. But nothing too sexy and nothing too forward. Nothing that screams I love you or I want to make love to you.