Page 78 of Someone to Have
“Right. You don’t want to talk about it. At least until you’re fed. You shower. I’ll be back.”
“Sure.” My word of the night. I watch him walk away, wondering how we got here. From begrudging convenience to whatever this sweet, irresistible thing between us has become.
Eric stops at my doorway and glances over his shoulder, a smile playing at the corner of his full mouth. “Hey, Tinkerbell.”
My heart stutters in my chest. “Yeah?”
“Use the vanilla body wash. I still need dessert.”
And just like that, the panic that nearly drowned me minutes ago changes to a different kind of breathlessness altogether.
24
ERIC
The scentof sweet vanilla fills Taylor’s apartment as I let myself back in and place the plate on the counter then cover it with foil.
I’ve never particularly cared about scents. Sure, I appreciate a woman who smells good. But Taylor’s scent—mostly the essence of her skin underneath her lotion or body wash—ties me in knots.
I’m in way over my head, and knowing I’ll be leaving soon keeps me from losing it completely. The inevitable end date means I’m still in control. I haven’t let my full-of-contradictions neighbor breach the defenses I erected around my heart a long time ago.
I can’t. Or at least, I won’t.
Love means being weak. It means putting aside the things you want for somebody else. However, part of me gets why my mom did it so often with so many men. It feels good to put somebody else first when you—I’m not going to use the word love—when they’re all you can think about.
Walking in here tonight and seeing my girl on her knees was a shot through the heart. I’ve never let somebody into that hollow place inside me, and I refuse to start. But shouldn’t she be out of the shower by now? What if she had another panic attack? What ifshe’s on the floor of the bathroom? What if she went down and hit her head?
Damn, I sound like somebody’s worry-wart grandma. But recognizing I’m being irrational doesn’t stop me from striding forward. I knock on the bathroom door, which she’s left slightly ajar, and poke my head in.
“Everything okay?”
She opens the curtain a couple of inched and smiles. “I was hoping you’d get the hint,” she says almost shyly, then crooks a finger in my direction.
I’ve never seen anything sexier in my entire damn life than a soaking wet Tinkerbell, her face flushed either from the steam or her embarrassment at letting her inner seductress loose. She’s like all my secret fantasies come to life, and I don’t have to be told twice to join her. Except…
“One second.” I turn and jog back to the main room. Rhett knows where I am, and he was deep in aCall of Dutybattle with his buddy when I last checked on him, but I’m not taking any chances. I lock her front door, then make a beeline back to the bathroom like I’m one of those lifeguards running down the beach inBaywatch, ready to save somebody. Only she’s saving me.
I know it, even if she doesn’t.
I strip out of my shirt, then shuck off my sweats and boxers. Her shower isn’t the biggest, and it’s not made for two—especially when one of them is built like me—but we’ll make it work. I’ll make it work.
“First I need to thank you,” she says softly as I reach for the curtain. Her voice is steadier now, completely different from how I found her earlier. “For staying with me through...that. I’m still not ready to talk about what happened, but I’m glad it was you who found me.”
“Me too,” I tell her from the bottom of my heart. “You okay now?”
“I'm okay.” She nods, and I can see she means it. The color's back in her cheeks, and her breathing is normal. “More than okay, actually.”
“You look way more than okay to me,” I say as I step in, hissing out a breath as the hot water hits me. “Jesus, that’s scalding.”
“I like my showers like I like my men—strong and hot,” she says, then ruins the sexy vamp bit with a self-deprecating giggle.
I press her against the cool tile wall, my hands sliding over her wet skin as steam rises around us. She gasps when my lips find her neck, and then I go about the business of worshipping every inch of her with my mouth and hands, drowning in the sweet vanilla scent of her skin and the soft sounds she makes when I touch her just right.
Her fingers dig into my shoulders, nails leaving half-moon impressions, physical proof that she wants me the same way I do her. It’s the most natural thing in the world—quickly becoming my favorite thing—to drop to my knees, nudge her legs wide, and press my mouth to her. I flick her clit with my tongue, need and satisfaction swirling through me when a breathy moan escapes her lips.
I glance up as I push a finger, then two inside her, feeling her muscles clamp around me. Her eyes are closed, head lolling against the tile. Water sluices from the tips of her hardened nipples and I watch as a shudder rolls through her.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” I coax as her hips move in time with my fingers. “Just like that.”
