Page 559 of Rock Me All Night
He nods to the mirror opposite the tub. "You should try it."
"Maybe."
He kneels on the tile next to me. His eyes meet mine. They're wide with enthusiasm. "Wouldn't you want to watch me?"
"Uh…" Delicious images fill my head. I nod frantically.
"Jess, if you want something, you should ask for it." He pushes himself to his feet and takes a step backwards. "I'm gonna leave. Unless you want something."
I'm tongue tied.
He cocks a brow. "Last chance."
My lips refuse to part.
He takes another step backwards. His voice is a dare, his expression intense. "I'll be in my room. When you figure out what you want."
He steps into the hallway, leaving the door half-open. The bath is still perfectly luscious. The house is still gorgeous. The moon is still shining through the window.
But I don't feel light and free anymore.
I already miss his presence.
I know what I want. It's the one thing I can't have—his heart.
* * *
The bath is a marvel, really. The water stays warm for all thirty minutes of my soak. My muscles relax but I'm still lacking the feeling of lightness I have around him.
When I'm finished, I towel dry and find Pete's room across the hall.
He's lying in bed, in his boxers, sound asleep.
Mmm. It's probably wrong, gawking at a man who isn't conscious, but the starlight falls over his chiseled torso just so. With him on his side, I get an amazing view of his shoulders, arms, stomach, back. I can even see the tattoo on his hip—roses in a mix of grey, black, and red.
My fingers brush the curving lines of the tattoo. His skin is soft, his muscles hard, his hipbone harder. I pull my hand back to my waist. It's definitely wrong, touching a man who isn't conscious.
I find an extra toothbrush in the bathroom, an extra t-shirt and boxers in his dresser, and I climb into bed with him.
He stirs, murmuring something incomprehensible and pulling my body into his.
This isn't forever.
But, for now, it's really fucking nice.
* * *
Iwakeup cold and stiff. I don't need to open my eyes to know I'm alone. I can feel it all around me.
After I brush my teeth, I make my way downstairs. Worry threatens to overwhelm me—why hasn't Dad returned any of my calls? Will Madison tell me if something is wrong?—but it evaporates the moment I see Pete.
He's standing in the kitchen, one hand pressed against the counter, the other holding his cell to his ear. His posture is tense, strained. He taps his nails against the tile with an uncharacteristic franticness.
"Yeah, I know," he says into the phone.
His jaw clenches as he listens to the reply.
I take a few more steps towards the kitchen.
