Her clit was so sensitive that her first touch was almost painful, so she backed off, caressing the edges and top of the parting between her legs.
The water shut off in the bathroom. The fan was still whirring. Shuffling suggested a towel running over firm flesh.
Maybe Mitchell manscaped his chest and tummy to better show off his abdominal muscles. If he worked out as much as she suspected, she wondered if his lower tummy had that sexy vee where his obliques would slant under his underwear’s waistband.
Or maybe he didn’t shave that impressive chest of his, and coarse masculine hair softened his pecs and condensed to a dirty little happy trail down his lower belly.
The place between her legs grew more sensitive, even uncomfortably swollen.
The way he tilted his head and smiled at her rose in Arielle’s mind, and how his lips felt on her neck and when he sucked her nipple were so clear that she could almost feel his mouth on her.
Arielle was just beginning to venture near the exquisitely sensitive nub again when the bathroom door’s lock snapped, and a hinge grated.
She snatched her hand back from her pussy and feigned deathlike sleep.
The light in the room changed as the bathroom light clicked off. Quiet footsteps trod the carpeting, and the smooth hiss of the sheets moving coincided with the mattress under Arielle bending toward the other side of the bed.
She could just roll with the mattress like falling down a hill due to gravity and—Nope.
Not thinking about that, Arielle reminded herself.
The lamp on the other nightstand clicked off, and the room was dark except for the city lights glowing through the window.
Mitchell moved on the other side of the bed, adjusting, and then puffed a small sigh.
His breathing evened out in seconds.
Damn, how did guys do that?
Arielle, meanwhile, was tortured by the persistent ache between her legs that was nearing the pinprick cramp of blue lady-balls.
Okay, Mitchell seemed to be asleep.
His even, light breathing sure sounded asleep.
Good grief, the hottest guy she’d ever seen was lying right there, not three feet away. The delicate whiff of herbal soap drifted through the air from his skin.
Arielle bet that if she rolled over and snuggled against him, that natural masculine musk she’d detected when she’d buried her nose in his neck would still emanate from his skin.
Her clit felt like a painful balloon.
Mitchell was asleep. He wasn’t going to know.
She was still facing away from him in the bed.
Arielle reached between her legs again, just for a minute, just to get it over with so she could sleep. Because there was no way she would be able to drift off in her current state.
The tip of her clit felt raw with unsatisfied arousal, and she massaged her folds, trying to get herself off and soothe herself.
Her back arched, and she was trying to control her breathing but her body was begging for oxygen. Her breath came in short pants, a gasp and a huff, and she was just barely breathing while trying to keep herself silent.
She felt the bed move behind her. In the first instant, the scent of green herbs crushed against masculine skin surrounded her, and then the solid weight and warmth of Mitchell’s body curled around Arielle from behind.
With one hand, he traced her arm from her shoulder to where her hand was buried between her legs. “Allow me.”
Arielle’s plan flew out of her head, and she moved her fingers away to be replaced by the warmer, stronger ones belonging to Mitchell Saltonstall.
The caress of his fingers was slower, deeper, designed to slowly build her orgasm instead of getting it over with. He explored her with his fingertips, first brushing, then dipping slightly inside her, and then massaging with firm, insistent movements.
Arielle arched harder against him, reaching above her head to hold onto his strong shoulders while he expertly toyed with her body. His chin rested on her shoulder, the hard bone of his jawline biting into her arm. If they hadn’t been under the covers in the dark, he would’ve been watching while he touched her.
He had a rhythm, Arielle noticed, a roll of his fingerpads around her clit, a stroke backward, and then a press inside her, curling his fingertips as he moved with the friction.
Tension spiraled through her, starting in her lower belly and tightening her muscles until her whole body was coiled from her fingertips to her toes.
The movements of his hand shifted. His fingers slid inside her, probably two from the weight of the fullness inside her, while his thumb roughened on her clit. Her whole body clenched and broke apart, becoming waves of pleasure as she clung to his neck behind her like she would drift away and drown.
She was gasping, her mind overwhelmed by the intensity, and she finally settled back into her body, where she was wrapped in Mitchell’s strong arms. She paused, catching her breath and allowing her eyes to focus on the lights of San Francisco splayed out beyond the ledge of the hotel room floor.
Mitchell kissed her temple with mint-scented breath and settled his arms more securely around her.
Arielle was still groggy, but she wasn’t selfish. She twisted in his arms and ran her hand down the soft cotton of a tee shirt covering his chest to a waistband around his middle, plucking at it to insert her fingers inside.
Mitchell lifted her hand away from him. “Sleep.”
Part of her mind abhorred the selfishness of just rolling over and going to sleep without reciprocating, and yet part of her cringed at the possibility of being refused. “But I can do the same for you.”
“I took care of myself in the shower rather than succumb to the temptation of you in bed, because I would have,” he mumbled against her forehead. He tucked her head underneath his chin where the faint musk of clean male escaped his tee shirt. “Sleep, little butterfly.”