His grin widened, and when I turned back toward him, he was already stripping off my dress. I let him.
I lifted my arms, let him slide the thin fabric over my head, leaving me in nothing but my bra and panties. They weren’t fancy. Not delicate lace or anything meant to seduce.
But the way Brooks looked at me, like I was the only thing in the world worth seeing sent a sharp, hot shiver down my spine. His hands skimmed over my breasts, his fingers lightly pinching my nipples, making my breath hitch.
Then, slowly, he knelt, dragging my panties down my thighs, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to my hip.
I used the extra second to remove my bra, tossing it somewhere behind me before reaching for his shirt. But before I could pull it off, he stopped me.
"No. Not yet."
I frowned. "Are you trying to kill me?"
He grinned, wicked and sure. "I want you to enjoy your bath," he murmured, voice gravelly, thick with meaning. "While I watch."
A shiver ran straight through me.
"Get in."
The water was hot, almost too hot, but I sank into it anyway, letting it swallow me whole. Brooks reached in, adjusting my position so my head rested against the back, my arms comfortably placed on the built-in rests.
And then he just stood there. Watching me. Like I was something worth watching.
"Close your eyes."
I smirked but did as he said. Not because I wanted to obey.
But because, for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel like I had to run.
I rested my eyes for barely a second before a soft, teasing touch sent a shiver down my spine. Brooks' fingers were light at first, nothing more than a slow, lazy drag over my nipples. A brush of a fingertip, a feather-light circling motion that had my breath hitching.
Then, he pressed harder.
A slight pinch, then a slow roll, his touch growing more deliberate, more focused, like he had all the time in the world to play with me.
A low whimper escaped my throat, my body arching instinctively into his hands.
But when I opened my eyes, ready to glare at him, he shook his head.
“Nope. Close.”
The command sent heat shooting straight through me.
“Okay.” My voice came out breathless, the desperation thick in my tone, and I coughed to cover it. He didn’t react, just kept going, teasing, exploring.
The slow, lazy torment continued, his hands molding my breasts, kneading, pulling, his thumbs dragging over my nipples, making them pebble under his touch.
I squirmed, the heat of the water only adding to the fire already simmering inside me. Then, his touch moved lower.
Down my stomach, his fingers ghosting over my skin, barely reaching my center before retreating—over and over, teasing, torturing, making me ache for more.
"Brooks," I whispered, my hips arching, trying to push against his fingers.
Still, he barely touched me.
He was playing a dangerous game, and he knew it.
I snuck a glance at him, desperate, aching, and what I saw made my entire body tighten with want. His face. His dedication.
