“Can’t help it. Watching you ride me might be my new favorite hobby.”
She laughs, and the sound goes straight to my chest. I cup water in my palms and let it pour over her breasts, watching it run in warm streams down her stomach, over the place we’re joined.
Her rhythm stutters. She drops her forehead to mine again, hips rolling faster.
I slide one hand between us, thumb finding her clit, moving with her instead of against her. She gasps, nails digging into my shoulders.
“Come for me, gorgeous,” I whisper. “I want to feel it in the water.”
She does—hard, sudden, a shocked little laugh spilling out as she clenches around me, thighs trembling, water sloshing over the edge with every pulse. I hold her through it, kissing the corner of her mouth, her cheek, the tear that slips free for no reason she’ll ever admit.
When she can breathe again, I stand and lift her clear out of the tub. She squeaks in surprise as I turn and set her on the wide stone ledge, her back to the glass wall. Snowflakes melt against the warm pane inches from her spine.
I step between her thighs and drive back in.
The angle is deeper, sharper. She claws at my shoulders, half laughing, half moaning.
“Kai—fuck—the snow?—”
“I know,” I growl, and set a hard, steady rhythm. Water splashes everywhere. Steam curls around us like we’re burning.
Her legs lock around my waist. I feel her building again, but this one is mine to give. I slide a hand between us, press my thumb just right, and watch her fall a second time.
That’s it. I’m gone. I bury myself deep and come with a guttural sound, forehead pressed to hers, snow falling silent and endless behind her.
We stay like that until the water starts to cool around our calves.
Eventually, I lift her down, wrap her in the biggest towel I can find, and kiss her forehead like she’s the most precious thing I’ve ever touched.
She disappears into the shower to rinse off the chlorine.
The second she’s gone, the pain hits. Sharp and brutal, radiating from my chest down my left arm. I grab the edge of the hot tub, breathing through it.
Not now. Please not now.
I fumble for my jeans with shaking hands, finding the pill bottle I’ve started keeping in my pocket. Three pills. I swallow them dry and sit on the bench, waiting for the medication to kick in.
The pain intensifies before it eases. My vision blurs. Sweat breaks out on my forehead despite the cold air. I force myself to breathe slowly. In. Out. In. Out.
After what feels like hours but is probably only minutes, the pain starts to fade. My heartbeat settles into something closer to normal. The bathroom door opens, and I force myself to stand, to look normal.
Samantha emerges, dressed and dry, looking relaxed and happy. “That was exactly what I needed,” she says. “Thank you.”
“Anytime.” I pull on my shirt, trying not to wince. “Ready to head back?”
“Yeah. I should probably finish that presentation before your father comes looking for me.”
We make our way back through the passages, and she’s still asking questions about the estate, about Blackwell, about the restoration.
I answer automatically, but part of my mind is still on the pain. On the fear that sits in my chest alongside the medication.
19
SAMANTHA
“I would killfor mint chocolate chip right now.”
The words come out of nowhere during breakfast, interrupting a conversation about quarterly projections. All three men stop talking and look at me.
