CHAPTER TWELVE #2
“Evie,” he says back. Not softly at all.
“Do you have condoms?”
The outline of his body gets darker against the glass. He swipes a rough hand through the condensation at his eye level, clearing it so he can look straight at me. “What did you just say?”
I can barely hear him over the sound of the shower. The sheen of candlelight on the surface of the water in the tub obscures my body, and I’m submerged to my chin. But the way he stares at me through the foggy glass makes it clear his imagination is filling in any missing details.
Louder, he says, “What are you doing under the water there, Evie?”
“Nothing.” I raise both hands. If I wasn’t so out of my mind, I’d laugh at how breathless I sound. “See?”
Another impatient swipe through the condensation on the glass. “What were you doing under the water there, Evie?”
“Nothing,” I say again. The light bending off the candle wicks makes me dizzy.
Without warning, he cuts the shower off and throws the sliding door open. I hear him mutter, “I can’t fucking do this,” to himself. He steps out onto the bare tile and turns to face me, chest heaving, gleaming wet, and furiously hard.
There’s a sprawling, beautiful tattoo that starts a few inches above his left kneecap.
It’s Icarus falling, reaching skyward as his wings curve broken behind him.
A few lost feathers extend up Jake’s hip, inked into the subtle shadowed V alongside his abs.
The artistry is incredible, evoking movement and vulnerability and loss.
It’s also an unbelievably sexy contrast to the buttoned-up man I usually see.
“Whatever you’re not doing, you probably shouldn’t stop,” he says. Each word is heavy. Loaded.
I scoot my feet back. When my kneecaps peek above the surface of the water, Jake’s eyes widen. When I let them spread slowly open, he squeezes his eyes shut and chokes out something I can’t understand.
Every nerve ending between my thighs is a struck match.
The surface of the water is impressively calm.
I keep all the motion in my wrist—flex, release, flex—and with the other hand, I dig my fingernails into the back of my thigh to keep from coming completely unglued.
I catch my reflection in the shining chrome faucet on the opposite end of the tub. I barely recognize myself.
Faster.
My leg slips and my heel squeaks loudly against the bottom of the tub.
Jake looks down at me with hooded eyes. He takes his shaft in hand, pumping with a slow, decadent rhythm. “Look what you’ve done to me, Evie.”
I want to do more than look. What I really want is for him to drag me to bed and empty himself into me until dawn. “Do you have condoms?” I say again.
His laugh ends on a growl. “If I did, we wouldn’t be in here fucking our own hands.”
I can’t decide if I’m devastated or elated. No condoms means he’s had no reason to buy any. But it also means we’re not sleeping together tonight.
It’s eerily quiet now that the storm has slowed. The labored cadence of our breathing echoes in the steam-clouded room. A candle wick sizzles and pops.
I’m so close, swollen to the point of pain.
My breath comes in short, choppy bursts.
If I maintained this same pace on any typical day, I’d have ten, maybe twenty seconds until I came apart.
But the pain in my wrist is more acute now, and I can’t maintain the right rhythm.
I make a desperate sound and let my arm go limp.
“I can help.” Jake pants in the same cadence as the pump of his wrist. “Do you need help, Evie?”
He knows he can give me an orgasm. Calmly confident. And that turns me on more than anything. I’m near tears when I let my hand drift away to float listlessly in the water. “I can’t. I need—”
Jake doesn’t hesitate for a second. Suddenly he’s bending over, lifting me out of the tub, raining water everywhere.
I lock my ankles behind his back as he digs his fingers into my waist. I feel the blunt heat of his cock bumping my ass as he carries me out of the bathroom.
I’d sell my soul to be able to tip my hips backwards and sink down to the root—he’s so close—
He’s taking me to his bed.
“Jake, we’re soaked—”
He lowers me to the mattress without hesitation. “It’s getting fucking wet anyway,” he growls, spreading me wide. He’s on his knees, looming over me in the darkness. “I’m still hungry, Evie.”
Oh, my god.
I have no idea if it’s a statement or a question, but my answer is absolutely yes.
He cups a hand over my pubic bone, gliding the pad of his thumb over my clit before settling on his elbows between my thighs. “Fuck, I wish I could see you right now.” I feel the air move with every word.
Then he’s tasting me with a hot, wide-open mouth and a flattened tongue. My fingers twist in his hair. “Tell me,” he murmurs, and the only thing I can say is, “More.” And he gives it.
Outside the wall of windows, pinpoints of light begin to flicker on throughout Covent Garden.
I can see our reflection in the glass as he feasts on me like a man starved.
His hips move in silhouette, thrusting in a subtle echo of the movement of his lips and his tongue.
Like he’s imagining fucking me with more than his mouth.
That does it. An orgasm rages through me without warning. Relentless, pounding. My back bends, my knees fall inward, sealing my hands against his temples. Jake doesn’t stop, his lips and the broad pulse of his sucking tongue sending me all the way into oblivion.
My legs collapse flat against the mattress. Jake’s palms skid up the tops of my thighs as he kisses his way up the soft dip of my hip, my navel, my belly. Then he rolls sideways, landing with a grunt beside me on the mattress.
I’m up in a flash, quicker and more confident than I actually feel.
Straddling one of his legs, I bend over him, planting my palms on the thrust of his hipbones, running my thumbs along the plane of his lower belly.
My nipple skims the head of his shaft, coming away with a slick pearl of moisture.
I reach up to gather it between my fingers, and Jake groans like he’s dying when I put them in my mouth to taste it.
“You don’t have to—” he rasps, levering onto his elbows. The muscles in his belly flex in sharp relief.
“Oh, I do, Jake.” I finally take him in hand, swirling my thumb over the soaked tip. He bucks against me as I spread the wetness in a sleek, slow pump, then another. “I’m taking care of this tonight.”
I take him into my mouth. His arms fall loose at his sides, and he twists both fists into the fabric of the duvet, ripping it loose from where it had been so tidily tucked in around the bed.
I maintain my languid, tugging rhythm with my hand, letting the pulsing suction of my mouth and the wet slip of my tongue do their sacred, sensual work.
It doesn’t take long. Jake’s heels press into the bed, and the muscles in his belly and thighs begin to quake in rhythmic unison.
He releases the duvet to fist his hands in my hair instead.
He lifts his head to watch as I finish him off.
The moment our eyes meet, he sucks in a sharp, shuddering breath, groaning with teeth clenched tight.
I expect him to fall back and look away, but he doesn’t.
He keeps his gaze locked on mine, and makes a soft, ruined noise as he comes.
I collapse sideways, and he drags me upwards to nestle between the curve of his chest and his arm. With his free hand, he swoops the duvet over us. The kiss he presses to my temple is tender, a stark contrast to what just happened between us, but somehow the perfect coda.
I’m not na?ve. I know where this thing between us is heading. The only surprise is how fast I’m letting myself fall. It’s like gravity, and now that I’ve started spiraling, I can’t stop.