Page 70 of The One I Want
“Really?”
“Yes really,” I say, sliding the door and stepping out. “I’ve had my eye on this thing since day one. What better way to break it in than right now?”
I let go of his hand, taking off my shirt as I walk toward the hot tub and tossing it aside.
“Betsy…”
I turn around to look at him, and he’s frozen in place. I don’t know if he’s blinked in the last ten seconds. I think he needs rebooted.
“You okay back there?”
If he picks up on my playful tone, he doesn’t show it. No, there’s nothing playful right now about the way he’s looking at me. Knowing I have his full attention, I make a show out of shimmying off my jeans, stepping out of them delicately so I’m left standing in a satin and lace set I was hoping would get this kind of reaction.
Some girls might feel unnerved by the way he’s staring. Not me. I love this. That there could be a hurricane coming through, and I don’t think he’d notice? Now that’s fucking powerful.
And, when the time comes, I’ll show him how appreciative I am.
I start to say something, but just at that moment, he starts slowly walking toward me, his eyes never leaving mine. It’s cold tonight, probably somewhere in the thirties, but my body is heating up with every step he takes. He walks past me, taking off the cover of the hot tub and pushing it to the concrete. He hits a few buttons, bringing it to life with bubbles and soft rainbow lights from inside the tub. It puts me into a trance for just a second, which is how I miss Wes turning back to me and scooping me into his arms.
“You’re shivering, beautiful. Get in. I’m going to need you to be nice and relaxed for later.”
“Is that so?”
“It is. Oh, and Betsy?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t forget to use those sweet Southern manners and ask nicely for what you want, beautiful.”
I don’t say another word as he lowers me into the water. I can’t. I’ve never seen this side of Wes before. It’s intense. Passionate. Like he could consume all of you with just a look.
This is Wes Taylor, the man. I’ve only known Wes Taylor, the father. Wes Taylor, the best friend. Or Wes Taylor, football legend.
And just like that, the roles are reversed as I’m staring slack-jawed at the sight in front of me. If my body was hot before, it’s now on fire. And it has nothing to do with the water. No, this has everything to do with Wes Taylor slowly unbuttoning his white dress shirt, torturing me on purpose as he methodically works through each button. Then the bastard doesn’t take it off. No, he leaves it open as he works his belt off, ripping it from the loops before unbuttoning his jeans and pushing them down. He steps out of them and makes his way over to the hot tub in nothing but his boxer briefs and an unbuttoned white shirt.
Fuck me.
Literally. Fuck… me…
Wes Taylor in just a pair of boxer briefs is enough to make me come on sight.
“Come here.”
I glide back to the edge of the hot tub where Wes is standing. I find one of the bench seats and sit on my knees, making it all that much easier for him to kiss me. Because if this man doesn’t kiss me in two seconds I can’t be held accountable for my actions.
“Kiss me.”
He leans in close, but just far enough away I can’t reach his lips. “Is that how we ask nicely?”
I never took Wes Taylor for a tease. It appears I’ve met my match. “Do you really want me to ask nicely?”
He leans in just a touch closer. “Say please.”
Every feminist cell in my body wants to keep toying with him. I love this cat and mouse. And we do it so well.
But right now if a please is going to get me what I want, I will say it literally forty-two times and throw in a pretty-please-with-a-cherry-on-top.
“Please.”
