My cock erupts, coating her silky walls in hot bursts of my release. Lila thrashes wildly on me, chasing her pleasure and using me in the way I’ve always dreamed about.
The acoustics from the bathroom tile make our erotic cries, grunts, and moans sound louder, as if the room is amplifying our climax.
We ride it out to the very end, savoring the high.
Fucking hell.
I thought we already achieved perfection. But each time, it gets better.
As we catch our breath, she rests her head on my shoulder. I run my hands up and down her back, still needing more of her touch.
Her lips graze my neck as she tiredly utters, “Hey, dimples. Our warm bubble bath is neither warm nor bubbly anymore.”
My heart flutters like I have a cardiac condition.
Then I realize it’s more likely because of what she just called me than a medical episode.
I’ve never had an affectionate nickname. It shouldn’t matter this much, but it does.
Even my adopted parents never called me anything but Reed. Once or twice, my dad might have called meson. But I can’t recall. Perhaps I imagined that because of how much I wanted to hear it.
According to birth and adoption records, I was named Reed Matthew Sawyer. Then I became Reed Hayes. Nobody I love has ever called me anything but that.
I’m actively ignoring that my coworker calls merookbecause it isn’t affectionate.
Being referred to asagentdoesn’t count either. That’s a title I earned with hard work. Not because someone loved me.
“I like that,” I confess, my voice barely audible.
She giggles, and it tickles my neck. “You like hanging out in cold bath water with your little swimmers floating around us? You’re a bit of a freak, aren’t you?”
Chuckling placidly, I kiss the side of her head. “I wasn’t talking about that. You called me dimples. Not dirty dimples or something snarky. It sounded sweet. And I liked it.”
She perks up, her head springing off my shoulder. “Really?”
“Yeah. I’ve never?—”
The confession gets stuck amidst the bellowing emotions that want to choke me.
Rather than finishing my sentence, I redirect her to a more comfortable topic. “Let’s take this party to the shower. We should warm up before bed.”
Her eyes narrow to doubting slits. Instead of pressing me for an explanation of my sudden vibe shift—which I know she notices—she disentangles from me.
“Wait here. I’ll turn the hot water on so only one of us has to freeze.”
I grab a towel, glide across the room, and turn the shower on to let the water warm up. Once it’s hot, I beckon her over.
As she steps into the shower, she shines with a coy grin. “Are you spoiling me on purpose?”
“I’m a gentleman. Plus, I need to convince you to move in with me somehow, despite the height of the building.”
“I’m beginning to think you aren’tfully joking. We’re gonna come back to that in a minute.” She shakes her head at me, clicking her tongue. “Stop trying to distract me. Back to what you were about to say earlier.”
“We’ve been together practically all day, so you’re gonna need to be more specific.”
“Would you like to borrow some of my nonsense to add some razzle-dazzle to your deflection? If you’re gonna evade and cower, you might as well entertain me in the process.”
“I’m not hiding from anything.”
