The amount of gathered wetness is embarrassing.
I work my fingers, biting my lip to contain the soft sounds.
My back arches slightly, a whimpered moan escaping my lips, unbidden.
A prickle of awareness dances along my spine—the weight of a gaze, the stillness of held breath.
I freeze.
Zev doesn’t make a sound, but I just know.
My husband is awake.
Something shifts in the air. I still my hand, but it’s too late.
His voice is ragged, scraping against the silence like a struck match. “What are you doing, wife?”
What am I doing? Praying for the Tides to flood my veins with water and freeze it.
The mattress shifts as he inches closer. His breath is hot against my neck as he peers over my shoulder. A low growl rumbles in his throat.
He swallows hard. Then, he swallows again.
“Do you want me to leave?” Tension coils around every syllable.
“No,” I murmur. I flex my wrist, and his breath stutters.
A beat. A muttered curse.
“Then, do you want a hand, Mayah?”
I want to snort—he’s so corny.
But I’m burning with need, and it’s not enough.
It’s. Just. Not.Enough.
My heart’s pounding for all the wrong reasons—or maybe all the right ones. I’ve stopped caring which is which.
His large hand slowly splays over my abdomen. “Yes, Mayah?” he asks, his voice low and deep. His tongue curls around my name in a silken caress.
If I refuse him, I’m certain he’ll listen. He’ll leave and let me chase my release alone. He’ll tease me about it later, sure, but Zev is the type of man to respect my wishes.
Agoodman.
“Yes,” I breathe.
The air around us crackles.
“Tell me if you change your mind.”
And then his large hand covers mine.
Oh.
My.
Tides.
