He gently skims his hands along my arms, bringing them to rest around my shoulders. And he starts giving me a massage.
Oh my god. I’m dead.
Turns out, I was a better girl in life than I thought. Figured I’d be burning in hell instead of soaking in heaven’s bathtub with the tattooed arch angel of desire.
My neck loosens, making my head loll forward. An unrestrained moan escapes me. “Mmm. That feels lovely. You don’t have to?—”
He cuts off my sentence when he digs into a patch of angry tension between my neck and outer shoulders, whatever it’s called. The trapezius, maybe? Rhombus? Or the dorkus minor? You know the spot I’m talking about. It’s the part of your upper body that’s always slutty for a good massage.
“You’re way too tense,” he rumbles in my ear. “And I want to take care of you.”
A lazy smile crests my lips. “A month ago, I could’ve sworn you wanted to stab me.”
His laugh vibrates along my spine. “Oh, I sure as hell did. With my cock.”
“All that ire was just pent-up sexual frustration. Is that your story?”
“Yep. Along with all the other shit. But that’s ancient history.” He stops the massage, snakes his arms under mine, andencircles my slippery breasts in his hands. “Now, I’ve got you right where I want you.”
“Your goal was the tub? A bit unconventional.”
He rolls his thumbs over my nipples, making them stiffen and poke through the bubbles. “Among other places. I also wanted you in my bed. Bent over my couch. On the kitchen counter. Up against the wall. On my bike. And anywhere else I can have you.”
The sultry teasing fades from his tone, making room for a wisp of vulnerability. He stops fondling my breasts, moving his hands under them and pulling me tight against him. His hardening cock digs into my backside.
“Lila, I just want you with me any way I can get you. That’s all I’veeverwanted.” There’s an audible swallowing sound emanating from him. “Earlier, you mentioned that we haven’t labeled our relationship. I just want you to be mine. I’m already yours. Call it whatever you want. Just don’t ever leave me again.”
I caress his forearms lovingly.
Maybe Reed’s a little cuckoo too. He just never had anyone to cling to until now.When I go to therapy, I’m bringing him with me so we don’t end up in a codependent relationship that turns toxic until it withers on the vine.
Craning my neck, I look up at him and smile. Big chestnut eyes burn into mine with flecks of gold brightening them. He’s stunning from any angle. But this one is near the top of my list.
I’ve seen this expression before. Not from him, but from his twin in that wedding photo where he was gazing at the blond woman. He was so painfully in love with her.
And that’s how Reed’s looking at me now.
Twisting my upper body for an even better view, I cup his cheek with my sudsy hand. Delicately, I brush the bubbles off his late-day scruff, reveling in the slight scratch against my skin.
His brows draw, and his eyes darken with an inky swell of anguish. He’s studying me as if he’s searching for something or begging me to answer what I didn’t realize was a question.
“Lila, please.” There’s a slight tremble in his breathy tone I’ve never heard from him before. It’s heartbreaking in a way that’s so familiar I could cry.
And I might.
His desperation swirls around us until I’m drowning in it right along with him. The air thins, making it harder to fill my lungs.
Before we both suffocate, I find my words. “Don’t give me a reason to go, and I won’t.”
Some of the tension marring his handsome face begins to melt.
I drive it out the rest of the way, when I add, “I promise I’m not going anywhere without you.”
His eyes flutter closed as he moves in for a soft kiss. With a measured slowness, he works his mouth over mine. Using the slightest suction, he tugs my lips between his. It’s as if he’s drinking me down in small sips, savoring me like a fine wine.
When our tongues finally touch, all my patience for the slow burn disappears. I moan into his mouth, unable to quell my reaction, and my hands roam with an almost angry determination. I can’t get enough of him. His hand drifts from my chin to the back of my neck, and he pulls me closer. His fingertips dig into my flesh, branding me with his touch.
A whimper escapes from deep inside me that would embarrass me if I weren’t overcome with wanton need. There’s just something about when he manhandles me. I freaking love it.
