Free Bittersweet by Sareeta Domingo

at him over my shoulder. He shakes his head, his eyes darting from my ass and back up, until I point at the right one. Just him looking at me like that makes me feel sexier than I’ve ever felt before. I stand in front of the door to his room, and suck in a breath as he steps behind me, reaches around, and slips his old-fashioned key in the lock, then leans down to kiss the exposed skin on my shoulder before pushing it open.
    I take a few steps inside. The room is bigger than I expected, with homely furnishings and an amber glow coming from the lamp next to the bed. Greg’s duffle is on the floor, with a few T-shirts and boxer shorts spilling out of it. I turn around as I hear him close the door and lock it again. Suddenly I’m nervous. I hover in the middle of the room, then reach over and drop my jacket on a chair in the corner. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror over the dresser, my hair wild, my eyes wilder.
    Greg pulls the envelope out of his pocket and puts it on the dresser, then takes a few steps closer to me. “You OK?”
    I nod. Some of my bravado has definitely drained away now. I glance at the bed, its covers pulled taut with hotel corners, obviously. He takes another step toward me, real close, and tilts my chin up to him. His eyes scan mine like I might have some answer he’s looking for. When he speaks, his voice is a whisper. “I don’t know if I…” He stops, clearing his throat. “I mean, my offer still stands. I can walk you home if—”
    I stop him with my lips. Guess a little proximity to him is all it takes to get my bravado back. I push my own worries about his doubts to the back of my mind. Especially because now he’s returning my kiss slowly, his hands staying on my shoulders, in my hair, his tongue moving gently. I open my eyes for a moment, and his are squeezed shut, his eyebrows raised, like he’s savoring me. My heart swells and contracts inexplicably, and I close my own eyes so I can feel it—or so I can block it out. I move my tongue more urgently, trying to take the kiss to a less emotional place, and soon a fire ignites again, and his hands begin to wander. Down my neck, running along the low neckline of my shirt and then inside it, one finger slipping into the cup of my bra, catching against my nipple as it hardens. He groans quietly and pulls back.
    “Cathy, I’m not sure we should do this…” he breathes.
    I blink at him. “Seriously?” I whisper. He doesn’t say anything, just brushes his thumb gently down the center of my bottom lip, staring at my mouth with a frown between his brows, his chest rising and falling hard. “OK. Well, yeah … you are hideous,” I say, my voice hoarse with desire. “And a terrible kisser, so there’s that. I’m definitely not turned on. So actually, yeah you’re right. What are we doing?”
    I hate that I always turn to sarcasm, but I love that he doesn’t seem to mind. A slow grin spreads across his face and he laughs, that deep, velvety laugh that makes me lose my cool. I reach down and pull off the slip of material that passes for my shirt, then wrap my arms back around his waist. He shakes his head at me with a wry smile still on his lips, but then he leans down, and those lips are on my collarbone. He edges me back and we fall onto the bed. I scoot up and fling off some of the twenty-five throw pillows, chuckling. I kick off my boots and he does the same, and pulls off his socks. I point to his T-shirt.
    “That too.”
    He sits up on his heels and the bed bounces. I stare as he peels off his top, especially when his face is obscured for a moment while he pulls it over his head. I have to resist the urge to mouth Oh My God to myself. His body. Is. Insane. I had no idea so many tight muscles could be contained in such a slender frame. I reach over and run a hand over his abdomen experimentally, like I don’t quite believe he’s real. His muscles are hot and tense to the touch. Definitely real. He pulls my hand away and