I don’t think this is what either of us expected when she stepped into the sauna tonight, but here we are. And now I’m operating on pure instinct.
Her breath catches in her throat as she makes eye contact with me again.
But she doesn’t say no.
Chapter 19
Heather
My heart is pounding so hard that I’m sure Grant can hear it even over the steady hum of the sauna’s heater. I feel light-headed, but not from the heat, and my genuine embarrassment from a few minutes ago has turned into something else. Something that’s still making my face flush for completely different reasons.
I can’t believe what I just heard, and I’d swear on a stack of bibles that my mind was playing tricks on me—that I’d maybe hallucinated the whole thing—if Grant wasn’t still staring at me with the kind of intensity that never fails to make my stomach do backflips.
Try for me right now, and I’ll walk you through it.
Those words are replaying on a loop in my head, and fuck, it’s already the hottest thing anyone has said to me in almost a decade.
I feel more aware of my body in this moment than I have in a long, long time, but I also feel like I’m losing control of the situation. My thighs are squeezing together on their own, desperately trying to hold back a wave of sensations that I’m not sure I’m ready to feel.
But my core feels tight and hot, and I don’t know how much longer I can hold out if he’s going to keep looking at me like that.
“What are you thinking about?” His voice is low, almost rough.
After so many years of ignoring my own needs, this is the first time it feels like I might actually be able to reignite that spark that I’ve been missing.
But then the idea of touching myself in front of him makes the whole thing feel overwhelming and mortifying and impossible. I’ve never done anything like this with anyone, ever. And it’s been years since I was touched or looked at by a man—let alone a gorgeous, tatted-up, massive hockey player.
Maybe I’m dreaming. Maybe I’m dead, and this is heaven.
Still, I hear a voice in the back of my head saying I can’t, that I’m too old, or that I’ve forgotten how.
“I can’t.” The words come out barely above a whisper.
Something flashes across his face—disappointment, maybe frustration—but it’s gone in an instant, replaced by that unreadable mask he wears so well.
That split-second crack in his armor does something to me. It tells me just how serious he is right now. He really wants to do this. He wants to help me get off, right now, in front of him.
I open my mouth to apologize, but something else comes out instead.
“I’ll do it if you will.”
I don’t know if I’m being brave or reckless as hell, but there’s no way to take those words back now.
His eyebrows shoot up, and my breath catches as the heated tension between us ratchets up another notch.
“You mean—” He pauses, his eyes searching mine. “If I touch myself, you will too?”
I don’t trust myself to speak, so I nod instead. My heart is racing so fast and hard that I can barely breathe, and the airaround us is so thick I might actually pass out before either of us can follow through with this reckless game we’re playing.
His eyes stay locked on mine as he reaches into his shorts. Oh god, this is really happening. I break away from his stare, but only so my eyes can travel lower, down his tattooed chest, down past his abs, until I’m following the little trail of hair that disappears into the waistband of his shorts.
It’s obvious from the way the thin material clings to him that he’s already hard. And big. Really big. His hand is moving slowly, rhythmically, and I watch for what feels like hours but is probably only a few seconds, completely mesmerized.
And then something snaps inside me.
Something takes over, almost like I’m having an out-of-body experience. That’s the only way I can explain how I’m suddenly brave enough to reach into my bikini bottoms and slip a finger between my folds.
Grant’s tongue drags across his bottom lip, and I imagine that tongue on me instead. It’s enough to make me moan as a wave of wet heat rushes through me.
