Page 57

Jesus Christ.

“Well that’s not fair,” I say, my voice low. Almost hoarse.

“What’s not fair?” she asks, frowning.

I slide my hands up under her t-shirt –my t-shirt– until I’m cupping her bare ass, pressing her harder against my cock. “That you’ve seen me come,” I murmur, “but I haven’t seen you.”

“You want me to go back in the shower and touch myself?” She tips her head to the side, like she’s goading me. Like she knows the hold she has on me.

“No.” I lean my head down, trail my lips across the bottom of her throat. She tastes like sin. Then I look at her, all wide eyed and innocent, like butter wouldn’t melt in her damn mouth.

“I changed my mind,” I tell her. “I want my t-shirt back.” I lift my head. She doesn’t move. “Take it off, Eden,” I command, lifting a brow when she doesn’t comply right away. “Now.”

Her lips part, her eyes go hazy. But like the good girl she is, she reaches for the hem, pulls it over her head, and throws it on the floor.

And then she’s naked. For a moment I’m not sure I can breathe.

Her body is all smooth curves and flushed skin, her nipples pebbling from the cool air or maybe from the way I’m looking at her. Like she’s mine. Like I’ll never be able to look at anyone else again.

“Jesus Christ.” My voice is rough, reverent. “You’re killing me.”

She shifts like she doesn’t know what to do with herself, her thighs tightening around my hips. Her gaze darts away for a second – just a flicker of nerves – but I catch her chin between my fingers and bring her eyes back to mine.

“Look at me,” I murmur. “I want to see your face.”

She swallows. Her hair’s slipping out of that messy bun, tendrils curling around her cheeks, damp from the shower.

All I want to do is make her feel good.

I slide my hand between her thighs, but I don’t touch her where I know she wants me. She frowns, wriggling on me like I’m ruining her favorite game.

My gaze flickers to hers. “Tell me to touch you.”

A breath escapes her lips. “Touch me, West.”

The way she says it. So vulnerable. So honestly. It hits me harder than anything else. This woman trusts me. She wants me.

And I want her. More than I think I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.

“You want me to touch this pretty pussy?” I murmur, running my finger over the crease between her thighs. She squirms again, like she’s desperate.

Oh, join the gang, baby.

“You want me to make you come? Want to fall apart for me, the same way I fell apart for you in the shower?”

She nods. This woman is going to destroy me. And I’m going to savor every moment of it.

I trail my fingers up, slow and teasing, until I feel how wet she is for me. I swallow hard, trying to stay in control, because if I lose it now this’ll be over in seconds.

My voice is a growl. “You’re soaking.”

Her cheeks flush, but her hips arch into my hand. She’s not embarrassed. She’s impatient.

“I’ve barely touched you,” I murmur, circling her clit with my thumb. “And you’re already so close. You bad, bad girl.”

I’m so damn lucky I’m fully dressed right now, otherwise I’d be inside of her in a heartbeat.

“Of course I am,” she whispers, her hands gripping my shoulders. “My husband’s fingers do things to me.”