Page 72 of High Water

“Lots of them. But not on this.” She takes a sip of her whiskey and grins. “At least not until you try to make it fit.”

“I thought that was off the table.” I keep my inside thoughts to myself because she’s all but told me I’m bigger than her ex, and while I’d never admit it, I’m adding that to the list of reasons she’s better off with me.

“I’m stuck with you for three years. At least. That’s a long time. I imagine eventually you’ll wear me down. Maybe on our third wedding anniversary.”

“So you wanted to torture yourself by seeing what you’re missing?”

“No. I wanted to—” She pauses as a teasing grin plays at her lips.

She uncaps the lotion and leans over the edge of the desk, positioning the tip of the container over my dick and squeezing until she’s placed a thick line of it all the way down to the head. She clicks the cap shut, punctuating the silence as her eyes fall heavy on me.

“There. Now rub it in.” A raspy laugh tumbles out of her, amused at her own handiwork, as she presses her fingers to her lips and recomposes herself. Her lashes flutter, and her eyes return to mine with purpose—wicked and green. And now they’re all mine. “I want to see how you use it. Show me.”

Fucking hell. This woman asking me to perform for her is like being given an aptitude test with no time to study. I haven’t practiced for anyone but myself in the shower for a long fucking time, and it’s been a lifetime since I’ve had her eyes on me. It’s my dream and my nightmare tangled into one dangerous reality. But I wrap my hand around my cock, anyway, letting my fingers slip slowly over the lotion she’s warmed in her palms.

I groan audibly at how good it feels, and inhale as her favorite scent surrounds me—a blend of clover and dew. Like being out in a field just as the sun is breaking over the horizon. The kind of experience you only get after a night so long it turns to morning. It takes me back to a dozen moments like this with her.

The room’s quiet except for her soft breathing and my own heart pounding in my ears until the slick sound of the lotion over my skin begins to break it. She shifts on the table, adjusting her position and her view as my hand works over my cock.

It feels so fucking good already. So right.

I let out another muted groan as I sit back in the chair. Self-conscious of how loud I am in the quiet of the room.

“Don’t silence yourself. You want me wet, don’t you?”

“Fuck yes.”

“Then use your words.”

“Which words do you want?” I pause a moment. “How good it feels or what I’d do to you if you let me?”

“Oh, I read the things you want to do to me already.” She presses her lips together. If I’ve shocked her already, I might kill her with some of the others.

“Doubt it. You read one or two of the sweeter ones in the short time you were in there, I’d wager. The latter letters get pretty fucking depraved.”

“Something to look forward to then. Don’t spoil it.” Her eyes follow the slow stroke of my palm. “Just tell me how much you like touching yourself for me.”

“It’s the sweetest kind of torture having your eyes on me like this. Reminds me of the way you used to watch me. Only wish I had more of you. Your hands bringing me closer and closer with each pass. Your mouth working me over. That perfect pussy that fits me just right, giving me everything I’ve ever wanted.” I stroke myself with slow purpose. I have to be careful because I don’t want to come too soon. I need her soaked. Ready and wanting. I’ll settle for a taste if it’s all she’s offering tonight, but I’m more than happy to make her come over and over again if she lets me.

TWENTY-NINE

Aspen

He’s fucking gorgeous. Unfairly so. But right now? Like this? He’s a weakness that’s going to make me go back on every promise I made to myself about holding him at arm’s length. Especially when he’s this agreeable to my whims. I can hardly believe he agreed to play along with this half-formed plan. But now I’m torturing us both by letting it carry on. And he knows. I can see it in his eyes, the way they glimmer and dance even in this low light. A quiver of his lip that turns into the slow upward tug of a self-satisfied grin forces me to ask the obvious question.

“What has you so smug?”

“My wife can’t take her eyes off my cock.” A softly groaned curse interrupts him before he continues, “And she’s getting wetter and wetter wishing she could ride me.”

“You think so?” I do my best to bluff my way out of the truth, taking the last of the whiskey with me.

“I know so.” He nods down to the desk, where the wood is damp with how wet I am. “So pay up.”

I can’t fight him on this. Not when it’s so obvious. Even if I wanted to, and I don’t, it’d be a losing battle. I set the empty glass down and slide to the edge of the desk. I take my time untying my robe, watching the hungry way his eyes eat up every inch of me.

But I pause when I see the faint outlines of stretch marks etched into my skin and the soft roll of my stomach when I’m sitting. I never worried about this with Ethan. He’d seen them for years. But Bishop hasn’t. The body he remembers no longer exists. It hasn’t for almost as long as he’s been gone. I snatch the sides of the robe back together and then do my best to redirect by slowly slipping my hand into my panties. His eyes track the movement, but then they bounce back up to meet mine.

“Take the robe off.” The victory he’s had over me has emboldened him.