Page 71 of Being Lost

“Wine?” he repeats, looking confused. Then he grins. “Sure, I can get a prospect to bring up a bottle. I think there’s some behind the bar.” He unwraps his hands, puts my e-reader down, and reaches for me again.

Feeling as nervous as a teenager about to have her first time, heaven help me, I come to a decision with one last objection. “Just let me get changed.”

His eyes rake me from head to toe. I’m dressed in what I normally wear to bed, sleep shorts and a tank top, no bra. He lazily raises an eyebrow. “Don’t bother on my account, babe.”

He’s not going to let me put on my armour. But truth be told, I’m covered in more than I’d wear at the beach. While there’s no doubt my lack of clothing might provide easy access to wandering hands, I’m certain Lost is speaking the truth, and if I withhold my consent, those appendages of his will behave.

My last delaying tactic having failed, I let him take my hand. For some reason, it’s trembling.

His room is at the end of the corridor. As he opens the door, I step inside. Immediately I’m taken aback.

“Wow, you weren’t kidding.” His is much nicer than mine. Twice the size at least, divided into a bedroom space and a comfortable seating area with a television and music system. There’s a turntable and a shelf taken up with old-fashioned LPs. A desk with a laptop and papers spread out over the top is off to one side. Because of its size there are two windows, being at the end of the block it’s double aspect, offering two different views. One, out across the front of the compound, and the other looking down over the city and I can see the ocean in the distance. “This is nice,” I tell him.

He gives a dismissive shrug. “I’m comfortable here.” Taking out his phone, he places my request for wine, then grimaces, and turns to me. “No wine. But Wrangler can rustle up a jug of margaritas if you want that?”

Sounds good to me. I nod, then cross to the window, looking out at the view. Within moments, I feel a heat at my back, then I’m surrounded by his arms.

“You can see for miles.”

“Uh-huh,” he remarks, nuzzling my neck, making me tilt my head to the side, his gentle touch sending sensations flooding through me as he finds the pulse point and sucks gently.

Before my legs go completely weak, suddenly wanting to take the initiative, I pull out of his grasp and swing around, placing my palms against his cheeks, applying pressure so he understands what I want and brings down his mouth to meet mine.

His kiss is sinful, full of promise. First his arms hold me to him, both around my waist, then one slips down, palming my ass and holding me against him.

My God. He’s hard. And if that bulge is anything to go by, his cock is large, like the rest of him.

His tongue demands entry and invades, mine meets his. I love his taste, can’t get enough of him. This close I can smell a lemony scent tinged with the aroma of leather. Rising on tiptoe, I try to get closer though there’s not much distance between us.

When the knock sounds on the door, Lost curses, and steps back. “Stay right here,” he warns, before crossing the room. Without opening the door fully, he takes something then closes it, then settles the jug of margaritas down, before coming back and taking me again into his arms. “Now, where were we?”

I feel emboldened, and point to his lips, then touch mine. “I believe we were kissing.”

“Hmm mmm.” He rubs his beard against my face. “We were, weren’t we?” The surprisingly soft beard tickles rather than scratches. “That book you were reading? Reckon that fella’s got a beard like mine?”

Jesus. I hope he has. And that the effect he had on that woman’s pussy is the same effect Lost will have on mine. Mine? I’m rushing things here even though they’re only in my head.

Or, perhaps, Lost is on the same wavelength. “Want to find out, Patsy?”

I haven’t touched a drink yet tonight, so it’s him I must be drunk on. Because heaven help me, here in his room, so close to his bed, there’s nothing else I want more. Taking things slow be damned. For once in my life, I want sex as it’s written about in books, to see if any of that could be real. If I leave here tomorrow, I’d rather know what it could be like, than think forever that I might have lost my one chance to find out.

I raise my hand, smooth it down his cheek, then brazenly tug at his beard. “Why don’t you show me?”

His eyes darken as his pupils dilate. “You sure, babe?”

I swallow hard once, then twice. “I’m sure.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Patsy

I’m sure.I might have had plans to take this slowly, but hell, life’s for living, isn’t it? Even if this is just the once, I should reach out and take what he’s offering.

When his hands move, his fingers closing around the bottom hem of my tank, any remaining uncertainty flees. Only one insecurity remains. I’d prefer to leave my clothes on and turn off the light.

He’s moving too fast.Slow, I need slow.I’m turned on, but not enough to bare my not-as-young-as-it-was body to him. But it’s as if he knows. All he’s doing is pulling it away from my skin, so his hands, not his eyes, can explore.

Cautiously, his hands roam higher until he cups my breasts in his hands. Feeling him fondling and weighing them, I blush once more, knowing they’re not perky or as firm as they once were.

---