Page 22 of Under The Twilight Rainfall
It’s like the high from a quick fuck—only it lingers. Every time I see it in his gaze or feel it in his touch, it’s like another dose that keeps me floating.
I’m losing my mind and losing the will to fight it off.
The resort isn’t like most hotels I stay at, but it’s fitting with the atmosphere of the island. It’s minimal, and I notice the single queen bed sits on a barren wooden frame, but I can’t even bring up a protest.
I take the first shower and think about the implications of this overnight trip. He says it’s so I can get some of the more intimate shots I haven’t had a chance for, ones I intersperse with all my travel photos because that’s what everyone asks for.
The thirst traps like the ones on the beach bring people to my private page, but I have to make sure they have something special to see when they get there.
Which means what I need is privacy to work myself over and get the money shots.
A privacy I won’t have with one bed and Valen sharing the small space.
I could probably ask him to step out. It’s not like he doesn’t know what I get up to. I’m sure he could find a way to entertain himself for an hour or two. Or someone to entertain him.
Like that guy from the bazaar who obviously wanted to ditch the stall and jump his bones.
Fuck. Thinking about Valen naked and fucking into someone shouldn’t make me this hard, but here my dick is, saluting like I purposefully called it to attention.
Dammit.
I want to thank Valen for booking this night because I obviously need the damn release, but I also want to curse him for not letting me have this alone.
Because I know I won’t ask him to leave.
I want him to watch me.
I want that high while I stroke my dick and finger my hole.
I don’t know if this will even be a toy kind of night—I think my hands will do more than enough for the camera.
Ignoring my persistent hard-on, I shut off the water and wrap a towel around my waist, fully intending to pop out, tell Valen the shower is free, and promptly grab clothes out of my bag—all without even looking in his direction.
Because I’m on the edge of breaking.
Of giving in.
I want to be touched.
Of course, as soon as I step in the room, I meet his eyes. A moth to a flame and all that bullshit. No matter what I tell myself, I’m inexplicably drawn to him over and over.
He’s on the bed with his laptop out and glances up when he hears me. A slow smile spreads across his face. His eyes are soft and kind, and it’s impossible to be mad at him when he looks at me like that.
When he looks at me at all.
Because it’s either caring or heat-filled and I’m weak to both.
“I need to prep.” I clamp my jaw shut so fast an ache spreads through, but at least I can pretend the flush rising in my cheeks is due to pain and not the fact that I meant I needed to prep thecameras,not myself—not yet, anyway.
He pulls his lip between his teeth, and I see his struggle not to blatantly stare because I haven’t moved out of the doorway and I’m still naked except for the towel.
The towel that is doing shit all to conceal the erection that won’t go away.
God, I need this.
“Don’t let me stop you,” he says, then clears his throat and drops his eyes. “I mean, just tell me where you need me.”
Trying not to read into the comment, I finally get my feet in motion and pull a pair of boxers out of my travel bag. There’s no point getting fully dressed when I’ll be naked in the next thirty minutes.
