Page 40 of A Quarterback for Christmas

“Drew?”

He shakes his head, offering me a smile. “Sorry.” Much like earlier, he scoops me up in his arms, and I wrap mine around his neck. Strangely, it feels natural to be here with him. He’s so gentle, and even though it would be easy, he’s not trying to cop a feel.

He lowers me into the bath, and my butt is the first thing to hit the bubbles. When he sees I don’t flinch at the temperature, he carefully drops me the rest of the way.

The warmth of the water spreads through my body, and I instantly relax. I didn’t know how much I needed this until right now. The fabric of Drew’s shirt floats to the top of the water as I’m lowered fully into the bath.

“Everything okay?” he asks, fiddling with my cast to make sure it’s relaxed against the bath’s rim. His face is close to mine, and with the steam billowing from the water, I feel the tension building between us, but that could very easily be Drew tensing because he’s holding my weight for longer than necessary.

“Yeah. It’s all good.”

His eyes flick across the bubbles, and I lift my chest, hoping that he’ll see my nipples and want to feel them for himself, but the bubbles cover my modesty.

“Great, I’ll be just outside like last time.”

I watch him leave, knowing that my skin prickling has nothing to do with the heat of the water and everything to do with the way Drew looked at me. My body is heated, there’s an achebuilding between my thighs as I imagine him sitting on his bed on the other side of the door just waiting for me.

I groan, thinking about when his fingers were pressed into my thighs, and my mouth was so close to his neck I could have tasted him if I was brave enough.

Closing my eyes, I sink farther into the water until my head is fully submerged, hoping the lack of oxygen will knock some sense into me. After a few minutes, I come up for a breath. Breaking through the water, I gasp, choking on the air, and look to the door. For some reason, I thought Drew might be standing there shirtless and that he’d be ready to join me. Apparently, holding my breath like that just made me delusional.

Why on earth would I think Drew would want me. Just because he was standing shirtless with his sweatpants hung so low that I could see the same bulge I’d been thinking about over the last twenty-four hours, didn’t mean it was an invitation.

I swallow down the bitter pill of rejection. Thinking about Drew’s chest shouldn’t make my stomach burn the way it does. I want him. I really do, and I don’t think this feeling will go away.

Not unless I try and relieve the tension, but it’s not like Drew’s going to help me with the task, so I’m going to have to help myself.

My hand skims across my thighs, giving me the tiniest bit of relief from the aching tension building between my legs. I sigh because the relief doesn’t last long and only emphasizes how lackluster my fingers feel against my skin. Oh, how I want to know what Drew’s would feel like instead.

Thick and strong, his fingers would grip my thighs the same way he grips a football. Not too hard that he’d leave bruises, but firm enough to make me moan in pleasure. If his fingers were on me, I’d tilt my head back onto the pillows of his bed and close my eyes, focusing on the feeling of his hands trickling up my thighs.

Higher. Higher. Higher still.

Until he reaches the apex of my thighs. My knees would part, and the tips of his fingers would tickle the tip of my slit, making me mewl in pleasure. I’d feel his eyes watching me like I was his prey, focusing on how my breathing was affected by the tiniest of touches. Then he’d skate his fingers toward my center, only to flick them back up where his thumb would press against my clit.

Keeping my eyes closed, I lean my head to the side, letting my fingers take control while I imagine Drew behind me. His thumb would circle my clit until my hips bucked against his hand, then he would push one of his thick fingers inside me.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Everything okay in there?” My eyes bug out; I pull my fingers out of my pussy and sit up a little straighter. Did he hear me moan? Humiliation courses through my veins, and I seriously consider dunking my head back into the water and letting myself drown because I was touching myself, on the brink of an orgasm, while thinking about him. I’d rather die than face Drew after that. But then again, if I died naked in his bathtub, that would raise a lot more questions than I’d like. There’s also the added humiliation of how many people would see me naked and wrinkly. Drew, my parents, the police, and the fire department. Maybe even Drew’s roommates if I’m left to wilt in the bath for too long.

So death isn’t an option.

Another knock. “Bella?”

He’s going to push his way in like last time, and just like last time, I’m exposed. The bubbles have popped now, so he’ll be able to see everything again. Only this time, instead of being smushed against plastic, I’ll be wrinkled and frothy. I refuse to make exposing myself a habit, so I roll onto my side and pretend I wasn’t just fingering myself while thinking about him.

“Umm, yeah. Everything’s fine,” I croak. Everything’s not fine. I’m stuck in a snowstorm in Indiana with a broken leg and a guyI’m supposed to hate. Only, I’m not sure it was ever hate, and I’m tired of being delusional. “I’m ready to get out.” No truer words have ever been said by me. I want out of this house and away from Drew. I need to think away from his dizzying haze.

As the door opens, I clasp the lip of the bath to ensure my boobs are covered while I try to look somewhat comfortable with this situation.

Drew strolls in with a blue bath towel and a large matching robe. Narrowing my eyes, I watch his face, looking for any indication that he’s as embarrassed as me, but when his eyes finally connect with mine, I don’t see a thing.

Just those deep brown eyes with the amber edges, looking at me eagerly.

Holding the towel up, he says, “While you were in there, I was thinking about how we could do this, so you’re comfortable.”

There’s no acknowledgment or blush tinging his cheeks, so that can only mean one of two things: either women often expose themselves in front of him, or he is, in fact, oblivious to my fiddling fingers. Drew’s hot, but I doubt many women would touch themselves while he watches when the real thing is on offer.

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