He pulls his shirt off over his head, and I take it, twisting it in my fists to force out the water, while he runs the hose over his shoulder and down his back.
“Is all the mud gone?” he asks.
He turns around, still holding the hose and showing me his back, and all of a sudden, I can feel the heat of his body next to me. My blood starts heating up under my skin, and I’m afraid to look at him.
“Yeah,” I say, barely audible.
I pull out one of my rubber bands and start to take apart a braid, my skin is burning. He’s looking at me.
I close my eyes for a moment, absorbing it.
I want him to look at me.
I hear him chuckle, though, and I open my eyes to see him reach over and take my other braid in his hand. He raises the hose and rinses off the tail.
Oh, the mud…
“Yeah, thanks for that, by the way.” I force a sarcastic tone.
“You asked for it.”
Yes. I did. He’s fun to tease.
My scalp tickles at his touch, and while I’m no longer relaxed, I’m smiling again. He’s only touching the ends of a few hairs, and I’m lightheaded.
I swallow the lump in my throat and slowly turn, whispering, “Would you check my back?”
I wait a moment, my pulse racing in my ears and the sound of the water spilling from the hose onto the ground.
But then I feel him. The soft, barely there brushes of his fingers across my shirt and the cool water seeping through the fabric as he clears away the mud.
He’s so quiet, and it’s so loud, it’s throbbing in my ears.
At first, he’s quick. I hug my arms to the front of my body, nervous like this is the first time I’ve ever been touched.
But then it gets slower, his hand staying on my shoulder blade longer and growing in pressure as he presses into my curves and runs his fingers down the slope of my neck, my spine, and then my hips.
The pulse between my legs begins to throb, and my eyelids flutter.
His hand hits bare skin at my hip, lingering for a moment, and I breath out, so nervous right now but excited.
I’m not imagining this. I’m not imagining the way his touch feels.
Gulping, I slowly look to the side, seeing his form over my shoulder, and I reach down, grabbing the hem of my shirt, hesitating only a moment before I pull it over my head. Then quickly, I reach over and pick up a clean towel off the stairs, hugging it to the front of my body.
I want him to look at me, but I’m so scared he’ll push me away.
I drop my soaked shirt and stand there, fear and desire eating away any rational thought. For a while, the steady stream of water just falls, burrowing a hole into the grass below.
And then, it’s on me. Cascading over my shoulder, down the blades of my back, as his hand follows its fall, clearing away any dirt still lingering. I close my eyes, dizzy.
It’s warm at my back, and I realize he’s closer now, towering over me from behind.
I hear him swallow. “Towel’s going to get wet,” he says, his voice raspy.
A smile pulls at my lips, but I don’t let it out.
Opening my eyes, I pull the towel away from body and toss it back on the stairs, excitement like an electric current under every inch of my skin. I don’t remember ever wanting something this much.
He cleans my back, my arms, and tilts my head for me side to side to make sure there’s no dirt there, as well. I finish unbraiding my hair and comb my fingers through it, feeling some wet strands mixed with the dry ones.
I want to see him and know what he’s thinking, but I’m afraid to break the spell, and if I look at him, we might both get scared off.
And this feels so good.
“Are my legs clean?” I ask over my shoulder.
I know I’m being wicked, but I don’t want him to be done yet.
It only takes a moment, but then I feel the water hit the backs of my legs, and slowly, he takes a knee, trying to get a better vantage point.
I close my eyes again, diving deep into my head where everything I want in this moment but am too afraid to voice is safe. It’s not only his touch. It’s how he does it. The long, languorous caresses down my thighs and the way the tips of his fingers trail just a centimeter higher than they probably should. And how he tries to avoid the insides of my legs, but he keeps flirting close like he wants to go there and is struggling to hold himself back.
He finishes my calves and my feet, and I finally look over my shoulder and down at him.
“My turn,” I say.
He raises his gaze, his chest moving up and down in shallow breaths. His lips are parted, and there are a hundred different emotions in his eyes. But I recognize the same ones I’m having. Fear and longing, turmoil and need.
We want it, but we know we shouldn’t.
I turn and take the hose from him, and his gaze falls to my breasts right there for him and only covered by my thin, pink lacy bra with roses on it.
I’m a girly-girl at heart, and I think he likes that.
Without a word, he rises and stares at me, unflinching as I bring up the hose and start to rewash him. Neither of us had much mud on us in the first place. We could easily make it into the house and to the showers, and we both know it.
I run my hand over the smooth skin of his chest, tracing the mural he has inked across his shoulder, pec, and down his arm.
I don’t look into his eyes, but I know he’s watching my face.
“Did you get all these tattoos when you were younger?” I ask quietly.
“Most of them,” he says, raspy. “Back when I didn’t have other things to spend my money on.”
“Do you regret any of them?” I see mud under his ear and arch up to my tiptoes, putting us chest to chest.
“No, I…” He stops, his heavy breath falling on my cheek as I hover close.
“You have some mud,” I explain, looking up at him with my body pressing into his.
I fall back to my feet and continue. “You were saying?”
He clears his throat. “Uh, yeah. I’m a…I’m a little tired of some of them by now, I guess, but at one time,” he tells me, “they were exactly who I was and what I needed to say about myself.”
I nod, understanding. I trail around to his back and wash off his neck, his shoulder blades, and let my fingers fall down his spine. He shifts under my touch, and heat filters through my hand, rising up my arm, and I’m so turned on. I don’t want to stop touching him, but using my hands doesn’t feel like enough anymore. I want to feel his again.
What is Pike Lawson like when he takes?
He turns his head, asking softly, “Aren’t you going to ask me what the tattoos mean?”
I step back around to his front, watching my fingers as they graze his muscled arm. “Someday,” I whisper back.
