Page 87 of Roulette Rodeo
Red must see the moment my resolve finally snaps. She shifts, arms bracing the rim, and tries to stand—but her legs are still half noodles. She wobbles; the motion sloshes a wave of perfumed water over the edge and onto my bare feet, but before she can really tip, my reflexes have already caught her.
I reach in and grab her by the waist—gentle, but not clumsy. I’m not sure if I’m pulling her out or in. Her skin is so warm it nearly burns, and when she falls forward, her damp shoulder lands square in my palm, then her whole self comes crashing into my chest. The contact is a shock, and also a relief, as if the universe has been wanting to glue us together since the day we met, and it finally found a way.
Her chin lifts, and suddenly her mouth is inches from my own.
The only things separating us: a thin layer of suds, the prickle of her wet hair, and the knowledge that if we cross this line, neither of us will ever be able to walk it back. Her lips are parted, but she’s not smiling—her eyes dart up, searching mine for some hint that she’s not alone in this madness.
I look back, and if my face is betraying anything, it’s that I’m not just into this, I’m three seconds from losing my goddamn mind.
She swallows, the motion visible along her throat, and her voice—so much smaller up close, almost delicate—says, “Oops. That was totally not intentional.” She’s blushing, and her hands are still braced on my chest like she’s about to push away, except she doesn’t.
For a second, I think we’ll just freeze like this, both of us pretending the last thirty seconds never happened.
But then I hear myself—my own voice, low and rough and not even pretending to be cool—say, “Close your eyes, Red.”
She blinks, startled.
“What?”
“Be a good girl. Close your eyes and stay.”
It’s not an order, but she treats it like one, lashes fluttering down as she leans back enough for me to ease her into the tub again. I let go of her, careful so she doesn’t slip or get hurt,and she sinks back into the water, arms hugging her knees, chin tucked down to hide the way her whole face is on fire.
Before she can say anything else or build another wall of sarcasm, I strip out of my sweatpants and t-shirt. Modesty is the last thing on my mind, but I turn away just in case. My cock is a lost cause, and I’m not about to make a spectacle of it before she’s ready, so I move around to the far side of the tub, giving her a second to breathe. I catch my reflection in the mirror above the sink—a full-body reminder that I’m twice her size, scarred and battered and not even trying to hide how bad I want this.
I slide my hands along the clawfoot rim, knuckles white, and lean in. The tub is old and deep, barely wide enough for one, but I don’t care. I reach into the water and let my fingers drift through the suds until I find her waist.
“I’m putting my arms around you,” I mutter, voice barely audible over the splash. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even look up, just nods. Her hair is a wild tangle, cheeks flushed scarlet, eyes half-closed in something between fear and anticipation.
I pull her gently to me, the water surging with the movement, and lift her out of her curl so she’s pressed against my chest. She’s light—almost nothing—and so soft it’s like touching something that might evaporate if I’m not careful. I hover there, not sure if I should go further, not sure if I even know how.
She sighs, long and shaky, the scent of her rising with the steam and hitting me so hard I almost stagger. Her arms drift up, hesitating, then settle around my neck. I feel her pulse, frantic and strong, more alive than anything I’ve touched in years.
I lower myself into the water, slow so I don’t knock us both out, and it’s hotter than I expected. The heat is nothing compared to the burn of her pressed against me, her bare legs sliding alongside mine, her knee bumping my thigh. The bathwater sloshes over the rim, soaking the floor, but I don’t givea damn. All that matters is the fit—like she was made for this unexpected moment, made just for me.
Fuck, she fits perfectly.
I try to ignore how my cock is twitching and begging for the warmth of her pussy instead of the water, but I'm fighting a losing battle. The way she settles against me, trusting despite everything, makes my chest tight with something I don't want to name.
"See? Was that so hard?" I mutter, trying not to sound so husky while she relaxes into me like she belongs there.
Like we've done this a thousand times instead of never.
She snickers, and I'm already pouting before she leans all the way back. Thanks to our obvious height difference even sitting in the bath, her head rests perfectly in the hollow of my shoulder.
She peers up at me with those garnet eyes, mischief dancing in them.
"You know what else is hard?"
I groan as she dissolves into giggles, the sound vibrating through her body into mine.
"I'm getting out," I grumble, not meaning a word of it.
"NO!" She twists in my arms, water sloshing dangerously. "Don't get out, I'll be good, I'm sorry."
I huff but settle back, my arm still around her waist as she finally relaxes again. Her tension bleeds out slowly, like she's remembering how to not be on guard every second. I feel it in the way her breathing deepens, the way her muscles stop holding themselves ready to run or fight.
"Comfortable?" I ask, needing to know she's okay with this. That I'm not pushing too hard, too fast.
