Reid stashed his phone between the leather cushion of his chair and his ass cheek. He dropped his hand, presumably meant for Reid’s shoulder before his abrupt turn. Sullivan paused, towel slung around his hips, damp skin glistening in the mid-morning light. “Argh!” Reid spun on the wooden desk chair, startled, and fumbled to turn his screen off. “Come on, sexy-sexy, reveal yourself,” he murmured. He bowed his head and swiped through the Sam Baton book he’d finished on the plane, to that one particular scene. Had it peeked at them through the curtain gaps last night? Had it seen how desperately Reid had exploded? Could it know how much more of Sullivan Reid needed? The London Eye rotated in the distance, big, dominant, all seeing. His hair dripped water onto the shoulders of his hoodie and ran a ticklish line down his nape. Sullivan was in the shower, readying himself for the day-something Reid had beat him to after they’d returned from breakfast. Reid clutched his phone at the hotel-room desk, staring out the gridded windows onto London below.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |