Page 38 of These Rough Waters

“Did you get cleaned up?” His voice startles me where I’m facing away from him in his kitchen.

“Mmhmm,” I confirm with a shake, not turning to see whatever look is on his face.

“Maya,” His voice has a stern edge to it, not loud or angry but a gentle demand for me to address him face on. But I couldn’t. I could already feel my cheeks heating again, could feel my muscles tightening and belly churning with the fresh memories and embarrassment.

“Why’d you hide, Maya?” He’s closer, so close in fact I can feel the heat radiating off him at my back, smell the fresh scent of soap, something masculine and mouthwatering, but still, I don’t turn.

My head shakes, “We shouldn’t.”

“Why?” His voice is low and right at my ear.

“I’m sorry,” I breathe, “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Turn around and say that to me, little doe, don’t hide. If it was a mistake, say it to my face.”

Fingers curling into my palms tight enough that my nails bite into my flesh, I turn slowly, noting the wet strands of his hair that flop over his forehead. My eyes drop down to his bare chest, hair smattered across the hard plains of his pecs and over well-defined abdominal muscles that flex and roll as he shifts in front of me. Water clings to his skin, droplets that run over the peaks and valleys of the muscles and my eyes follow one that rolls lazily down, all the way down to the V that carves up his hips and the trail of hair that disappears under a fresh pair of sweats.

Swallowing, I look back up, “You showered.” I state obviously.

“I made a mess,” He says in a gravelly tone.

I can only imagine what he’s insinuating and can’t help myself but to drop my eyes to the area in question. We could pretend that I hadn’t seen his erection, that I hadn’t felt it nudging on my knee and that was the safer option.

I bounce my eyes back up to his, finding a spark in them that wasn’t there before.

“Torin,” His name stutters on a breath from my lips as he slowly closes the very short gap between us, leaning down toward me where I’m pressing back on the counter. “We can’t.”

“Why?” He whispers.

“We shouldn’t,” I say, eyes on his mouth, wondering what it would be like to be kissed by a man like him. Would he consume me? Would it be soft and surprise me or hard and possessing like the man himself?

There’s only ever been one,but Torin is looking at me right now like he wants to add to that. Like he wants to be the next and the last.

But I couldn’t do that.

Not now.

Likely not ever.

Yet I wasn’t pulling away nor pushing him away, I was leaning too, getting so close we share breath and a drop of water from his hair drips onto my cheek. He reaches up, sliding his thumb over that bead of liquid to capture it before he slides those fingers into my hair, anchoring me to the spot.

“I can stop,” He breathes, lips so damn close. “Tell me.”

Stop.

But the word doesn’t leave me.

“Maya, tell me.”

Stop.

But I can’t say it because the part of me that wants to taste him, to feel it, to know what it’s like to be wanted, to be embraced in a way that didn’t come with strings or pain or heartbreak outweighs the need to keep Torin away.

He deserved better than whatever it is I have to offer.

But I wanted to be selfish right now, I wanted just this one taste of passionate intimacy.

I wanted Torin to kiss me, right here in his kitchen, with his chest bare and my stomach still in knots, body in a weird state of shock and still feeling the tremors of my first orgasm brought on by something other than my hand.

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