Page 37 of Almost Enough

He takes a step closer. Close enough that I can see the steam from the tub lingering on his skin like mist, close enough that I can smell the mix of cedar and chlorine still clinging to him. His hand, still damp, brushes a loose strand of hair off my cheek, and it feels like more than a touch. Like a statement.

“What happened in there…” He nods back toward the tub. “I don’t regret a single second of it.”

My stomach does a little somersault, and I clutch the towel tighter around me, not sure if I’m shivering from the cold or from him.

He watches me for a beat, then lowers his voice. “But I meant what I said, too. This doesn’t get to be careless.”

And there it is. The thing that’s been simmering between us has somehow twisted into something that feels like it might wreck me. And good lord, I want him to wreck me.

“You’re kind of intense, you know that?” I manage.

Beau doesn’t even blink. “Yeah.”

I’m still trembling under the towel, my legs struggling to hold me upright because this man just gave me the hottest orgasm of my life without so much as slipping a hand inside my bikini. Zero penetration. No kissing. Just dominance, control, and that voice commanding my body like it belonged to him.

And maybe for a minute…it did.

My skin is still buzzing, hypersensitive, like every nerve ending is singing his name. I’m already completely undone. Ruined. Addicted.

What the hell happens when he actually does kiss me?

God help me. I might not survive it.

eleven

. . .

Beau

The shower knob squeaks as I twist it hard to the right, letting the icy stream hammer down over my skin.

Cold. That’s the point.

It hits like a fist to the chest. Shocks the breath right out of me.

Good.

I press my palms flat to the tiled wall, leaning into it, head bowed. Water runs in rivulets down my back, my shoulders, over muscles pulled tight with tension that didn’t ease at all after what just happened in that hot tub.

Whitley was all soft moans and whispered pleas and that wide-eyed trust that made me feel like I could do anything. She doesn’t even know what she does to me.

I brace my forearm against the wall and drop my head against it.

That girl rode me through my swim trunks and unraveled in my arms without me ever touching her where she wanted me to. And now I’m standing here like a damn monk, trying to pretend I’ve got a handle on it.

My still-present erection throbs painfully against my thigh. The image of Whitley with her head thrown back, lips parted, and those perfect tits bouncing as she came apart on my lap is burned into my brain. I can’t shake it.

I don’t want to.

I want her pretty little mouth wrapped around my cock. I want to feel those soft lips stretched wide, taking me deep. I want to hear the little sounds she’d make when I hit the back of her throat.

I wrap my hand around my shaft, hissing at the contact. I’m so sensitive it almost hurts, the head already slick and swollen. I stroke once, twice, my grip tight and punishing.

“Fuck,” I mutter, speeding up my pace.

She’d look up at me with those big hazel eyes. Beg for it. Work for it. I’d thread my fingers through that wild copper hair and guide her, control her, show her exactly how I want it.

I pump my fist faster, my breathing ragged. The water’s still cold but I’m burning up, heat coiling tight in my groin. I twist my wrist on the up stroke, imagining Whitley’s mouth, her tongue, the heat of her throat.