Page 50 of Shot Taker

She hits the button for her floor, and I hit mine.

I frown at her the whole way up, wishing to hell I could see what’s going on inside her pretty head.

“You don’t have to do this,” I start.

“I’m doing exactly what I want to do,” she counters.

When the doors slide open at her floor, I follow her out.

She stops at her door and turns back to me. Her tongue darts out to lick her lips. “I don’t know if you know this, but Brooke has an insanely big jacuzzi bath.”

Nova unlocks the door and tugs her ponytail holder out with her free hand.

My throat dries.

Dammit.

I’m no saint. I don’t even play one for the cameras.

I try to summon every ounce of restraint in my body to remind us both that there are more important things than sex.

Inside, she hangs up her jacket and holds out a hand for mine. I pass it over.

“Is Brooke here?” It’s more cough than words.

“No, she’s at an event tonight.”

Nova reaches for the hem of her shirt and drags it up over her head, revealing a pink lace bra a few shades lighter than her hair. Her tits are curved and tempting.

A few days ago, I would’ve been thrilled with this Nova. Now, I’m wondering if our talk gave her the wrong idea. I don’t want her in bed at the expense of her heart.

I want all of her.

I follow her down the hall, kicking off my shoes. My T-shirt goes next, along with her leggings and underwear and bra. I can’t swallow my groan as her body is revealed in all its glory.

I drag her against me, my mouth crushing hers.

Goddamn, she feels perfect. I’ve dreamed about her like this so many times.

“You’re so warm,” she mumbles against my lips.

“Gonna make you warm too,” I promise.

Without breaking our kiss, I reach past her to turn on the jacuzzi. She puts the plug in the tub and steps inside, tugging me after her.

I resist. The idea of following her in and taking her in the water, hearing her moans echo off the tile, is sweet heaven. But I want to spoil her.

“You got any girly stuff?”

She blinks at me. “What, like tampons?” Nova’s laughter fills the air, and I’m suddenly awkward as a teenager.

“Nah. Like…” I struggle to think of the word. “Bath stuff.”

“Oh. Under the sink.”

I go looking for anything in pastel colors and find some smelly epsom salts under the sink. I pour them in the water, then I shift onto the tile at the edge of the sunken tub behind her shoulders.

“What are you doing?”

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