I do want to know. I want to know everything about him. But maybe, I figure, we’ll keep having a reason to find each other if we save some things for later.
And right now, I’m desperate to see what else his mouth can do other than talk.
Touch me. Please.
Kiss me.
I drop the hose to my side and drag the fingers of my left hand down his abs, my heart pounding so hard it hurts. They tighten as my nails slide across the muscles, and I’m so afraid to look at him.
This is wrong. I know it’s wrong.
But God, he feels good. I can feel his eyes on me, and every thread of my bra is chafing my skin, and I just want to be bare right now. I want him to see me.
I close my eyes. Oh, God.
“Jordan…” He grasps my hand, and I can hear him breathing hard.
I nod, opening my eyes but still unable to meet his. “I know,” I breathe out. “I’m sorry.”
I’m parched, my eyes sting with tears and I don’t know why, and there’s a need between my thighs that is almost painful.
Slowly, he tips my chin up. I finally raise my gaze, but he’s not looking at me, either. His eyes are cast down, and his brow is pinched in pain. “You’re just out of sorts,” he says quietly. “You miss Cole, and I just happen to be here. It’s okay.”
I remain still, my fingers still on his stomach and his hand still on my chin. His chest moves up and down, and for a moment, I think I’m going to turn tail and run. He’s making excuses for me. An easy one to hide behind. It would make sense I’m feeling lost and in need of someone else to escape into.
But what’s his excuse. I know he looks at me. I know he does it when he thinks I don’t see it, but I do.
My eyes sting, filling with tears. “That’s not why I was apologizing,” I tell him.
I raise my eyes, meeting his, and while I’m afraid, I have to dive. I can’t hold back.
“I’m sorry, because,” I whisper shakily, “this isn’t the first time I wanted you to touch me.”
And his gaze freezes on me.
He holds my eyes, unmoving except for the rise and fall of his chest, and I have no idea what’s going through his head right now, but I don’t think I’m sorry. No more excuses that this is about me being distraught over Cole.
The attraction was already there.
He slowly lets his fingers fall from my chin, both of his hands balling into fists, and he clenches his jaw, suddenly looking angry.
On reflex, I take a step back, but I don’t get any farther. Grabbing my waist, he hauls me into him, snaking an arm round me and gripping my jaw in his hand between his thumb and four fingers. I gasp, loving the feeling of his body hard against mine but scared, too, because he looks so mad.
“No,” he growls, baring his teeth and looking at me with fury in his eyes. “Do you understand? It’s not happening. You’re not getting that from me.”
Tears fills my eyes, and I can barely see him anymore as my body shakes with a silent sob.
His arm is like steel around me, and I can feel the heat of his rage coming off his skin.
He shakes me. “You wanna get laid, then you go hunt somewhere else.”
I suck in air and twist away from him, pushing his body away.
He’s right. What am I doing? Why would I do that? I feel so stupid, and I crouch down, quickly gathering up my shirt and shoes.
But I wasn’t imagining it, was I? There was something between us, and it was coming from him as much as from me. Did I just see what I wanted to see?
I want to scream. Tears stream down my face, and he still just stands there, glaring at me.
“Go to your room,” he orders.
I break out in a laugh, the bitter sound dripping with disbelief. “Go fuck yourself!” I stand up, hardening my voice. “I’ll find another bed tonight, thank you. Anyone will do for a slut like me, right?”
I whip around and run for the back door, but he grabs the inside of my elbow and hauls me back into the wall of his chest. I drop my shirt and shoes, and he forces us forward into the wall of the house. I shoot out my hands, crashing into the siding.
Jesus.
I shake, sucking in short, shallow breaths as my heart races and my blood runs hot under my skin.
What the…
He reaches around, taking my face in his hand and his hot breath in my ear. “Don’t threaten me with shit like that. If you want to act like a brat, then maybe you should get grounded like one, huh?”
I almost laugh through the tears drying on my face. “By all means,” I taunt. “I’m dying to see how you try to take control of me. You can’t even get Cole to do his chores, and when was the last time a woman got hot in your bed? You’re not even a man.”
He growls and slams his palm into the house in front of me.
I jump.
And the next thing I know, his hand is in my hair, and my head is being twisted to the side as his lips crash down on mine.
I whimper, the feel and taste of him flooding me so hard my clit pulses between my legs. Oh, shit. My eyelids flutter closed, the heat and adrenaline diving from my chest to my groin in the span of a second.
He pulls back. “Fuck.” And his fist tightens in my hair.
But he comes back in, his mouth covering mine, demanding more, and I can barely catch my breath. I’m hot all over.
He tastes so good. Feels so good. It only takes a moment, but my brain finally kicks in, and I reach around, taking the back of his neck and kissing him, too.
His hand grips my waist, and I can feel his fingers slide under the red silk strap of my panties peeking out, winding his hand once in the fabric like he’s getting ready to yank it off.
My pussy throbs at the thought. His tongue is hot and demanding, flicking in my mouth and playing with my own, and when he pulls back just a hair to nibble my bottom lip, I shift on my tiptoes, feeling the warm slickness ache between my legs.
Oh, God.
He moves from my lips to my cheeks, leaving kisses along my jaw and back down to my neck. I can only arch it to give him free rein.
And I smile on the inside. He does want this. He wants me.
My skin buzzes, the hair rising on my arms, and I break out in chills at the feel of his hands starting to explore as much as his mouth.
I press my ass into his groin and feel the ridge of his cock, hard and tempting. He pulls his mouth away, groaning at my nudge.
“Jordan,” he gasps, his eyes closed and brows etched in pain. “Fuck, we can’t do this.”
I turn around, arching up on my tiptoes and matching my forehead to his with my hands at his waist. “I know,” I say. “I know.”
God, why did this have to happen?