The Virgin’s Guide to Misbehaving (Bluebonnet #4)(47)
Author: Jessica Clare

He groaned, prying her hand off his cock, even though it killed him to do so. “I would love to say yes, but tonight, we’re going to do things right. Me, you, a bed, and all the time in the world.”

She looked up at him, her eyes dark in the moonlight. Her fingers curled on his chest. “When do we get to do that?”

“As soon as we get off this damn beach.”

She glanced around, then peeked up at him. “Can we go now?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

They grabbed their shoes and headed back toward the hotel.

TWELVE

If Elise’s hand was a little sweaty and her fingers trembling as they walked back to the hotel, Rome didn’t comment on it. She was anxious. Of course she was. Hell, he was nervous, too, and he’d had sex before. He just wanted to make it amazing for her. More than amazing. He wanted to leave her with such incredible memories that she’d get over her awful shyness and the next man she dated could benefit from her blossoming.

Then he thought about another man touching her and wanted to put his fist through a wall. Elise was f**king his. It wasn’t fair. He didn’t want her to look at anyone else but him the way she was right now.

They got back up to their room. Elise pulled her hand from his and wiggled her toes on the carpet. “My feet are a mess. They’re all sandy.”

She seemed nervous, too. He hated that. He didn’t want her to be nervous around him, but he knew it was just the fact that they were going to have sex. At least, he hoped it was just that, and she wasn’t scared of him for some reason. “You want to go clean off in the bathroom?”

“That’d be great,” she agreed quickly, and disappeared inside. He figured it’d give her a chance to compose herself for a few moments and relax.

Which meant he could clean off his own sandy feet. He dropped his boots next to the front door, and grabbed a towel from the closet, then headed over to the hot tub–slash-bathtub in the corner of the room. He stripped off his wet jeans and adjusted his c**k in his boxers, already throbbing and aching with need. Just the knowledge that he was about to have sex with Elise meant he’d been walking around with a hard-on all night. She fired him up in every way.

With a wet towel, he cleaned off his feet, stripped off his shirt, and got under the covers to wait for her. He could hear the shower going, and pictures of Elise, na**d and wet and rubbing herself with soap, flew through his mind. Rome groaned at the thought and reached under the blanket to stroke his cock. He was already rock-hard and throbbing, and he could feel pr**cum beading the head of his cock. He’d have to pace himself tonight, or he wouldn’t be showing her anything but a three-minute man. And that, he didn’t want to do. He needed this to be special for her. Memorable.

Earth-shattering.

So he adjusted himself and tried to think of other things that would make his erection go away. Like prison. Yep, that always did it. Thoughts of the cells, and the beige uniforms, the endless days of lockup and monotony? The constant edge of worry that you were going to be jumped by someone with a grudge at chow line? He didn’t ever want to go back. Never again.

When his desire was under control, Rome glanced back at the bathroom door. It was silent in there, the water off, but Elise hadn’t emerged. He wondered if she was okay. Having second thoughts? Should he go in there and check on her? He started to get out of bed and then glanced down at his near na**d body. Damn it. Should he get dressed first? Put on clothes so as not to make her think he was demanding sex?

He didn’t want her to feel obligated to do anything. If she was having second thoughts, he understood that. Hell, maybe it’d be better if she did, considering he was abandoning her on Monday. Just thinking about that made his gut clench. Rome got out of bed and dragged out his bag, looking for a new pair of pants to put on. He’d dress, and then sit down and talk with Elise and ease her worries. He’d even get a second hotel room if it would make her more comfortable.

The bathroom door opened. He stopped, and got to his feet, dressed only in his boxers, and waited for her.

Elise came out of the bathroom dressed in nothing but a tiny white towel. Her hair was dry and pulled up into a loose bun atop her head. The towel was tucked under her arms, straining over her br**sts, the fold of the fabric revealing a slender, pale leg. She was na**d under the towel.

She also seemed really, really nervous.

Her gaze flicked to him, taking in his near nudity, and then moved back to his face. Then she dropped her gaze to the floor. “I wanted to show you,” she murmured, her voice barely audible. “Why . . . why I’m shy.”

His throat grew dry. He knew Elise, and he knew the courage this had to take for her to do. The light was on, and she was standing here before him in a towel, ready to bare to him whatever secrets she thought she had.

And in that moment, he was so damn proud of her for being so brave.

She turned her back to him, and she eased open the towel a bit. The fabric swept low, curving at her lower back, and he could see a faint scar, no wider than a pencil. It started at the base of her neck and ended at the dip of her lower back. On her hip, there was another scar, no more than six inches long.

He didn’t understand what it meant. She had scars. That . . . wasn’t terrible. He’d seen the line going down her back before and hadn’t asked. There had to be more to the story, so he waited.

He watched her shoulders raise as she took in a long breath, and then spoke. “When I was born, I had the birthmark on my cheek. I was very self-conscious about it, but my parents thought it made me special and unique, and they didn’t like the idea of me getting rid of it. I guess they didn’t realize how much it bothered me, because I’ve always been a little . . . withdrawn.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Then when I was twelve, I developed scoliosis. It’s a curvature of the spine, and instead of my back being a normal line, mine was an S shape. My rib cage was twisting around. I had to wear a back brace all day, every day, to try and correct it.”

Her head drooped and she looked so forlorn that his heart ached.

“Overnight, I went from ‘that weird kid with the cheek’ to ‘that weird kid with the brace and the cheek.’ Kids made fun of me. A lot. I started hiding out from school, and nearly failed out. My parents got me a private tutor, and I finished my schooling at home. And eventually my back got so bad that I had surgery.” She gestured at the slim column of her spine, marked with the scars. “They were able to fix most of it, but not all. I have the scars, of course. And my shoulders don’t match up.” She tapped her right shoulder. “This shoulder is lower than the other. My h*ps don’t align, either. They’re slightly . . . off, thanks to the surgery. They fixed everything they could, but it’s not perfect. It’ll never be perfect.” She choked on the word.