Chapter 45 Riding the waves #2
The rougher I get, the louder she moans. And the closer we get to that sweet rapture.
Until I’m teetering over the edge.
Warmth erupts from somewhere deep inside me, spreading through my body like wildfire. My balls draw up with a fierce need for release.
As much as I want to do this forever, it feels way too fucking good. A man is only so strong.
“I’m gonna come, cookie.” Between each word, I gasp for air. “Unless. You. Slow. Down.”
Instead of slowing, she quickens her pace. Her words come out equally as choppy. “Can’t stop. So close. So good. Come with me.”
She grinds her clit on the root of my cock at the bottom of each stroke. Her moans turn to whimpers, then to frenzied keens in that precious way she does when she comes.
I let go, giving up the fight and letting her bring me with her. And she does, her sweet pussy quaking and squeezing my dick for all its worth.
My cock erupts, coating her silky walls in hot bursts of my release. Lila thrashes wildly on me, chasing her pleasure and using me in the way I’ve always dreamed about.
The acoustics from the bathroom tile make our erotic cries, grunts, and moans sound louder, as if the room is amplifying our climax.
We ride it out to the very end, savoring the high.
Fucking hell.
I thought we already achieved perfection. But each time, it gets better.
As we catch our breath, she rests her head on my shoulder. I run my hands up and down her back, still needing more of her touch.
Her lips graze my neck as she tiredly utters, “Hey, dimples. Our warm bubble bath is neither warm nor bubbly anymore.”
My heart flutters like I have a cardiac condition.
Then I realize it’s more likely because of what she just called me than a medical episode.
I’ve never had an affectionate nickname. It shouldn’t matter this much, but it does.
Even my adopted parents never called me anything but Reed. Once or twice, my dad might have called me son. But I can’t recall. Perhaps I imagined that because of how much I wanted to hear it.
According to birth and adoption records, I was named Reed Matthew Sawyer. Then I became Reed Hayes. Nobody I love has ever called me anything but that.
I’m actively ignoring that my coworker calls me rook because it isn’t affectionate.
Being referred to as agent doesn’t count either. That’s a title I earned with hard work. Not because someone loved me.
“I like that,” I confess, my voice barely audible.
She giggles, and it tickles my neck. “You like hanging out in cold bath water with your little swimmers floating around us? You’re a bit of a freak, aren’t you?”
Chuckling placidly, I kiss the side of her head. “I wasn’t talking about that. You called me dimples. Not dirty dimples or something snarky. It sounded sweet. And I liked it.”
She perks up, her head springing off my shoulder. “Really?”
“Yeah. I’ve never—”
The confession gets stuck amidst the bellowing emotions that want to choke me.
Rather than finishing my sentence, I redirect her to a more comfortable topic. “Let’s take this party to the shower. We should warm up before bed.”
Her eyes narrow to doubting slits. Instead of pressing me for an explanation of my sudden vibe shift—which I know she notices—she disentangles from me.
“Wait here. I’ll turn the hot water on so only one of us has to freeze.”
I grab a towel, glide across the room, and turn the shower on to let the water warm up. Once it’s hot, I beckon her over.
As she steps into the shower, she shines with a coy grin. “Are you spoiling me on purpose?”
“I’m a gentleman. Plus, I need to convince you to move in with me somehow, despite the height of the building.”
“I’m beginning to think you aren’t fully joking. We’re gonna come back to that in a minute.” She shakes her head at me, clicking her tongue. “Stop trying to distract me. Back to what you were about to say earlier.”
“We’ve been together practically all day, so you’re gonna need to be more specific.”
“Would you like to borrow some of my nonsense to add some razzle-dazzle to your deflection? If you’re gonna evade and cower, you might as well entertain me in the process.”
“I’m not hiding from anything.”
Shit. I just lied.
And if the wink of condescension she gives me is any indicator, she knows it.
“Fine. I’ll tell you what I was ruminating on when we’re done in here. It isn’t a shower topic.”
“Oh, a little suspense.” She shimmies her shoulders, then tosses her head back under the spray. “I can get down with that. And now I’ve got an incentive to hurry, other than sheer exhaustion.”
Fun fact: Lila’s highly motivated by the prospect of learning my little secrets.
She’s ready to get out about two minutes later. I’m not sure she rinsed all the conditioner out of her hair, but she’s a woman on a mission.
I stop her when she attempts to open the shower door. “Hang on. Let me go first.”
She juts her lip into a kissable pout. “So much for your gentlemanly manners.”
I give her a peck, then slip by her. “Stay in there where you’re warm. Just wait before you judge.”
“Psh. That goes against nature.” She sulks back under the spray. “Wait before I judge. How dare you suggest such a thing is possible?”
After the world’s quickest towel dry, I dash down the hall.
When I return, she eyes me skeptically before turning off the water. “I guess you really don’t want to have our little talk. You’re grasping at fibers instead of straws. The towel I used this morning is right there.”
My only response is to hold out the towel I retrieved from the dryer. When she tentatively steps onto the shower mat, I wrap her up in cozy, warm cotton.
Her face brightens instantly. “Thank you so much. This is much better.” She closes her eyes to nuzzle into the towel. “How did you know? Fancy FBI agent investigative skills or something?”
“I saw the towel warmer at your apartment this morning when you were trying on seventy-two outfits. The dots connected themselves at that point.”
Through a grin, she quips, “I still say you should have let me wear my I heart the FBI shirt.”
Shit. Her joke reminds me that I should probably check my phone before we get in bed.
I reverse away from her, edging toward the door. “Silly ass.”
“By the way, at my trial, I’ll be in my I heart the jury shirt no matter what you say.”
I could tell her the odds of a trial are less than zero, but I get distracted by the way she’s running the towel over her skin.
She sees me gawking, then stiffens and covers herself. “Get out, you peeping Tom. I can’t dry my butt with you watching.”
Before I leave the bathroom, I swipe her pajamas off the counter.
“Hey, I need those,” she whines.
I wink at her from over my shoulder. “The fuck you do.”