Page 33 of The Rival in South Africa
I shoved him off me playfully. “Dinner won’t last forever. I’ll be back.”
As Alex shuffled over to the bar, a little stiff-legged, I walked out to the tent and dropped off my gear and made the aforementioned panty swapping. I was the last one to arrive back at the dining hall, and since Alex already had a drink for me, I took my seat.
Dinner was delicious, and I debated about suggesting we leave right away, but then dessert came out, and, well, if I had to choose between orgasms, dessert, or sleep, I’d be a well-fed, sleep-deprived zombie tomorrow.
The dessert was malva pudding, a South African classic that literally had me scraping the plate clean. I debated licking it, too, but while I knew Alex well, I didn’t know what his turn-offs might be. Plate-licking was too risky of a line to cross.
Alex made that noise again. “Ughnnnaaa.”
“So that’s a general blissed-out noise and not a sign of your sexual desires. Good to know.”
He contemplated his empty plate and the spoon in his hand, looking rather forlorn. “I’m not saying it was as good as sex. But…”
“I think we should head back to the tent before you finish that statement.” I stood up, tugging Alex along with me.
We said our goodnights and rolled ourselves—they were big portions of dessert—back to the tent.
I switched on the lights, stripping off my outer layers, and Alex immediately tried to tug me toward the bed. “Oh, don’t,” I said, sounding prissy, even to my own ears. “I’m still all dirty from the drive.”
“Someone was too busy with their camera to shower, unlike myself, who is squeaky clean.”
“Well then, I guess you won’t be showering with me.”
Alex grinned. “I can guess exactly what would happen in that scenario. We’d be in the shower together, get distracted, the well water would run out, and everyone would hate us because there’d be no water for the rest of our stay.”
I laughed and smacked his arm. “Right then, off I go. You can keep the bed warm.”
“You seem to be mistaken. I’m not showering with you, but Iamwatching.”
“Excuse me?” I said, mock-affronted.
“If I’m invited to shower with you, I’m invited to watch. Or, at the very least, perform my ablutions in the same room as you showering. Anything to get us moving faster.”
He hauled me off the bed and frog-marched me into the washroom. Alex stood at the sink with his toiletry bag, digging through for floss and toothpaste. I met his eyes in the mirror and raised an eyebrow.
He raised one back, and I swept my shirt off over my head. We held eyes while I moved to my shorts, unbuttoning them and letting them drop to the floor. I broke eye contact to pull my sports bra off over my head, and Alex’s hands slowed while twining his floss around a finger. His gaze held mine again.
I dug my thumbs under the waistband of my underwear, and a muscle twitched in his cheek. His hands had completely stopped moving. In this game of chicken, I was winning.
I dropped my underwear. Alex blinked. And then dropped his gaze to run, very thoroughly, up and down my body.
Wait. Did I win? Or did he?
I ducked the question by climbing into the shower stall. I washed quickly, and when I stepped out, Alex waited with a towel.
He was naked, the towel outstretched to wrap around me, conveniently hiding his goods.
He gently ran the towel over my face, pushing my hair back. The expression had shifted from horny to tender, and he toweled me off, rubbing my arms and back.
He twisted the towel around to my back and pulled it closed between us.
This time I broke, looking him up and down. Alex was all long and lean, the body of a man who worked out fastidiously for the health benefits and probably ignored a few too many meals while he worked.
He was hard, too, his cock bobbing between us. I let him hold the towel while I wrapped a hand around him. Alex tugged the towel, pulling me closer and reaching down to kiss me.
The kiss was languid until I squeezed my fist, and Alex threw the towel off behind me and scooped me up, carrying me to bed.
I bounced lightly on the bed. “We don’t have condoms.”
