screw up somehow. I mean, the fuck-up is imminent.
But then there’s Pascal lying beside me.
So fucking handsome. And in sleep, a bit more boyish, almost innocent. His high cheekbones are softened somehow, his lips even fuller and rose pink. I’ve never had the chance to stare at him like this before; usually his eyes are so intense and arresting that they steal the focus. They demand you look at him, and he holds eye contact like it’s a sport.
He looks like all his sins have been stripped away.
Which makes all my sins even worse.
How can I go through with what I’m supposed to do when I’m sharing a bed with him? Pascal hates his father, but that doesn’t mean he’d turn a blind eye if he found out what I want to do.
Focus on your mother first, I remind myself. When you get back next week, you do what you can with her. Maybe even ask Pascal for help.
But how do I do that without telling him what happened?
“Are you watching me sleep?” Pascal asks, his voice groggy, eyes still closed.
I can’t help the smile spreading across my face, and I reach over and let my fingers trail up from his flat belly, through the hard ridges of his abs, to his firm, golden chest. The man has a magnificent body, the kind that makes you wonder why he’s not modeling Dumont underwear instead of cologne.
“Maybe,” I tell him.
He opens his eyes and looks at me.
There they are.
Those saturated blues, that gaze that could launch—or destroy—a thousand ships.
Even in the morning, he’s looking at me with the confidence of a man secure in what he has. Me. I’m his possession. And as much as that scares me, I also need it to be true. Just for this week, perhaps, until we return to the reality that’s going to drop-kick me to the ground.
“How did you sleep?” he asks softly, reaching up to touch my cheek. “Better question is, am I still asleep? Because I had the most wonderful dream . . . I was fucking your brains out on the beach, in a restaurant restroom, in this bed . . .”
“That’s funny,” I say as he runs his thumb over my lips, my eyes locked with his, sleepy and seductive. “I had the same dream.”
He grins at me salaciously and reaches down, pulling the sheets off him, exposing his very large, very hard cock pointing straight up at his stomach.
Automatically, I lower my hand on it, relishing the feel of him, how hot and rigid and soft he is. There’s a warm flutter of want between my legs, even though I’m a bit sore everywhere from yesterday.
“This isn’t a dream, is it?” he asks as I gently start stroking him, my palm sliding over him, my grip loose to start.
“I wouldn’t think so,” I tell him. “Unless I’m sleepwalking.”
“Sleep fucking, that’s a new one,” he muses, and I tighten my grip, causing his eyes to roll back in his head, his mouth to drop open and let out a moan. When he opens his eyes, his brow is knit together in stark determination to have me.
I don’t have time to react. He’s on me in a second, flipping me over so that I’m on my back and he’s on top of me, his cock pressed against my pelvis, his hands taking hold of my wrists and pinning them above my head. I watch the strain in his biceps as he holds me, transferring the weight to one hand as he reaches down with his other and slips his stiff cock between my legs.
“Condom?” I ask. It was a major momentary lapse of judgment that we didn’t use one the first time we slept together. Out there on the beach, it was like all logic and reason went out the window, and I was a slave to my desire for the very first time in my life.
He pauses and nods, reaching over into his bedside table to take one out. He slowly slips it on, and I enjoy watching him do it until he’s ready.
I smile up at him in anticipation, spreading my legs for easier access.
“No,” he says, bringing his mouth to the spot below my ear and giving it a long lick, causing me to erupt in an explosion of shivers. “Keep your legs together.”
I do as he says, and when he tries to push his cock inside me, the tension between my legs only makes me throb and