My lips parted, the word no on the tip of my tongue, only it didn’t feel like no. Not with him crouched there, looking at me like I was precious and breakable and something he wanted anyway. My pulse thrummed as I whispered, “Please. Take them off.”
That was all the permission he needed.
He slid the cotton down my legs, slow and reverent, and I lifted my hips without thinking, heat rushing to my face. When his eyes found mine again, something bold slipped into my chest, chasing away the nerves.
“Careful, coach,” I said, smirking to cover how wrecked I already felt. “You miss a spot, and I might post that photo of you scratching your balls in the dugout to the team’s social media pages.”
His grin was wicked, but his touch was anything but careless. Each stroke of the razor was torture, knuckles grazing higher and higher until I was squirming, biting back sounds that shouldn’t belong to a woman getting her legs shaved. The air between us thickened until it was nearly impossible to breathe.
When he finally finished and rinsed me clean, I tested the smoothness with my toes poised on his chest. “Damn, you’re really good at this.”
“Smooth as silk.” His gaze traveled up my body like a slow burn, pausing between my thighs. “Want me to keep going?”
The question stole the air from my lungs. My mouth opened, but no sound came out—just a shiver that raced down my spine and smacked me clean across the clit. Brooks waited, water slicking over the hard lines of his body, razor balanced in his hand like he had all the time in the world.
“You mean—”
His eyes dragged up to mine, patient but daring. “You know exactly what I mean, kitten.”
My thighs clenched instinctively, betraying me. I could’ve said no. I could’ve laughed it off and made another joke about his ball-scratching photo, the one I had set as my phone’s wallpaper—anything to break the spell he had me under. Instead, I felt my knees fall open another inch, giving him silent permission.
Brooks’s grin was slow and devastating. “That’s what I thought.”
He set the razor aside for a moment, lathering his big hands with more cream. The sight alone had me trembling. Those hands smoothed the foam higher, over skin no one had ever touched like this. It wasn’t crude or rushed, but rather reverent.
And as his thumb traced the tender crease of my thigh, edging my pussy lips, I realized I’d never been this exposed or undone.
I’d also never felt safer.
He lathered me again. The first stroke of the blade was steady, deliberate, skimming so close that my breath caught and held. Brooks’s hand anchored me, his palm spread firm over my hip as he guided the razor with precision.
Every pass left me trembling, heat spiraling tighter inside me. His knuckles brushed against my mound, grazing too close, too teasing, until I was squirming on the slick porcelain, my breath coming in ragged bursts.
“Easy,” he murmured, voice low and rough, his focus never wavering.
He tilted the razor just right, clearing another path, the cool drag of steel followed by the warmth of his thumb soothing the skin after.Torturously slow.Intimate in a way I had never experienced.
When he rinsed the blade under the spray, his fingers slipped back over me, spreading the gel lower this time. His touch wasn’t an accident—not when his thumb brushed against my clit, light as a ghost. The jolt had me biting down on a whimper, my whole body arching without permission.
“Brooks,” I breathed, desperate, trembling.
He glanced up through the rising steam, jaw tight. “Hold still, kitten. I don’t want to miss a spot.”
God help me.
His warning only made it hotter.
I could feel how close he was to losing control. His fingers slid over me again, spreading my folds open as the razor traced careful strokes along the softest parts of me. It was unbearable, the way I was laid bare for him, every inch on display.
By the time he rinsed the blade again, I was shaking, my body begging for more than careful strokes. And when his fingers lingered, rubbing foam away from my swollen clit with maddening gentleness, a choked sound tore from my throat.
“Christ,” he muttered under his breath, his thumb circling once, slow and sure. “You’re trembling, kitten.”
And he was right. I was trembling all over, not from fear, but from the sheer, impossible ache of wanting him to drop the razor and stuff me full of his fingers. Or tongue, or cock—hell, my drawer full of toys was just down the hall.
“Dani,” he asked, his voice thick with need. “Can I taste you?”
My whole body shuddered, nerves sparking hot under my skin. Fear and anticipation tangled in my chest, but my voice didn’t falter. “Please.”
