Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
Lot
It hits different.
We skinny-dip beneath a sky full of stars. Clear, black, endless. The air’s crisp and cold, but the steam of the hot tub pulls us into its heat, soothing the ache from everything Dice shared.
Facing each other across the bubbling expanse, his arms are draped over the edge, head tilted back. Mine are curled around my knees, half-floating.
“This feels amazing,” I murmur, letting the warmth soak into my bones.
He hums in agreement, but there’s something different in his gaze. Something I can’t quite read.
“You doing okay?” I ask, even though I already know the answer’s layered and complicated.
“Yeah.” He grabs my ankle and pulls me across the tub toward him. His hands glide up my calves, over my thighs and hips. “Now I’m even better.”
I float into his lap, legs wrapping around his waist, arms over his shoulders. His hands settle at my back, fingers splayed wide, holding me like I might drift away.
But I’m not going anywhere. I anchor myself to him. Our breaths mingle in the steam. Although sexual tension charges between us, he doesn’t make any overtures and neither do I.
His fingers trace my spine. “Has there ever been anyone serious in New York?”
“No,” I say, surprised by the question. He’s never asked me that before. “Just casual stuff.”
“How come?”
“I like my space. My independence.”
“You can’t have that and a relationship?”
“Trying to marry me off?”
“Hell no. Just curious why you avoid anything serious.”
“I doubt I’d be good at it. The whole sharing and caring thing.”
“I think you’ve got a blind spot for that part of yourself that’s soft, kind, and compassionate. Then you’ve got that sexy strength, that face card, and that body to match. Any man would be lucky to have you.”
But not him? “Thanks, Jones,” I say dryly. “Even if it is the wine talking.”
“You know I’m not drunk.” He catches my chin and looks in my eyes. “I said what I said because it’s true.”
“Well, I could say the same for you. If you were willing to curb your player ways, you’d be an awesome catch. Hot, funny, thoughtful, and caring. Great in bed. Can cook a little now, so that adds another checkmark.”
“You got a checklist?”
“No.” I study him in the moonlight. “I told you, I’m not looking for a man to call my own.”
“Think you ever will?”
“Maybe. One day. But I won’t need a checklist. My instincts will kick in.” They already have, but I’m not about to reveal that. “What about you? Think you’ll ever want to settle down?”
“It’s not something I learned how to do.”
“What isn’t?”
“Love somebody and be loved.”
That hurts my heart. “People love you, Dice. And you love them back. It may not be that romantic kind, but it’s still love. Still real.”
“I guess.”
“Is that why you don’t do relationships?”
“That’s part of it.” His hands move leisurely across my shoulders and down my arms, scooping water over them.
“Growing up, I hid the shit at home behind humor. Made it look like I was just fine. Like I was this happy-go-lucky dude without a care. I got good at it. The performance. Being the smooth player. No real emotions. Nothing that touched me. But…”
“But what?”
“The game gets tired,” he admits. “Starts to feel empty. Meaningless. This… with you… it’s the first time I’ve had sex with someone I actually care about. It hits different.”
“I know what you mean. The hookup scene’s… transactional. Being with someone you like—in and out of bed—that’s rare. Nice.” I exhale. “I think I always saw independence and relationships as opposing forces. I felt stifled by Maurice. Vowed no man would ever squash my spirit or control me again.”
“The right man wouldn’t,” he says with quiet conviction. “He’d love and accept all of you. You’d just have to give him the chance.”
That lands hard in my chest. It’s been an emotional night.
He’s been at his most vulnerable. We shared a bottle of wine.
We’re soaking in a hot tub under a star-filled sky, wrapped in heat and soft feelings, holding on to each other and the time we have left.
It’s the kind of moment fraught for saying things you might regret in the light of day.
Later, after we’ve showered off the chlorine, I lather myself in body butter—peaches and cream—and slip into a short black nightie that’s sheer except for lace flowers placed on the nipples.
Dice looks me over with heated appreciation, his cock tenting the towel wrapped around his waist. “I was going to behave myself tonight and suggest we watch a movie.”
“I can change, if you prefer.”
“That wouldn’t help. I want you no matter what you’re wearing. But this, Web…” He slides the thin shoulder strap between his fingers. “This doesn’t give me a fighting chance.”
