Page 58 of Under Locke & Key
That’s it. The last clear moment. Whatever happens from here will be pure feeling and instinct, and that deep-seated yearning I’ve tried to ignore.
“Take them off. I want to see you.” I lean against the lip of the tub, eager.
Rachel’s pupils are so dilated, her tongue darting out to wet her lips, but she doesn’t shy away. Tugging them down her hips and over her thighs, she steps out of her underwear and stands naked before me. It’s the most tempting sight in the world.
“God, woman. You’re killing me. I’ll never be able to focus at work now that I know what you look like under those dresses and shorts.”
Her grin is feral, that dimple that I’ve lived to coax doing little to soften the sharp look she gives me.
“Tit for tat.” She gestures toward me and I comply, kicking the boxer briefs over to the rest of the pile of clothes we’ve made.
A few feet between us, we assess each other, the hunger only growing. I hold my hand out for her, beckoning. I step into the water first, hissing a little at the temperature but I adjust almost immediately. Still holding onto her hand, I help her step over the tall side of the tub.
Settling into the water, Rachel’s back to my front, nestled between my thighs, I finally let myself explore. Fingertips ghosting over her sides, the water lapping over our bodies is a sensory experience that’s nearly overwhelming when combined with touch.
One hand on her breast, the other moving down her stomach and over her thighs until I rest it at the juncture.
“Bryce.” I’m not sure if it’s a warning or a plea.
“Words.”
“Touch me.”
I stroke my pinky against the side of her thigh and I swear she growls.
“Manners,” I say and suck another mark against the back of her neck.
“Touch. Me.Please.” She grits out between her teeth and it’s enough.
My thumb strokes over her clit until she arches against me slightly, her breath catching in the back of her throat. “Good girl.”
Oh god.His praise flows through me like molten honey, warming my core and even without the water to help his fingers glide over me, my desire would be more than enough. Thrumming against me, I’m a hairpin trigger away from losing it. The slow touches, his sinful mouth on my neck—fuck the things those neck kisses make me want to do to him—it’s got me close to the edge already.
I’m ready to fall. Poised on the edge of pleasure. And then he stops. Lathering his hands with soap, he drags the suds over my arms and neck. Over my breasts and stomach.
“What are you doing?” It’s supposed to sound demanding but instead comes out as a whine.
“Keeping my promise. Taking my time. Touching every inch of you. Take your pick.”
“But I was close.” This time it’s definitely a whine and I’m not sorry.
“And you will be again, but we worked hard today and we’re going to wash the day from our bodies. Then, we’ll wander over to your bedroom and I’ll put my mouth on you to push you even higher.”
“You know, I never took you for a tease.”
His hands still on the outside of my thighs. “It’s not teasing when I’m not done yet. And I am so far from done.”
“You know, I don’t know why anyone would think you’re quiet or unassuming. The way you’re talking right now . . .” I taper off, part of me begging him to keep going like this. I trust him enough to let go, to give him free rein and let that hint of his forcefulness take over.
His thumb swipes over my nipple again, pulling a hiss from me at the sensation of smooth water and work-roughened hands.
“I lay the blame at your feet. You make me want to be more confident. More assured. Demanding even. The way you look up at me like you have faith in me and what I’m doing—you have no idea what that does to a person.”
It makes my heart ache in my chest a little to hear it and I wish I could see his face. Is it open? Vulnerable? Does he look as disheveled as I do? I wish I could meet whoever it was that made him doubt himself and his worth, because the Bryce that I know is kind and capable, and eager to learn. And there’s something about that control, that competency, that’s fucking hot to me.
“You’re not the only one affected by whatever this is. Something about you softens my edges, makes me . . . vulnerable. I’m not the kind to yield easily, and when I do it’s usually because I have a plan to get things another way. With you, I’m tired of pushing, of trying so hard to be the image people have of me. With you I just want to be me. Bare.”
I need to see him.
