Page 26 of Love Him Like Water

Renzo was half a stride out of the bathroom when he noticed me sitting up against the headboard, my hand still around my throat, shamelessly watching him.

His head cocked to the side, his eyes sliding over me, and my skin pricked like his gaze was a physical touch, a caress.

Suddenly, I felt laid bare, like he was seeing me naked instead of in the pair of sleep shorts and roomy sweatshirt that I’d put on for bed.

He moved toward the bed, his gaze never leaving me.

And despite the embarrassed flush that started over my cheeks at my boldness, I couldn’t seem to look away from him either.

Standing at the side of the bed, he reached for the tuck of his towel, flicking it loose.

The material slipped to the ground, leaving him completely naked, standing there without a hint of shame or insecurity.

And why would he be insecure?

If I were chiseled out of marble, I wouldn’t feel insecure either.

Renzo said nothing as he got into the bed.

The heat of his body and the scent of him overwhelmed me, making it impossible to think of anything but the nearness of him.

Renzo turned toward me, his hand moving out, landing on my neck, fingers massaging the back of it, teasing into my hair, fingers lightly rubbing circles on my scalp.

I leaned toward the touch, aching for more of that sweetness, the touch I’d been craving for longer than I could admit.

“It shouldn’t have been like that,” he said, his voice a soft rumble.

I didn’t know what he meant.

And some part of me was terrified to say anything, to ask for clarification, and break the spell of this moment as his fingers drifted further across my scalp, making little currents of desire move across my scalp, then down my spine, pooling in my core… and lower.

“It can be good,” he added, fingers sinking into the back of my neck, pulling me closer, then ducking his head, his lips meeting my neck, making a little shiver course through me. “I’ll make it good,” he added, and this time, the shiver was in my core as his fingers sank into my hip, the touch firm and possessive.

His lips traced down my neck until the collar of my shirt prevented him from going lower.

“Do you want that, mouse?” he murmured against my skin.

I swallowed hard.

And I thought I might have nodded.

But I couldn’t be sure.

All my nerve endings were firing off at the same time.

I wasn’t thinking clearly.

“You need to tell me,” he said as his hand slipped under the hem of my sweatshirt, fingers teasing over my belly. “You have to tell me yes, or I have to stop,” he added as his hand flattened, moving upward, but stopping before he could touch my breast.

“Yes,” I whispered.

I didn’t care that the last time had hurt, that he hadn’t been satisfied with me, that it had been nothing like I’d dreamed.

All I cared about was more.

I needed more of this.

More of him.

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