“Why do you need to fight it?”
“It’s just been an unexpected night.”
“Do you regret telling me?”
“No.”
Is that true? Or just the mask he’s always worn? Cool. Unbothered. Laid-back. When he’s really questioning everything. Wondering if he said too much. Wondering if I could know the truth and still want him.
Since physical touch is one of his love languages, I slip my arms around his waist and press a kiss to his chest. “We don’t have to do anything. I just want you to know that nothing you told me changes how much I want you. So, if that’s what you’re fighting against… don’t.”
“Lot,” he murmurs. “It’s not just that. It’s… it feels like I’ve wanted you forever. And now that you’re leaving, I don’t know how the fuck I’m supposed to let you go.”
“I don’t know how to let you go either.” I push him gently onto the bed, sliding over him, aligning our bodies. “But we have right now.”
He holds me close, and I kiss him. His lips part beneath mine.
I feel him exhale in a soft explosion before he fists his hands in my locs and angles my head to take control of the kiss with a hunger that quickly burns me up.
He presses his thick erection between my legs, and I rock against him until his sounds are rough and ragged.
“You just have to touch me, and I’m wrecked.”
I reach between us and stroke him, slow and easy.
“Have you been tested?” I ask.
“Yes,” he hisses as I continue to jerk him up and down. “I’m clean. I always use condoms.”
“Me too. I… I have an IUD.” I look at him, bold and certain. “I want to feel you bare. Just you. Inside me.”
“Fuck, yes,” he groans, rolls me onto my back, and kisses my nightie away. His tongue is nonstop, starting at my neck and moving lower and lower until he’s between my thighs, spreading me open like a book.
“You’re so fucking pretty like this,” he murmurs. “Pink, swollen, already throbbing for me. God, I could spend the rest of my life with my face buried in this pussy.”
I fist the sheets, so turned on, my desperation etched in every drop.
He dips his head, dragging his tongue over me, tracing the tender swells like he’s committing every taste and texture to memory. My hips lift into his mouth, seeking more.
“Get on your knees for me, Web. Let me love on that ass too.”
I scramble onto all fours.
He gives my cheek a resounding smack, then kisses it better.
“Dice,” I gasp, part plea, part demand. “Give it to me now.”
“Love it when you’re hot and bothered.” His hands roam over me, kneading the flesh like I’m something precious and wanton at the same time.
Then he slides his fingers along the seam, gliding down to my slit. Two fingers sink into me, and I moan.
“You’re dripping,” he murmurs, slowly thrusting in and out, before adding a third, filling me up.
Arousal strips away gravity. My arms give out and I drop to the mattress, ass high in the air.
He keeps fingering me in a maddening rhythm while reverently kissing the curves of my cheeks. “You smell like peaches,” he groans against my skin. “Taste like peaches too.”
His tongue lands wet, and I gasp as he rims the sensitive ring of my taint.
“Oh—fuck, Dice…” I’ve never felt anything like it. Darkly sinful. Exquisite. It’s a whole new world of pleasure. Dice honoring my ass. Elevating my enjoyment of anal play with devotion.
So turned on, my moans could wake the neighbors, but I’m too deep in the throes to care.
His tongue keeps circling, then his thumb finds my clit.
A couple of flicks and everything tightens.
My lungs burn on a sob as massive spasms take me under, swamping me in sensation, my orgasm drowning me as I squirt all over his fingers, the sheets, and down my legs.
Dice groans his approval. “That’s it, baby, keep coming for me.”
When I’m as limp as a rag doll, he slips his fingers out and turns me over. His eyes lock on mine as he pushes every inch inside me. Bare and scorching hot.
He clutches me against him, then starts moving. Deep, measured strokes. Claiming my body… and my heart. He tells me I’m beautiful. Perfect. That nothing has ever felt this good… this right.
His words push me over the edge. I cry out, coming again.
He quickens his pace, pounding relentlessly through the sharp contractions. His hold is possessive, cutting off my breath. His mouth is on my neck, sucking the skin as he spurts inside me, long and shuddering.
I love you screams on the tip of my tongue. But I swallow it.
And let this be enough.