6. Chloe

CHAPTER 6

CHLOE

W hen I open my eyes, Paolo is still there, chest pressed into my back, his strong arms looped around my body. I can barely believe it.

My legs and hips have that sweet ache of sex to them, the one that feels kind of like you ran a long way. Except what we did last night was a lot more fun than running.

I’m not usually a one-night stand person. Usually I like to get to know someone before I’ll allow myself to get into bed with them, but if this is what one-night stands can be like, then I understand why other people do them. I never imagined I could feel this kind of connection with someone so quickly. I never dreamed that a stranger would be able to find all the right places to touch right away, and then take pleasure in doing it again, and again, and again…

I close my eyes, not wanting to break this bubble. I have to work later, and the thought of having to leave makes me ache, so I push it away. All I care about right now is lying here in the arms of a man so muscular and handsome, it almost shouldn’t be possible.

If I didn’t know myself better, I’d say I’d fallen head over heels for him.

It’s almost a shame that this is going to be the end of it. Unless it doesn’t have to be…

No. I can’t let myself start thinking like that.

The truth is, I barely know anything about Paul. Sure, we had a good night, but it’s way too soon to be thinking about anything more permanent.

“Good morning, you,” mumbles a voice in my ear.

I chuckle and lean back into him. “Good morning.”

“I’m surprised you’re still here.”

I let out a huff of surprise. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

He shrugs, his body moving behind me like a comforting wave. “It’s just not that typical for people to stick around after a night like ours.”

“Why are you still here?” I throw back, rolling over so I can face him.

“I’ve got a beautiful woman in my arms. Why would I not still be here?”

“Stop it,” I say, feeling my cheeks heat.

I’m not used to hearing people say stuff like that to me. It still comes as a shock that anyone would find me attractive at all. Not that I think I’m horrible-looking or anything. I’m just not a stunning beauty. I’m not the kind of person you would typically think of as being a beauty.

“No, I won’t,” he says, grinning, and my heart flutters in that same way it did when he first threw that smile at me.

I never thought I believed in love at first sight. I still don’t think I do, but this attraction is no joke — and there doesn’t seem to be anything I can do to stop it.

I giggle as Paul reaches out and kisses me again. Then, like he’s uncertain of himself, he draws back for a second. “Is this okay?” he asks. “I mean, you do want?—”

“God, yes,” I interrupt, reaching forward to wrap my arms around him. I kiss him firmly on the lips. It’s sweet of him to ask, but there’s nothing I want more than this right now.

And because I didn’t exactly think to pack an overnight bag yesterday, I’m still naked, so my bare breasts press against his chest, and the sensation of my sensitive nipples on his skin makes me shiver.

“I won’t allow you to think you’re not gorgeous, you know,” he whispers in my ear.

I bite my lip, my blush increasing. I almost can’t believe he’s being sincere. A guy like this isn’t supposed to like a girl like me. Guys like this are supposed to like models or blondes, not normal people.

Carefully he rolls over so he’s on top of me. Already I can feel him hardening against my leg, his own naked skin warm on mine. I guess he didn’t think to put on pajamas either.

Our lips meet again, and this time the certainty of our passion isn’t just some drunk fling. Whatever is going on between us is deeper than a fleeting affair. It feels like all of this could be something that, if we put some effort in, could really last.

He grinds against me slowly, not making his lust a secret, and heat rises in my stomach with my own desire. There’s something burning inside me, and the only thing that can help it is Paul’s body against mine.

I push my hips back against him, and he slides his hand down over my thigh, his fingers slipping into my wet folds and making me cry out. It can’t be too comfortable for him to be in this position, but he doesn’t stop until I’m coming apart in his arms, his lips on my neck, his arms tight around me, holding me safely.

In this moment, I don’t think anything could hurt me at all.

“You ready for more?” he whispers.

“Give it to me,” I reply breathily, reaching out to twine my fingers with his.

He holds my hand for a second, then kisses my shoulder as if in apology and shuffles away to grab a condom from the box. I smile, watching as he rolls it on. I love that I don’t even have to ask him. I guess I must just have bad taste in men because the last few relationships I had, asking them to care about me at all was like trying to teach a horse calculus.

It was worse than useless.

And then he crawls back onto the bed, and his fingers drift back to my sex, and my brain turns offline almost completely.

How many girls has he slept with in the past? Last night he promised me that he was clean, but he gave me some of the best sex I’ve ever had. I don’t doubt that that’s how this morning is going to go as well.

But that doesn’t come without practice.

I don’t exactly care right now, though. Wondering about his past and why the hell he could possibly have any interest in me is a thought for later, when we inevitably part ways and I’m longing for this ridiculous boy who’s brought a whirlwind into my life.

When we climax again, it’s together, each setting the other off as we tumble over the edge, clinging to each other like we’re all we have to tether ourselves to the earth. Without his hands on me, I’m almost scared that I’d float away.

Breathless, we flop down on the bed, our fingers twining together as we lie in the silent bliss of hormones flowing through our bodies.

“You’re too good at that,” I whisper. “You’re magic.”

“No more magic than you,” he says, pressing his lips into my cheek.

I can’t think of anything else to say to that, so I say nothing, relishing the delight of lying next to him.

How did I get this lucky?

Eventually, he rolls onto his side and asks, “Do you want to shower?”

“With you?”

“If you want.”

“Yes, I’d like that. I need to clean up.”

We lie for a little longer, neither one of us really wanting to get up, but eventually my stickiness and sweat are bothering me too much and I force myself out of bed. Paul follows me, and we step into the shower.

It’s a vast space, almost bigger than the entire bathroom in my apartment at home. We barely need to bump against each other as we rotate into the water, but we do anyway, unable to help pressing our wet bodies together.

It’s intimate and silly and we spend far more time in there than we really need to. By the time we get out, we’ve been clean for a long time.

But a shower is a good excuse to keep staring at his naked chest and back, both of which are very delightful sights.

The idea of never seeing this again makes me ache.

But everything ends eventually, and we get out with wrinkled fingers.

“Chloe,” Paul says as we’re drying off. I wrap my hair up in a towel and hum at him to indicate I’m listening. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Shoot.”

He takes a deep breath, and my stomach lurches like I’ve just jumped out of a plane.

And then he says the thing I’m expecting him to say least of all.

“Would you like to marry me?”