Page 86 of Crash into me
“I really, really didn’t like that,” I repeat.
“But I won.” He waves around a bag brimming with cash.
I nod into his chest. “Let’s go get this off you.”
“Don’t have to ask me twice,” he growls.
Before chasing me up the steps, he sinks into the kitchen and grabs a chilled bottle of deep red wine. “We getting fancy tonight?” I ask, raising a brow.
“Fuck yeah!” he replies, shaking out his curly wet hair all over me.
I gesture to the bouquet I placed on the bedroom nightstand earlier. “My flowers were beautiful.” I blush. “Thank you.”
“Beautiful enough for you to take a bath with me?”
A crack of lightning reminds me we’re still experiencing a hurricane. “Aren’t we not supposed to take showers during storms?”
“Myth.” He drops the bag of money on the ground, standing directly in front of me.
I know I’m safe with him, but my God, he’s so intimidating. With sweeping black hair that curls right above his brow with a long, tan, lean body that’s sculpted by marble and adorned with storylines of black ink.
He has so much depth to him, so much experience. It’s hard to not compare myself and my life to his. “Want me to start it?”
When I turn to grab pajamas from the drawer, he scoops me in his arms.
“Foster!” I playfully slap his chest. “You’re soaked!”
He pulls me close to his chest, whispering in my ear. “Not as soaked as you’re about to be, Freckles.”
My feet touch the cold tile floor of the bathroom and slowly, painfully, teasingly slow, he takes off each item of clothing. He makes sure to swipe his lips, tongue, and teeth against my flesh as he does so.
Then, he sets me into the empty tub. It’s freezing cold and sends an unusual sensation all over my body.
He brings me the now sweating bottle of wine and opens his bath bag that’s on the counter, then pulls out a few candles, lighting them. I want to tease him about how romantically sweet it is, but I don’t. I lean back into the cold tub, sipping on the full bottle as he gives me a show.
He peels himself out of the racing suit. Underneath, he’s only wearing a pair of tight black briefs. He leaves those on and kneels beside the tub.
“I could stare at you like this all day,” I say, and he smiles.
I dip my head back onto the curvature of the bathtub as he turns on the faucet, running his palm underneath the warm water. I trace my fingers along his tattoo, the one he got for me.
His hands dip in between my legs, his knuckles rubbing sensually up and down my inner thigh. “You were worried about me?” His earthy tone is like a heated blanket on a cold winter’s night. It wraps around me.
I part my lips. “Always,” I tell him.
The candlelight flickers against his tan skin, water droplets from the hurricane outside still adorning his sharp face.
He takes the bottle of wine, turning it up to take a long sip before spilling some onto my chest and drinking it up as it wells in my collarbone.
“Doesn’t that make this more meaningful?” he wonders, tilting his head to get a better look at what he’s doing to me as he slides his fingertip along my slit.
“It’s always …” I moan, “meaningful.”
When the water rises to my chest, he stands up, peeling off his boxers and sliding in behind me. My back is leaned against his chest and his long arms give him full access toevery little inch of me.
He places one hand on my breast, the other in between my legs, and he dips his head to whisper in my ear, “But knowing, at any moment, that I could simply not exist. Doesn’t it drive you fucking mad?”
I feel his hardness pressing into my back, and I shudder.