Page 35 of Breaking Hollywood

“Right, well, sit up, and we’ll get you out of here.”

He sits forward. I keep a hand on his leg, and I realize the logistics don’t seem as straightforward as I thought. I thought I’d be able to pull him up with my hand, but I don’t think it’ll work.

He’s going to have to put his arm around me.

Dear God.

I squeeze my eyes shut.

“You okay?” he asks me.

“Yeah.” I open my eyes. “You’re gonna have to put your arm around me, so I can get you up.”

A smile glimmers in his eyes. “I’ll get you wet.”

I bite the inside of my cheek. “It’s fine.”

“Okay. If you say so.”

Taking the towel off my shoulder, I tuck it between my thighs, and I lean closer to him. He puts his arm around me.

Sweet Jesus.

He smells so good, and he’s all wet and soapy and hot as hell.

This is torture. I swear, I’m in hell.

The best kind of hell.

“Can you push yourself up, using your hands on the edge of the tub?”

“Sure can.” His words whisper over my neck, setting off goose bumps everywhere.

“Okay. Count of three. One…two…three…”

As I lift myself, Gabe pushes himself up, lowering his leg to the floor. His wet side presses against me. And I know I’m dangerously close to his cock.

It takes everything in me not to look.

Look at the wall. Not the cock. I repeat, not the cock.

I need to cover him. I grab the towel from between my legs, keeping my eyes high, and I shake it out. Holding it up, I press it to his chest.

“Dry off,” I tell him.

“You mean, you’re not going to do it for me?”

I give him a less than amused look. “Funny.”

He starts drying his chest and stomach to stop the water from running down to his boot. I avert my eyes.

My shirt is soaked. I’ll have to change it. Maybe he has a T-shirt I can borrow.

“You dry?”

“Yep.”

“Okay, let’s get you out of the tub.”