Her tongue lolls out, and she pants like a dog. “Striptease. Yes, please.”
I shake my head, amused, as I unbutton my jeans. “Hate to break it to you, Gingersnap, but even if you have Chippendales reenactment on your list, I won’t be doing it.”
She pouts. “Really? Because I was going to add that. Are you sure?”
I’m not a dirty dancer. I definitely don’t have the moves or the interest in doing a lap dance.
But when she puts it like that—I’m not sure I’d say no. If she asked me, I’d probably say yes. Fact is, I’d say yes to just about anything for her, only I can’t let on how easy I am.
I shift the conversation. “Maybe I do need kneepads for this one,” I say, tipping my forehead to the tub.
She narrows her brow. “Um, do you think you’re going to be on top of me in the tub?”
As my jeans hit the tiles, my mind assembles the graphic novelization of this scene—in one panel, she’s in the throes of ecstasy. In another, her mouth forms an O in pleasure. In the next one, she’s coming.
Hmm. Seems that’s as far as I’ve drawn—the endgame, over and over. I didn’t consider the position we’d be in to get there.
“Because that won’t work,” she adds, gesturing to the tub. “Think about it. Are you just going to bang me while my body is underwater? My head would slam against the back of the tub. Ouch.”
I kick off the jeans, shed my boxer briefs, and take over the pregame report. “No, Peyton,” I say, walking over to her. “You’re going to ride me. And you’re going to ride me so fucking hard and so fucking good that neither one of us will care how much water we spill over the tub.” Gripping my cock, I run my fist down its length, savoring the wild look in her blue eyes. Her lips part, and she seems to take a shuddering breath as she stares at my dick, transfixed.
I’d like to say this turning of the tables helps me stay in control of my runaway heart. As if taking the upper hand in our sex play somehow restores my power.
But it only makes me want her more, since she’s staring at me like I’m all she wants too.
Then she rises like Aphrodite from the sea, red hair, naked body, beautiful and luminous.
And for tonight, she’s all mine.
“Come on in. The water’s nice.”
I settle into the water, and she scoots around, squeezing in next to me, her bare flesh squeaking loudly against the tub.
I laugh.
She chuckles too.
Somehow she wedges herself into my side, but half her body is above the water now.
She frowns. “This is cozy.”
But it doesn’t sound like cozy is good. “And that’s a strike against tub sex.”
“Call me crazy, but I feel like my tub was designed for one person,” she says, crushing her body closer as she tries to slink under the water more.
I adjust, making as much room for her as I can, but at six feet and two hundred pounds, I can’t exactly suction myself into a smaller size. “I think most tubs were meant for one, but we’re doing this. We’re not backing down,” I say, playing the hard-assed personal trainer who won’t take no on the final crunch.
She stares sharply at me. “Did I say I was backing down?”
“Seems like it, since you’re trying to lie next to me. Get on me, woman,” I say, reaching for her waist and pulling her on top.
Her eyes widen as I position her, helping her straddle me in the tiny space.
Her knees slip, and she falls forward, collapsing on my chest. She laughs, pushing up.
“Kind of a dork, aren’t you?” I tease.
“You try this. See if you can do it.”
“I am trying this. And I want this. But I need you to want this too. I need you so damn slippery and wet that you don’t care about anything else but fucking me hard.”
She gasps, her shoulders shaking.
There. I’ll keep her in the moment.
I reach for her face, clasp her cheeks, and pull her to me, sealing my lips to hers.
My plan, such as it is, is to kiss her soft, slow, and tender. Ease her into this position. Let her melt into a kiss so she can settle in this tiny space. But with her naked and wet on top of me, my best-laid plans fly the coop.
Curling a hand around her head, I haul her in for a fierce, possessive kiss. I kiss her deeply, my lips owning hers, my tongue exploring her sweetness.
She sinks into the kiss, all passion and surrender.
My brain goes hazy, and I’m sizzling everywhere in seconds. The kissing, the contact, the music, the water, the scents.
Dear God, the intoxicating candy-sweet scent of violet, or whatever the bubbles are. Everything goes to my head, and I can’t slow down. I can’t hold back.
That kiss in college had nothing on this kiss. This kiss blots out every other kiss in the history of the world as I consume her mouth, putting all my heart, all my body, into this moment.
She moves on me, sliding her pelvis down to mine, kissing me back the whole time.
Kissing me the way I want to be kissed.
By her.
Because hers are the only kisses I want. Fevered and passionate and full of so much . . . emotion?
I end that train of thought, fight desperately to stop assigning meaning that isn’t there.
This kiss can’t be full of emotion.
It can’t be anything but sex and heat and an agenda.
I give in to that and only that—to the exploration of bathtub sex as an experiment. My hands glide down her body to her soft, supple ass, raising her up, guiding her over me.
She breaks the kiss, her palms on my pecs. “Tristan?”
“Yes?” I ask, as hope balloons inappropriately in me.
“My knees hurt,” she says, whispering it like a confession.
“Do you want to get out?” I ask.
“No. I want to try. I really do want to try.”
“Let me make sure you’re ready.” I slide my hand between her legs, groaning when I feel how slick she is there. “Gingersnap,” I murmur.
“Fred,” she purrs, somehow making that name sound sexy.
She lifts her hips, the water sloshing around as she gives me access to the paradise between her thighs. My fingers slide up and down, stroking her, touching her.
She shudders, letting her head fall back, looking more sensual than Aphrodite herself.
“I’m ready. I’m so ready,” she says on a breathless pant.
Lust barrels through my body as I grip her hips and line her up. Water splashes along my stomach, and it ripples across her thighs, slapping over the tub. Glancing at the floor, I laugh. “We’re going to need lots of towels.”
But for now, I need to get her on me. Once more, I help her find a good position, and she rubs the head of my cock against her heat. My eyes squeeze shut as pleasure takes over momentarily, the incomprehensible sensation of this woman touching me.
Knowing me.
Having me.
I open my eyes as she widens her legs so she can sink down. But she winces.
“What’s wrong?”
She shakes her head. “Nothing. Let’s do this.”
But she flinches again as she makes a second try.
I splay a hand on her belly, stopping her. “What is it?”
“This position . . .” she says with a sigh. “I’m sorry, but my toes are cramping, and my knees are killing me, and there’s so much water, and the bubbles are . . .”