His smile fades. Returns. Fades again.
I sit at the edge of the bed, my hands pressed flat against the duvet and rose petals crushed beneath my palms, staring up at Caine and his fascinating changes of facial expression.
A little awkward when he was clearly ready to tear my clothes off a few seconds prior? Sure. But a lot less awkward than him sniffing me when I haven't showered yet.
His jaw tightens. Then relaxes. His lips twitch upward. Then down.
I clear my throat hesitantly, but he doesn't respond.
Nothing.
Oh—he's probably talking to someone in his head.
"So I'm gonna..." I gesture vaguely toward the bathroom door. "Shower?"
He blinks at me a few times, then nods once, slow and deliberate. I purposely do my best not to notice how his eyes drag down my body before doing so.
This is the most drawn-out sex scene of my life—not that I've had any—and I have no idea how to handle it.
Except, you know, to shower. So it can… proceed.
Ahem.
