Page 70 of The Prodigal

“Fine.” I shrug and hold his gaze, remembering to be brave. “Get your fill, then.”

“I will,” he murmurs, his tongue slipping out to wet his lips as I pull off my shirt, revealing my wet bra.

“Hand me a dry pair of underwear,” I whisper between us.

His eyes never leave my chest. “No.”

No.

Okay, then.

Gathering even more courage, I suck in a breath and slip out of my soaked bra. His gaze travels from my pussy up to my chest, flicking between each breast with careful intent. A strong, euphoric sensation zings down my spine, heating me from the inside out.

Remington Potter is looking at me—truly looking. Not like a friend or even a research assistant. Remington is looking at me as if he could devour me without hesitation.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he stands there for several minutes, admiring my body in a way that he’s never allowed himself before.

And. I. Let. Him.

Until he snaps out of his lustful haze, shoving the dry clothes at my chest and turning around as if nothing happened.

Eden

“Are you still uncomfortable?”

We’ve been driving in silence for the past few minutes.

I wasn’t sure what to say after I basically got naked in front of Remington and let him have his fill—he didn’t extend me the same courtesy, though. Then again, I didn’t have a raging boner when I stripped. I imagine wet jeans and a hard cock don’t mix well. Or maybe when Remington disappeared behind the car to change, he gave it a little tug to tide him over—just not enough since his bulge is still there.

Remington cuts his eyes over at me, a sarcastic smirk playing on his lips. “If I say yes, will you suck me off to alleviate the ache?”

He’s so crude.

It’s the most attractive quality he has.

“I hadn’t planned on it. I just thought maybe I’d do a sympathetic welfare check.”

And I just wanted to point out that his body is reacting to my nakedness, whether he wanted it to or not.

A throaty chuckle bursts from Remington’s throat, seeming a little lighter than he was earlier before I pushed him into the river. “There’s a restaurant about five miles ahead, smartass,” he says, moving on from the dick topic. “Let’s stop and get something to eat.” His voice sounds a little tired. Like maybe the river swim took more out of him than it should have.

“Sure,” I agree with a small smile, “I could eat.”

He cuts me a sly grin. “I could eat, too.”

I don’t think he means food.

Maybe that’s just my imagination, though.

“But then again,” he muses, “my dick might get upset.”

He definitely doesn’t mean food.

“I’m happy to hear you consider someone else’s needs.”

He grins. “I try.”

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