Chapter 9 #2
As his thigh presses against mine, I realize that he’s eliminated all the space between us.
He brings an arm up out of the water, droplets cascading over me as he slips his arm behind me on the edge of the hot tub.
I get a wave of Old Spice deodorant as he does this.
It’s masculine and intoxicating and I nearly bury my face in his skin just to breathe him in a little deeper.
His fingers brush against my bare shoulder, and it sends a shiver through my whole body. Where I’m gripping the bench, my knuckles graze his knee. My sense of restraint is hanging on by a thread, and I’m liable to snap at any moment.
I wet my lips and tilt my chin up to meet his gaze. He’s already looking at me, his nose nearly grazing mine. His gaze bounces between my eyes and my mouth.
“I’d like to kiss you,” he says.
If I let him kiss me, he would kiss me until the world around us ceased to exist. That’s what it’s always been like to kiss Miles Barker. Cinematic, blurry world, nothing matters but you and me, everyone else can mind their own business kind of kissing.
His fingertips trace patterns over my skin, traveling up to my neck, over my jaw, tangling in the hairs at the nape of my neck.
His proximity is potent; the heady sensation of just being this close to Miles is putting me out of my mind.
Maybe I wanted to kiss him yesterday, but today I need to kiss him.
“I—”
“You aren’t tempted at all?” He raises his eyebrows.
“I am,” I manage, but the words are barely breathed out. I am at the edge of my control, slowly unraveling with every word, every graze of his fingers.
His eyes search my face. He wets his lips, and, as if pulled by some invisible force, I lean into him.
He could brush his lips over mine with the slightest of movements, but he isn’t moving. His eyes aren’t closed in anticipation; his eyes are locked on mine.
He’s waiting for consent. I either need to say something or initiate it myself, but my throat feels tight, and despite how turned on I am right now, something is keeping me from fully sending it.
“You were going to ask me something yesterday, last night, at the beach,” he says. He must be reading my hesitation, changing the subject like that.
It’s my turn for my lips to curl into a smile.
“Oh, yeah,” I say. “I was wondering…are you really a yogi-head?”
A laugh explodes out of him, a deep booming thing that shakes his body. Head thrown back, he lays a hand on his stomach as if he could find the source of the laughter in his body.
The moment we were just in is gone, but I’m still keyed up. The water feels warmer than it did when I got in, and I’m tuned in to where our legs are touching. My brain knows the moment has passed, but my body is still there.
“I was not expecting that,” he says and leans back against the wall of the jacuzzi. One of his arms is still slung out behind me, his fingertips still grazing the back of my neck.
“Well? Are you?”
“I’m not, actually. I hate yoga. But I thought there was a chance I could see you.”
The moment comes back to us as if it never even left. This time when I search his eyes, it isn’t just desire; there’s longing. Not the kind that makes you want to merely fuck someone, but the kind that makes your chest ache or keeps you up at night because you’re consumed by wanting.
“Do you remember the last time we were in a hot tub?” he asks, his voice so low that I shouldn’t be able to hear it, but his words are crystal clear to me.
“Aspen,” I say. My voice comes out as a croak. I’m still wound tight, one too-quick movement from unspooling completely.
We’d spent our entire senior year planning and saving up to take a trip for spring break, so the two of us could rent a cabin in Aspen and go skiing.
The trip was a big deal for a few reasons: it was our first time traveling together as a couple alone, and Miles had absolutely no hockey obligations, which meant I’d be getting his full attention.
And my god did I get his full attention. To this day, I don’t think I’ve ever had as much sex as we did on that trip.
We spent the week skiing, drinking, and when we weren’t having sex all over the cabin, we were soaking in the hot tub outside. And usually having sex there too.
I can only think of one reason why he would bring up this memory, and it’s not just because this is the first time we’ve been in a hot tub together since then. He would have brought it up earlier if that were the case.
No, he wanted me to remember one particular night.
“Do you remember the night it snowed?” he asks.
Of course I remember it. We’d spent every night in the hot tub, and there was only one night when it had started snowing while we were out there. The hot water, the cold snowflakes, and the cheap champagne made for a deeply romantic evening.
I nod, acknowledging his question, and although I’m looking at Miles now in the present, I’m also back in the hot tub in Aspen.
Snowflakes landing on our water-warmed skin as he peeled my wet bikini off my body.
The water bubbling across my hips as I straddled him, rocking myself against him with his full length inside me.
The way he never broke eye contact with me for one second of it.
The way he kissed me, like I was the only woman on earth who had ever existed to him.
Is that what he wanted me to remember?
As if I could forget it.
The memory has the intended effect, or at least I assume it’s the intended effect. My body is craving Miles now, gnawing at my insides, begging for his touch.
I want to kiss him, and all the reasons I haven’t yet suddenly seem really dumb. I’m holding myself back. I’m in a prison of my own making, but the door isn’t locked and I can leave any time. If I want this, why shouldn’t I take it?
Fuck it.
I push my lips against his, and then we’re kissing, his hand winding through my hair, my hands on his face to hold his mouth against mine, to taste, to remind myself what it was like to pour my desire out to someone who can contain it.
Kissing Todd never felt like this. It never had the heat or the fire; it never felt like being consumed.
Which is probably why I was going to marry him, because Todd was safe.
And Miles is not.
Miles, who couldn’t even tell me he loved me when we were dating, but told me he wanted to marry me. Miles, who looked at me like I hung the moon and still chose a sport over me. Miles. Bossy, stubborn, impatient, control freak Miles.
I break the kiss, our labored breathing the only thing louder than the hot tub.
“This is a bad idea,” I say, but my forehead is pressed to his and my hands are still on his face.
“Abby…” His voice is hoarse and thick with wanting. I can’t ignore the throbbing between my legs any longer, and if I don’t leave now, we’re about to reenact what happened in Aspen.
“I…can’t. I…shouldn’t be doing this,” I say.
With the last ounce of my willpower, I wrench myself away from him, climb out of the hot tub, and practically sprint back to my room, praying he won’t follow me.