Page 47 of I Choose You

It doesn’t take long to learn that I have to reposition my hands in order to make more progress. So, I shift, placing both around her leg.

Locking onto the creamy skin of her thigh, my body comes to life the second I notice a splash of freckles. Fucking hell. My mouth belongs there. My tongue aches to lick along the parts of her that lead to her most sensitive spot. I’m so keyed up, being held hostage by my traitorous thoughts, that I don’t realize when my palm moves to her inner thigh.

At least, not until she whimpers.

My heart threatens combustion when the serene sound hits my eardrums. I’m caught so off guard that my hands cease movement. Torment and arousal ripple through me instantly, causing my thoughts to head straight for the gutter—not that they weren’t halfway there already.

Dear fucking Lord.

The fantasies that form in my head include skin and kissing and touching. Filtering through in waves, they cause my jeans to tighten even more than the rain suctioned them to my skin.

This must be awkward. And if I were her, I’d want to zap myself smaller, like that girl on The Secret Life of Alex Mack she would force me to watch all the damn time. I’d slink down and sneak out of the room without a soul noticing. Relief would hit me, and all would be well outside of reducing to liquid. Unfortunately for her, we’re not filming a TV show, and for her to get out of the bathroom, she’d have to get past me.

Heat licks at my skin, making me aware of the lively static bouncing around. If I move, there’s no doubt I’ll be electrocuted, so other than picking back up where I left off, I try to remain cool. Like this isn’t affecting every damn atom of my being. When the fabric pools at her knees, I reposition my hands. I flatten a cool palm against her inner knee and jerk her jeans south.

A groan forms in my chest when she combs her hands through my hair above my ears. My teeth clamp down on the inside of my cheek, ready to draw blood to save face.

Tenderly, she massages her nails into my scalp. And Jesus fucking Christ, it feels good. That same magnetizing attraction that overwhelmed us when we kissed joins us as I free the rest of her legs from her jeans. Palms moist from the soaked denim, I push her feet through the openings at the end.

I don’t trust myself enough to look up. I’m certain whatever emotion is on her face will force me to my feet to envelope her in my arms and kiss the life out of her.

Her jeans become a heap of fabric on the floor, and my hands—having a mind of their own—glide along the outside of her smooth legs. She’s soft as fuck, and my hands mold to the curves of her body in a way that’s almost too perfect. As much as my logical side yells at me to stop, I don’t.

I can’t.

I continue, soaring higher and higher until my palms move over the lacey material on her hips. My fingers squeeze into her, my greed pleading to do things that would surely make her blush.

I gulp down a thick layer of longing as my hands linger. I use the little energy I have left to control myself, but it’s hard when her nails scratch down the back of my neck and up again. This, whatever it is we’re doing, is so deathly close to foreplay that I’d never last longer than ten minutes if she offered the opportunity of more.

My words come out strangled, like her hands are squeezing my neck rather than brushing through my hair. “Mackenzie.” My thumb moves lazily, hooking into her panties for the briefest second before I gather myself enough to say something with more substance. “This was a bad, bad idea. I should not have…”

She moves her hands to my forearms, and I pray to God she doesn’t pull away. I lean forward to press a chaste kiss on her upper thigh, right over her freckles. A throaty groan pulsates in my throat when I do, encouraging me to pepper another two kisses down her leg before moving to her other side.

Courage flourishes in me, and I think back to how her lips were as soft as her skin is now against my lips. There’s no bitterness from beer or the rolling of our tongues, but it’s all there in the back of my mind as my mouth climbs higher so I can check her hip. I’m slow and careful as I peel a section of lace down to reveal the area she fell on.

A bruise as big as a coffee mug colors her paleness, a mix of blues and purples. Before I can get a word out to tell her it looks like a nasty bruise, water barrels over the edge of the tub, smacking into the backs of her legs and soaking whatever sections of the bathmat that were dry.

I wish I could say it cures the inappropriate thoughts pulsing through me, but it doesn’t. It just makes me picture how fucking good she’d look in the tub with the bath water skimming the crest of her breasts.

21

Mackenzie

“Shit!” I twist around as fast as I can with my hip aching the way it is. “Mason! Get a towel! Hurry!” Water overflows out of the tub, gushing over the edge like a never-ending waterfall. Luke is going to fucking freak.

Mason is out of the room in a flash and comes back with an armful of towels to soak up the mess. “Kenz, turn off the water!”

“What?” I can barely think between my hip hurting, Mason’s touch, and the shock of the tub overflowing.

“The water,” he shouts. “Turn the damn lever down! Shut it off!”

I look back at the faucet and realize that Mason is correct, I haven’t turned it off, so I rush forward and yank the shower lever down. I swallow a breath and don’t move a finger as I hover over the tub.

Behind me, Mason thwacks a towel onto the floor, using his feet to sop up as much water as he can before another dry towel lands on the ground. “Pull the drain.”

“Yeah, okay,” I breathe out, reaching my arm into the water to do just that. We both sigh in relief once the drain starts chugging the excess water. How did the tub fill that fast? Then, I look down and realize how compromising of a position I’m in. Lace panties are the only thing that covers my bottom half, and I’m bent over the side of the tub, my round ass in the air. My entire body flushes, turning beet red. The sound of the draining water fades from the embarrassment that grips me. When I dare a glance around my side, Mason is crouching, moving soaking wet towels around the floor, all while his lusty gaze lingers on me.

He’s staring directly at my ass.

---