Page 30 of The Senator: Raphael

“Alone? What’s appealing about that?”

“I don’t know. Taking some time for yourself, I guess.”

He seems to think about it but doesn’t say anything.

Two hours, countless shootings, a gazillion explosions, and a destroyed city later, he’s finally slouching on the couch with popcorn peppering his t-shirt.

“So? It wasn’t that bad, was it?” I say, grabbing the remote and shutting the massive screen off.

He chuckles. “No. It wasn’t bad.”

“Look at your phone,” I suggest.

At the beginning of the movie, he kept checking his cellphone, but after a while he completely forgot about it. He grabs it from the sofa and his eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

“See? Nobody called or texted you. The world kept turning without you pushing it,” I tease.

“Smartass.” He smirks at me, standing up and offering a hand to help me stand too.

“So, what next?” he asks.

“It’s almost midnight. We’re going to bed. I think?” I notice him stiffen as I say it.

He played it cool before, when he was convincing me to sleep in his bed, but he’s uncomfortable too. It’s an awkward situation: we’re two grown adults perfectly aware that we can share a bed without being intimate, but it’s still unsettling, even if the reasoning behind it is right.

I head to the master bathroom first, and when I walk out to the bedroom, I find him wearing dark gray boxer briefs and a black t-shirt. My mouth dries and my eyes pop as I watch his perfect body bend to peel down the duvet just enough for him to slip under it. I can’t do it. How can I sleep next to a gorgeous, half-naked man and not have wet dreams about him? This is pure torture.

“Are you wearing that?” he asks, puzzled.

I look down at my hoodie and leggings and sigh. “When I packed, I thought I was going to sleep alone in another room, and I didn’t pack anything appropriate.” I feel my cheeks blushing.

“Please, put on what you normally wear. Don’t change just because I’m in the same room. It looks uncomfortable to sleep in that,” he pleads.

“Trust me, this is uncomfortable but way better,” I insist.

“Listen. We’re going to spend a lot of time together. We’re going to see very intimate aspects of each other’s life, and I’m not even talking about sex. Can we just rip off the band-aid and get it over with? It’s already weird choosing one side of the bed when I usually sleep in the middle, I can’t wake up and find you strangled by your hoodie. Unless you sleep naked, I can handle it!”

I huff. “I don’t sleep naked, but remember thatyouwanted this when I walk out of that door.” I point a finger at him.

He stifles a laugh and shakes his head, clearly not fazed. When I walk out five minutes later in a silk gray camisole and matching culottes—without underwear—his eyes widen and his mouth drops open.

“Fuck,” he blurts out under his breath.

I stroll to my side of the bed with a smug smile. I warned him my hoodie and leggings were better, but he didn’t listen to me.

“Fuck,” he whispers again after turning off the light.

Yeah. This will be one hell of a year, living with an attractive stranger, surrounded by luxury, pretending to be his fiancé. A hell of a year for sure. Hell, I suppose, seems to be the operative word for my entire life.

I lightly kiss the spot under her ear. She catches her breath. I smile because I knew it. It’s been a month since Silver moved in with me and we’ve had the chance to make out a lot. I’ve learned that she whimpers in pleasure if I grab the hair on her neck, she molds herself completely to my chest when I kiss her, she likes to snuggle in my arms when she sits on my lap like she’s doing this morning. Her skin smells like mango, like her bodywash, and her hair has the strawberry scent of her shampoo.

I’ve learned a lot about her in this month and it’s addictive. I’ve never spent enough time with the same woman to learn the little things about her. I’ve forgotten how it feels. How familiar and comfortable it can be. There’s something so attractive about sharing small, intimate moments with the same person and not feeling the need to go out and have sex with someone new. Don’t get me wrong, I’m always horny when I’m around her because she’s sexy and smart, but sex is not the only thing that crosses my mind when I’m with her.

I nip at her neck, and she squeals. “Raphael, seriously. There’s a limit to what I can take without jumping you. My nipples are poking out of my bra. Stop it!” she whisper-shouts.

I chuckle. “Well, you’ll give a hell of a show to the pool guy.” I glance at the dark-haired dude staring at us. “He’s been cleaning the same spot in front of our window since we started breakfast.”

She stiffens. “Is he still there? We’ve been here half an hour!” I know she wants to turn and look, but she can’t without getting caught.

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