Chapter 12 Amy #3
I jerk back my heel, my foot plunging into the tub and spraying water straight into my face.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me!” I splutter. “Get the hell out of here!”
“Umm, you kinda left the door open?” he says evenly.
I cringe. Shit. I was in such a hurry, I totally forgot to check it was shut properly.
“How’s that leak coming along?” I call out.
“It isn’t.”
I poke my head around the curtain to find him standing there with his back to me, staring into the toilet.
“Liar!”
He laughs. “I’m almost done. I’ve been holding it in for hours now, and anyway—the curtain is one hundred percent non-see-through.” He turns and squints at me. “If I try real hard, though, I can just about make out—”
“Out! Now!”
I snap the curtain shut and drop my head to my hands. I don’t care about him using the toilet while I shower, and I don’t care what he can see through the curtain, either. The problem is more that I was just about to get off, and he messed the whole thing up.
“Let’s talk some more,” he says brightly. “I can’t relax. I need a distraction.”
Yeah, same here, buddy.
I’m genuinely about to lose it, so I grab hold of the showerhead, flick on the cold water, and spray it directly into his face. He lets out a yelp.
“How about now?” I laugh. “Feeling chilled?”
I’m expecting him to go running out of the room for cover, but instead his hand reaches for mine, and before I know it, he’s pried my fingers loose, wrestling the showerhead away from me and yanking the curtain wide open, giving me a taste of my own medicine, keeping his eyes screwed tight the whole time.
Such a gentleman. The water’s so cold it knocks the wind out of me, and I don’t think to turn it off.
Instead, I hop out of the shower, not noticing the huge puddle on the floor until my foot slips and I go skidding across the tiles.
Before I know it, a strong arm is wrapping around my waist and pulling me in.
Pressed against his wet, bare chest like this, I’m struggling to breathe. I’m standing here naked, Lewis clasping me to him. He’s got one firm hand on my ass, and I clench my muscles. Hard.
“Sorry—I grabbed what I could, you know?” He laughs.
Consider yourself forgiven. There’s no way I’m telling him that, though.
I tilt my face up to look at him, peeking one eye open, and then the other. He’s still got his hand on my ass. And he’s staring down at me meaningfully.
This time, I know he wants to kiss me.
I can feel it. It’s not the only thing I feel, come to think of it. Goose bumps are rippling over my skin, but he reads the moment all wrong.
“You’re freezing…”
With his free hand, he snatches up a towel, and the spell is broken.
“I catch you staring at my boobs, you’re sleeping in the car tonight.”
I wrap the towel around me and head for the bedroom.
Back on my bed, I can hear the shower running. He’s driving me crazy. I lean over the mattress and bury myself in the comforter, silently screaming into the pillow before rummaging through my bag for my car keys.
Maybe I should just hit the road. Head home before I make a total fool out of myself.
Maybe I should go sleep in my car. It wouldn’t be the first time, after all.
I crouch there for a while staring at my keys, until he shuffles out of the bathroom, his skin glistening, a towel knotted around his hips. Like he was rushing. Like he was in too much of a hurry to dry off…
I tuck my own towel tighter around my chest and get to my feet. Maybe I should accidentally-on-purpose flash him—I’m kind of curious to see what he’d do about it.
“That’s the fastest shower I’ve ever seen.”
He’s standing there gazing at me.
“Why are you staring at me like that?”
“I’m waiting.”
“For…?”
“A sign. Some kind of tip-off,” he adds, seeing I’m not getting it. “Consent, maybe?”
What?
It takes me a moment—call it two.
Then suddenly, it dawns on me, like headlights cutting through the fog. Lewis is saying we should get it on, but in the weirdest way imaginable. Not that that’s a problem. The room around me is starting to sway, and this is one of those situations where I don’t have to think twice.
Carpe diem.
“A sign”—I don’t recognize my own voice—“like this?”
When my towel drops to the floor, the light shifts in Lewis’s eyes and a curse escapes him.
He doesn’t touch me right away. Just steps closer, close enough that I feel the heat of him, the air changing between us. Then his hand slides up, fingers curving into the nape of my neck while the other settles low on my hip, thumb pressing in like he’s testing how much I’ll let him take.
