My blood races as I curl my fingers around the hard length of him, the skin velvety soft against my palm. Whatever else he is with me—angry, resentful, frustrated—he cannot hide his attraction. His head falls back against the tub, a pained look on his face. “I did not think you would do it.” “Did you not want me to?” I slide my hand down as I touch him thoroughly, memorizing the feel and weight of him against my palm. “Should I stop?” His throat bobs with a hard swallow. “What I want right now is for you to climb into this tub.” “With you?” He smirks. “If you dare.”
