Page 44 of After Midnight

“Like . . . you.” He shrugs one shoulder.

Yeah, I know what he means. I like seeing him this way too.

As I finish my last few bites of pizza in the dim light glowing from under the microwave, Sebastian asks, “Now what?”

“Now,” I say, “I take a bath.”

The look on his face changes slowly, and I wonder if mine changes too. Because seeing him reclining in his bed like that, gray T-shirt clinging to his bicep where he’s got his arm behind his head, makes me really wish I could step through this phone and climb on top of him, discover how his broad chest would feel under my hands.

Quietly, as if I’m afraid to ask the question out loud, I whisper, “Wanna join me?”

chapter 20

Sebastian

“WANNA JOIN ME?”

My throat feels like it just closed up, and my heart immediately hits hard, like I just slammed the kick drum.

Join her? For a bath?

The thought wakes my cock up, making it twitch in my sweatpants.

She’s standing in her dimly lit kitchen, having just finished the pizza I had delivered to the club, and I want so fucking bad to hold her right now, to take her face in my hands and kiss her until our lips are swollen and we can’t catch our breath.

I want it so badly that all I can mumble is, “Y-yeah.”

Remi smiles, then starts to move through her condo. Her feet must be bare, because I can hear them slapping across the floor. She vanishes briefly into darkness, and then there’s the click of a lighter, and her bathroom becomes illuminated by flickering candlelight.

And I get a tightness in my stomach.

Is she really about to do this? Bathe with me on FaceTime?

There’s another click, and another candle flares to life, sending firelight dancing across her face. I can see now that some of her eye makeup is smudged, and she looks tired, with her hair a bit tangled and a speckle of glitter on one cheek.

Remi props the phone up on her bathroom counter, angling it toward the tub. My cock starts to harden as she bends over the tub and turns the faucet on, running her fingers through the stream of water a few times, then adjusting the temp. She grabs a bottle of something from the shelf beside the tub and pours a cap of it into the water. A few bubbles drift through the candlelight, and I swallow hard.

How the hell am I supposed to handle this? Just pretend she’s not giving me a hard-on? Or does she wanna . . . like . . . ?

Remi puts the bottle down and turns to face the camera. With a little smile, she says, “Close your eyes. And no peeking.”

I nod once and do what she says, squeezing my eyes closed. Honestly, though, it’s just more arousing, because not being able to see her makes me focus on the sounds she makes: the whisper of fabric as she pulls it off and drops it to the floor, the tiny intake of breath as she steps into the tub, making the water slosh softly. A few times, I almost peek, and I have to put my free hand over my eyes to make sure I don’t.

The water sloshes again, louder this time, and Remi sighs. Then she says, “Okay, you can look now.”

Slowly, I drop my hand and open my eyes.

She’s reclining back in the tub, her breasts on full display above the sudsy water, the piercings in her nipples gleaming in the candlelight.

I wonder what they’d feel like in my hands, what they’d taste like . . .

I must make a sound without meaning to, because she arches an eyebrow at me. “What is it, Seb?”

Oh no. Now she’s calling me by my nickname and everything. That’s like catnip to me.

“Are you trying to murder me?” I ask.

This makes her laugh, and her breasts sway with the movement. They could probably hypnotize me. “Murder you? How?”