My breath stutters when his mouth brushes my ear. I drag my nails over his chest, feeling the damp heat of his skin, the tension coiled there, and he exhales hard—like that did something to him, like maybe he’s just as affected as I am.
There’s something overwhelming about how big his frame is and the way he fills the space so completely. Heat floods my body, fast and dizzying, and the room seems to blur as control slips through my fingers.
His mouth curves in a brief, knowing smile before he kisses me again, slow this time, deliberate.
When his tongue slips past my lips, my knees soften, my body going pliant, yielding.
It’s like it’s been waiting for this permission.
I cling to his shoulders, my chest rising sharply against him as he grips me tighter, lifting me with an ease that steals the air from my lungs.
The table is cool against my back when he lays me down, spreading me out with a confidence that makes my pulse spike. He fits himself between my thighs, his weight anchoring me there, mouth claiming mine again—deeper, hungrier.
The earlier kisses were intense, but this is something else entirely.
He holds my waist, guiding the rhythm as our bodies move together, the friction sending sparks everywhere at once.
My breath comes apart, gasping, my fingers digging into his back as I chase the closeness, the pressure, the way he makes everything else disappear.
I want more.
And I can feel, in the way he holds me there, that he does, too.
He lifts me up and spins me around so fast the world tilts on its axis.
Suddenly, I’m alone on the mattress, naked and exposed.
I clamp my legs shut and squint into the half dark.
He’s standing there with his back to me, struggling with something I can’t make out, and this is my chance to take him in, freeze-framing every inch of his perfect ass in my mind.
I knew he was hot, but seeing him now like this, I realize he’s so much more.
When he turns back to me, I make zero attempt to hide that I was checking him out, and a smile spreads over his lips.
He spits out the corner of the packet and rolls on the condom, staring at me hungrily.
Seeing him standing over me like that is driving me wild.
I sit up, thinking I want to yank him onto the bed and ride him, but he has other plans for me.
“Lie back down.”
This is new. Up until now, I’ve always talked back, but there’s something about his tone that makes me want to obey. I do as he says, stretching back out over the sheets, my body quivering in anticipation as he drapes himself over me and crushes his lips on mine.
Then his mouth trails down my cheek, my throat, my collarbone, while his hands learn me slowly, deliberately, like he’s memorizing how I react.
I gasp when his fingers slip between my thighs. He touches me like he already knows exactly how I love it. I can tell I’m soaked, but it’s confirmed when his fingers glide between my folds, and when he starts to draw slow circles over my clit, I can’t help but moan.
I think I might be shaking. I’m definitely pushing up into his hand without even meaning to, every nerve lighting up as he takes his time.
His mouth starts sucking at my breasts and a finger slips inside of me, and I completely unravel.
I start riding his hand, taking his face between my palms to mouth at him.
At this point, I’m not above begging.
“Please,” I breathe into his mouth.
He stops to look at me, a smile across his face.
“Please, what?”
I know he’s teasing. And I know maybe I should be embarrassed, or I should be playing along and act coy. But I’ve wanted this for too long, so fuck it.
“Please, Lewis. Can you fuck me? I need you to fuck me.”
He stills completely, finger still inside me.
Not pulling away—but freezing, like he’s bracing himself. His breath leaves him in a slow, rough exhale, his forehead dropping briefly to mine as if he needs the second to steady himself. When he looks at me again, his eyes are dark, blown wide with want.
“Jesus, Amy,” he mutters, voice low. “What are you doing to me?”
His hands slide up my thighs, firm and grounding, and he spreads me open. He strokes his dick against my soaked pussy, once, twice. I’m seeing stars.
Then he slips inside me in one smooth stroke, filling the space between us inch by inch until my breath shatters and my back arches into his hold. He stills for a heartbeat, jaw tight, letting me feel the weight of him, the stretch, the way my body takes him like it’s been waiting.
His voice is low and strained. “Fuck, you feel unreal.”
Then he moves.
Harder. Deeper. Relentless.
Each time our mouths crash together, it’s like learning how to breathe all over again. Each thrust drives me closer to the edge, his weight bearing me down, keeping me right where he wants me, until I’m light and dizzy and losing myself completely.
I’m right there—biting his lip, nails digging into his shoulders—when his hand grips my knee, spreading me wider as he loses control. I cry out, again and again, uncaring, unguarded, not thinking about the neighbors or what comes next or where this leaves us.