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It isn’t a massive tub and definitely isn’t designed to be big enough for two people, so when Boyd is finally settled and comfortable, his legs are pressed against the sides, his feet near my bottom. Then he pulls my feet into his lap.
“How was your day with your dad and brother?” I ask, poking my toes against the hard ridges of his abdomen. “Was it a super-manly day filled with testosterone and blood sport?”
Boyd lets out a soft laugh. “Yeah, if sitting out on a boat trying to catch fish all day is your idea of testosterone-filled, sure.”
I smile at him. “What did you do?”
He shrugs, sinking a little farther into the water. “We fished, we talked a bit, we listened to some 80s rock. Once we came in, we went to the grocery store to get fish for lunch since we didn’t catch any.”
I laugh.
“And then we just kind of hung out.”
“Do you like doing that with them?”
He nods. “I do. Bishop always seems like he’s just spending time with us because it makes us happy or because we force him to come with us. There was probably a time in my life when that’s how I felt about my parents, but…” He shrugs a shoulder again. “The older I get, the more I realize how important those moments are. Someday, I won’t have them anymore, so I need to take advantage now.”
My surprise meeting with Ken still weighs heavy on my mind, even with a sexy, naked man covered in bubbles sitting right across from me. Even so, I don’t want to waste my time with Boyd thinking about a man who doesn’t seem to ever think of me.
We sit in silence for a while, just enjoying the little bit of music and the muted lighting from the candles. All we have right now is each other’s company, and that’s more than enough. I could fall asleep with the way Boyd is using the back of his thumb to stroke up and down the bridge of my foot.
“Feel good?” he asks when I shiver a little bit.
I nod, and Boyd takes my simple agreement as a directive, lifting my right foot and using his thumbs to press on the pads of my toes and massage the arch in a way that is absolutely heavenly.
I can’t help the moans I let out at how good it feels.
“God, when you moan like that,” Boyd says, his voice rumbling in that sexy way that gets me wet—even when I’m not submerged in a shower or a lake or a tub of water. Then he hums deep in his throat. “It turns me on like nothing else.”
My heart rate starts to pick up, that same unsatisfied urge from yesterday beginning to thrum through me again.
“You’re turned on?” I ask.
He nods, dropping my foot slightly in the water so I can feel his manhood beneath the surface, thick and hard.
I shift, using the side of my foot to brush lightly against him, thrilling at the way his eyelids lower.
“You have a foot fetish?”
I’m teasing him, and he knows it.
“I have a fetish for having any part of you touching any part of me,” he says, wrapping his hands around my feet again.
But he doesn’t massage them like I expect him to. Instead, he gives them a tiny tug, shifting my body so I’m slightly more reclined. Then he slides his hands along my shins, eyeing me like a piece of meat he wants to devour.
“Your skin is so silky,” he tells me, lifting one leg out of the water and running a single finger from ankle to knee.
“It’s the stuff I put in the water.” I try to keep my voice from sounding too breathless. “A few of these little oil balls that help hydrate your skin. It creates that slick feeling.”
He hums low in his throat, continuing to stroke up and down my shin with his hand.
“Slick,” he says, stretching the word out so each letter is paid its due. “I like that word.”
Boyd adjusts his position, causing the water to slosh a bit, the remaining bubbles foaming up higher on my chest and then receding enough that my breasts are newly exposed to the cooler air above the warm water.
His eyes drop instantly, and I see the tip of his tongue touch his two front teeth, his hunger clear in every small movement.
It’s unreal what his attention does to my body, the way his gaze feels like hands caressing my skin as he peruses my exposed flesh—but his restraint is maddening.
