This earns me another kiss, and a second later I get to watch her retreating, toned ass sashaying towards the bathroom.

Sexy as hell.

Biting back a groan, I set to removing my own shoes, followed by my socks, tie, and belt, draping them over the single chair in the room. I untuck my black dress shirt, plucking the buttons opens and letting it hang open.

I heft Greyson’s small suitcase up onto the dresser so she won’t have to struggle with it later, before removing the cell phone from my pocket and checking it for messages.

There are four text notifications.

Mason: Thunder cunt. I sure-as-shit hope this chick is worth the shit storm coming your way. We got our asses handed to us tonight, no thanks to you.

Aaron: Hey condom breath, you’re fucking your stalker right now, aren’t you, asshole? I want all the nasty dirty details.

Aaron: Sorry. That was really out of line. Don’t listen to me. I’m totally shit-faced and probably a little jealous.

Tabitha: Hey little brother. How’s it going so far? Did Greyson like the tie? GOOD LUCK TONIGHT! She is one lucky girl!

The text from my sister is the only one that makes me smile—the others make me scowl—so I shoot Tabitha a reply.

Me: Night went great. You were right about the tie. She loved it. Says to thank you.

Then, knowing there’s only one way to get her to leave me alone, I add more.

Me: Stop texting. Speaking of lucky, I’m about to get laid—her words, not mine.

My sister immediately replies.

Tabitha: You’re disgusting.

Me: Whatever.

I smirk, hitting SEND before powering my phone down and tossing it on the dresser next to my wallet and car keys.

I’m standing in the middle of the hotel room when the bathroom door opens, and Grey emerges wrapped in a fluffy white hotel robe, fresh-faced and glowing, her face free of makeup. Her lips are still stained from her deeply pigmented lipstick. She’s removed the pins from her hair; it cascades down her back in loose waves created by the braid.

She’s so un-fucking-believably gorgeous.

I try to say something, but no words come out. I’m crazy for this girl.

Grey’s hazel eyes widen as she purposefully strides towards me on a mission, eyes on the exposed skin under my unbuttoned shirt. My body goes ramrod straight, and I inhale sharply with breathless anticipation as her smooth palms connect with the planes of my bare chest, fanning out over my pec muscles under my open dress shirt. Unable to prevent myself from flexing, my pecs contract beneath her roaming fingers, and I watch her face, transfixed as her pupil’s dilate.

“Your turn. Go clean up and… come to bed,” she whispers huskily as her fingertips skim, feather light, over my shoulders and push the black shirt down my arms, over my biceps, until it joins her dress.

Greyson parts her lips.

Her tongue darts out to moisten them.

The shirt drifts silently to the floor. My nipples harden under her soothing touch, and I fight the urge to moan.

Come to bed. Come to bed. Come to bed. Jesus. Do three sexier words even exist in the English language? If so, I sure as shit haven’t heard them.

I nod incoherently, my head dipping up and down like a bobble head, putty in her hands. Right now I would literally do anything this girl asked me to.

Anything.

Once inside the bathroom, I make quick work of taking a piss, washing my face, and brushing my teeth. Several sexy, dark burgundy lip prints line my jaw.

I leave them.

Taking a deep breath, I open the bathroom door with a shaking hand.

Greyson

I’m not nervous.

Nope, not one bit.

I hear the sink running in the bathroom, and I glance at myself in the mirror above the dresser before unzipping the purple suitcase Cal has thoughtfully removed from the floor for me.

Loosening the belt of the hotel robe, I slide it low on my shoulders and take a few deep cleansing breaths to compose myself and calm my racing heart as I continue to study my reflection; color high, my eyes are bright and slightly wild. Aroused.

I finger a pink sleep shirt in my suitcase, rubbing it while I debate:

on one hand, if I don’t put a shirt on, I might look cheap and easy. On the other, I did already tell him he was getting lucky, so why bother putting on clothes?

Ugh, crap. I’m crap at this.

It’s been two years since I’ve had sex. Two. Years. And quite honestly, I don’t ever recall those experiences being particularly memorable.

The robe peels open farther, and the lacy white g-string undies and pristine white bra peek through.

Maybe I’ll just…

…let it fall open. Like this?

No, like this.

Just then, Cal emerges from the bathroom, and I watch, spellbound, as his hard body advances to the center of the room, clad only in a pair of loose-hung gray sweatpants. You know the ones; they dip low on a guy’s hipbones and hug him in all the right places.

I can’t see it, but I know they’re emphasizing his fine, round, athletic ass….

Every firm muscle on his body, every jaded scar, every line of his colorful tattoos are there for my perusal, and boy do I look my fill. He moves closer, watching me through hooded, lust-filled eyes before turning and depositing his folded suit pants on the dresser.

His eyes grow wide at the sight of me standing next to the dresser, first with total shock, then with desire. Hunger.

Want.

Need.

But that’s not all I see there.

This guy wants to let himself love me; I can see it in the way he’s looking down at me. Like I’m a precious, cherished thing.

I’m not nervous.

Nope, not one bit.

Calvin

I don’t know what I did to deserve this girl, but…

Fuck.

Rugby.

Rooted in spot next to the dresser, Greyson faces me, the white robe a contrast to her tan skin, its gaping sliver baring her white bra and panties. She reaches to loosen the knot on her belt farther, the terrycloth falling completely open.

I stare.

I stare at her beautiful body, her waterfall of blonde hair, her high, round breasts and curvy hips. She’s not perfect, but she’s perfect to me.

“Cal,” she entreats quietly, her voice filled with desire. Hunger.

Want.

Need.

For me. For fucking me.

I don’t know who moved first, but our mouths meet, and my hands span her waist, kneading her bare, warm skin. Provocative. Achingly slow, our hot tongues mingle, wet and wanting.

Wet kisses. Open-mouthed kisses. Lips, tongue and teeth.

Grey’s robe falls to the floor, and she breaks the kiss to skim my abs with the tips of her fingers and the waistband of my pants, untying the white knot holding them around my hips.

My dick throbs so hard I can feel it beating in my pants.

Fuck.

I walk her backwards to the bed, the back of her knees hitting the mattress. She lies down, the gold comforter providing a backdrop for her magnificent blonde hair that pools around her fresh, flushed face.

The look she gives me invites me to look. To taste.