I walk over to the bathroom door and open it. He’s braced against the side of the doorframe with one arm, wearing nothing except for black swim trunks.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” I glance behind him, at my empty room and shut door.

“They all left.”

“Oh. You didn’t want to go?”

He shakes his head. “No. Moved my car around the block and came back.”

“Whatever bar they went to probably has a hot waitress or two.”

One corner of his mouth hikes up. “Probably. Do you still want to?”

Apparently, Noah’s appearance didn’t change a damn thing. I tell myself the relief is because I’m eager to experience sex again and short on other options on who to have it with. There’s not a single guy from high school I’d call up for a booty call. The only other men I know in Charleston are ones I work with. Getting involved with colleagues gets messy, fast.

I drop my gaze deliberately, tracing the ridges and valleys of Gray’s abdomen. First with my eyes and then with my fingers. The distance between us quickly shrinks. Gray tilts my chin up and stares down at me. My breathing turns ragged. Oxygen is becoming scarce. My whole body is tingling with anticipation. He doesn’t kiss me, just stares. I realize he’s waiting for me to answer.

“Yeah,” I whisper.

His mouth touches mine. Tingles turn into thrills. I wonder if the rush of kissing Gray will get old before this ends. I’ve never responded like this to anyone else. There were guys I was attracted to, guys I was excited about kissing. But I’ve never craved anyone’s touch like this before. Wanted it so badly that everything else fades away like an old photograph.

The fluffy towel slips away and falls to the floor, leaving me naked. Gray slides his hands down my bare back and lifts me up against his body. I wind my legs around him. He starts walking, heading in the direction of my bed.

Once we’re lying on it, I expect Gray to escalate things right away. But he doesn’t do anything more than kiss me. We kiss and kiss and kiss until I’ve memorized exactly how it feels. Every groove, every flick, every taste.

It’s messy. Slow. Wild.

I grow impatient first. I start by rubbing against his body. He’s hard; I can feel his erection pressing against me through the thin fabric of his swim trunks. But he just keeps kissing me. I pull a hand out of his hair and run it down his chest and stomach, tugging down the damp material of his trunks until his cock is exposed.

“I want this,” I whisper to him, moving my hand up and down his length.

He groans into my mouth.

“I’ll be right back,” he tells me, then stands and disappears.