Page 69 of Show Me How
“She told me.”
I can’t look at where he’s continuing to hold my throat without pulling away, and I don’t want to. The sensation of his hand on a place where he could so easily crush my windpipe shouldn’t be as relaxing as it is. It should be intense, and I feel like I should be scared. Worried, even.
I’m none of those things. If anything, I want him to apply more pressure and squeeze lightly. My heart rate ramps up, perspiration clinging to the skin beneath my hair.
Shade scrolls his eyes down to where he’s touching me, the milk-chocolate colour of them darkening a shade. He runs his thumb over my pulse one last time before pressing harder, his fingers digging slightly into the sides of my throat.
I expel a soft, breathy moan and let my eyelids droop. A shiver races through me as I sip in air through lips I can’t keep pressed together.
“Millie,” he says roughly once I shift, pressing my thighs together.
Without a skirt today, I feel more constricted in this position. The near-leather pants mould to my centre and the panties I can feel growing damp. My chest pulls tight, nipples beading and scraping in a way that sends zaps of pleasure down to where I’m already aching.
I force my eyes to open and let my mouth fill with saliva, unable to swallow with his tightening hold on my throat. There’s a wildness in his eyes, and I’d have to be blind not to notice the dilation of his pupils. I don’t need experience to know that he’s eyeing me up like he’s considering using this very hold on me to lift me onto the desk and?—
“Alright, I think I’m good. It’s cold as balls outside, so don’t mind the goosebumps.”
Shade’s hand releases me at the same time I push myself back on the wheels of my chair. I slap my palm to the desk to stop myself from rolling to the front door and avoid looking at him as he clears his throat.
“Take a seat again,” he instructs, his voice tight.
I refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing how bright my cheeks are before he gets back to work. Instead of sparing him another glance, I keep my focus on the drawing left on the desk.
It’s a reminder of something other than the touch I still feel on my throat, so I fall into it. I hunch myself over the notepad and rip off the first drawing before starting on a second draft. The buzz of the tattoo gun fills the studio again, distracting me in the same way I know it’s distracting him.
Am I an orgasm slut . . . or Shade’s?
20
SHADE
I fuckingsuck at gift giving.
My family wasn’t ever huge on it while I was growing up, and still to this day, we’ll only do stockings at Christmas. Every few birthdays, they’ll surprise me with something I’ve been bugging them about, but other than that, we simply don’t do it.
Mom always valued time together more than she did gifts. That’s the way I was raised, yet I’ve still tried to figure out how to properly spoil the other people in my life. With friends like Bryce and Daisy, I’ve had to adapt. Not bringing gifts for them on their birthdays or Christmas grew impossible pretty quickly. Now, I make sure to carve out time to go shopping for my favourite couple.
Today was the first time I’ve gone into a store with someone other than them on my mind. Cherry Peak was a quick drive after work, but I closed up late, and my options were limited for where to go. I could have waited until tomorrow or the weekend to grab what I needed, but I didn’t want to. It was today or nothing.
Now, the sketchbook feels heavy where I’ve tucked it under my arm. The steps up to Millie’s cabin are old and rickety, and I make a note to mention them to Shelly on my way out. Withthe shoes Millie wears, these stairs are an accident waiting to happen.
Blowing out a breath, I knock on the door and wait. Her car is parked in the same place it was the first time I was here, so I know she’s home. But the longer I stand here without hearing a single footstep inside . . .
“Millie?” I call, knocking again.
Still, there’s no answer. No movement or sound from inside. I jiggle the handle and find it locked. With a frown, I sidestep the door and look through the window, searching for her. All I see are an empty dining set and a kettle on the same stove burner as it was when I was here last.
Stepping back, I take another look at the door. Still nothing.
The stairs creak again as I clop down them and head for the path coming from the cabin. It cuts through the trees and leads to the gravel road that runs through the entire campground. I walk down the road for a few minutes, searching the day-use picnic area and calling her name through the women’s showers. She’d never shower there, but shit, I don’t know where else she could be.
Not unless she felt like going for a cold dip after all.
Shelly’s familiar smile greets me a few feet up the road. She lifts her hand and waves.
“Shade?”
“Hey, Shelly.”
