Page 102 of Reckless Love

“Maybe,” I admit, distracted by the feel of him.

“Can I try?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say, not really listening to him, caught up in the feel of him sliding against me. Whether or not I’ll be able to come, I don’t know, but it feels amazing. Slick and firm and so good.

“Just rock against me, baby. See if you can get yourself off.”

“Put your hands in my hair,” I say, breathless, resting my forehead on his shoulder.

He kneads the shampoo that’s in my hair as I keep up a steady, consistent rhythm. It feels like maybe I can—I might. But I don’t know. I want it so badly, want this with him so badly that the intensity is almost distracting.

“Maybe this is too high school,” I whisper.

Immediately, he lifts me onto the edge of the tub where it’s tiled, and he spreads my legs wide. “You’re fucking gorgeous, you know that? I don’t know what it’s going to take to get you out of your head and into the moment. We haven’t found it yet. But I’m happy to dine until we do.”

Then he licks a line up my center before settling on my clit, licking and sucking until I’m panting, so turned on it feels impossible that I won’t come. But then, like so many other times, my mind drifts to the last time I had an orgasm, to everything that came after that, and all the want in me dries up.

“Stephen,” I say, clutching his head. “I don’t think I can… I can’t. It’s not…”

He kisses my thigh and glances up at me. “Whatever’s holding you back, you’ve gotta let it go.”

But I can’t. It’s literally the last six years from the moment I walked out of his apartment. All the choices—every one. Like a cage with a door that won’t open.

“I don’t know what it is,” I whisper, sliding back into the water with him.

He digs his hand into my hair, and he tugs me close. With surprising gentleness, he presses a kiss to my forehead. “Let’s get this rinsed out.” He lays me back, and he runs his fingers through my hair, letting all the stress of my day seep out of the strands one slow stroke of his hand at a time. “We’ll figure it out, Ava. It won’t be like this forever.”

But it’s been six years, and in some ways, it does feel like a lifetime.

In Stephen’s apartment, I run the towel through my hair again, and then I run a brush through it. Blow-drying it feels like too much work, but leaving it so loose and wet is also unappealing. A ponytail? Whenever I reach above my head for any length of time, my body gets a bit angry. I know what I want, and I’m not sure why I’m suddenly afraid to ask for it. It’s not like I’ve ever hesitated with Stephen in any way before.

He’s gone to the other apartment to reheat our food, and he walks in with two plates in his hands. He slides them onto the counter, and I bite my lip.

“Just say it,” he says, stabbing a fork into one of the pot stickers and offering it to me.

I take the bite, and I think while I chew. “When we’re done eating these, can you braid my hair?”

He winces. “I’m rusty. I haven’t braided anyone’s hair since…” He shrugs. “It’s been six years.”

“Not a talent you pulled out to woo other women?” I say it in a teasing voice, but inside, I’m tense with potential jealousy.

“Woo? Who the fuck would I woo, Ava? I spent six years in volatile and dangerous situations. Charming women was very, very far down my list of necessities.”

“You never seemed to have a problem finding someone in Bellerive whenever we broke up.”

“That was different.”

“Because of the danger?”

He lets out a harsh noise of disbelief. “I mean, yes, but also no.” He eyes me for a beat. “Every woman I was with back then was to make you jealous, to get you back.”

“And it worked,” I say, somewhat surprised by his admission.

“Every time,” he agrees before taking a bite of his food and chewing. “Every single time.”

“I was such an idiot,” I say.

“You were a bit of a brat sometimes,” he agrees, taking another bite and then grinning at me.