Page 340 of The First Time
Chapter Twenty-Four
We spend twenty minutes swimming around the pool. Clouds get darker, greyer. A drizzle turns into a downpour.
I ignore Blake's suggestion we leave. We're already in the pool. Rain isn't going to hurt us.
The sky flashes white. Lightning. Thunder booms a few seconds later. Okay, no more playing around. I don't need to be told that a pool on top of a steel tower is a bad place to hang out during a thunderstorm.
Blake helps me out of the pool. He sends me into the staircase naked and gathers our clothes alone. He's trying to protect me, but I'd rather share the risk of electrocution. I'd rather we work like an actual team.
The roof door pulls open and Blake steps inside.
He's in his boxers. He's holding the rest of his clothes to his chest.
He pulls my sweater over my head. It soaks up all the water dripping off my chest and shoulders. I'm a little warmer. But it's not enough. I'm still cold.
I take the stairs one at a time. My hand stays on the cold metal railing until I need to push the door open.
Only it's locked.
Blake is the only one with a key to the roof, but the door still locks automatically.
It's fitting.
He positions himself behind me, his chest pressed against my back. He's wet. Smooth. Hard.
His body feels good against mine.
I want to lose these clothes.
To lose track of words entirely.
He slides his hand over my mine. His breath warms my neck. I suck a deep breath through my nose. I will my nerves to settle.
They don't.
Blake offers me my panties. "I don't want you caught on tape. Unless that's a fantasy of yours."
"No." I don't think it is. I blush as I pull on my underwear. "Thanks."
He unlocks the door and presses it open.
It's just as cold in here. Goosebumps spread over my arms. My nipples get hard. I hug my chest, but it doesn't do enough to warm me up.
"Are you hungry?" he asks.
"I could eat." I'd rather fill another one of my needs, but I could eat.
He takes my hand and leads me to a break area. It's as sleek and modern as the rest of the office.
There's a thick white table, a kitchenette with stainless steel appliances, and a rectangular black couch. It would look great as the background of a panel, especially with the cloudy window.
I imagine the shading. The way Blake would be in the shadows. A bit of an obvious metaphor—the unknowable guy stepping out into the light—but it works.
Blake drops our clothes on the table. He kneels in front of a cabinet and pulls out a blanket. "We'll have to share." He hands it to me then points to the ceiling. "There are no cameras in this room if you want to change."
"Change?" I raise a brow.
He laughs. Actually laughs. "That too."
