My blood is buzzing. My brain is cotton candy. I’m seconds away from letting him drop to his knees and take me apart the way he’s gotten so,sogood at. It takes extreme self-control to put some distance between us.
Beck’s pupils are blown wide. “Huh?”
“You promised me a bubble bath,” I remind him.
“Oh,” he says, chest heaving. He licks his lips. “Okay. I’ll be right back.”
Beck runs off to fill the bath. The moment I hear the rush of water, I scramble over to the pile of bags by the door, digging through until I find mine. My heart kicks up as my fingers brush the small box at the bottom.
When Beck returns, I’m sitting at the edge of the bed with a deep red silicone butt plug in my hand. It’s not particularly intimidating, but it’s not small. It’s large enough that there’s no chance of Beck not understanding exactly what it’s for.
Beck stops dead in his tracks and stares at the ominous red toy in my hand. “What’s that?”
I let the plug dangle from my fingers. “A little present for you,” I say lightly.
His eyes widen. His gaze tracks from the plug to me to the bed and back again.
“I, uh,” he says, then swallows.
I’d be worried about how apprehensively he’s staring at the plug if his cock wasn’t practically throbbing with each beat of his heart. Still, I need to remind him that he does actually have a choice in the matter.
I step closer, tilting my head. “What’s your safe word, Becky?”
“I don’t need it,” he mutters. His eyes are still locked on the plug. “I want to do this. I just… I’ve never…”
“Do you trust me?”
He looks up at me, really looks, and something in his gaze settles.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I do.”
I smile and step in, pressing a soft kiss to his mouth. “Good,” I murmur against his lips. “Then bend over the bed for me, baby.”
CHAPTER 33
BECK
I lose the thread of whatever Brody’s saying somewhere between “The thing about Nationals is,” and the way his foot drifts up the back of my thigh.
We’re stretched out in the giant hotel tub, him on one side, me on the other. The tub is big enough for us to fully stretch our legs, but my knees are bent and braced against the sides, because straightening them would mean shifting my hips, and shifting my hips would mean…
A groan slowly leaks out of me as Brody’s toes slide along the crease where my ass meets the floor of the tub. Then higher. Right over the toy he put inside me what feels like twelve hours ago.
I bite the inside of my cheek and pretend I’m composed.
I am most definitelynotcomposed.
The air is heavy and damp, scented with vanilla and sandalwood. Steam fogs the glass shower door and the big mirror over the vanity. It could be coming from the hot water, or my heavy panting as I try to keep myself from combusting.
Brody looks obscene in the soft bathroom light. His broad chest gleaming, blond hair damp and curling in the humidity. There’s a couple days’ worth of stubble shadowing his jaw that I want to drag my tongue over. I want to feel that stubble on my throat. On my thighs. On my everything.
Instead, I’m sitting here clutching the sides of the tub like it’s a lifeboat while my boyfriend pretends to talk about sports logistics and casually uses his foot to torture me.
My breath stutters every time he glances over or pushes on the plug. The pressure is maddening. It’s too much and not enough at the same time. Every tease, every tiny push makes my body clench down around it, makes my cock twitch where it’s bobbing in the water. A steady stream of pre-cum swirls from the tip.
“Beck.”
I blink at him, trying to look normal and definitely failing. “What?”
