Page 73 of Liquids

I huff and look out the side window. How does he always get me smiling? “Fucking awesome, as you well know.”

He squeezes my hand again. “That’s good, babe. It’s nice to do something right for a change.”

I shake my head, and he grips my fingers tighter. “I understand you’ve had a rough time, Carl. That you don’t really trust me or this. Let’s enjoy what we got for now.”

It’s not exactly starlight and flowers, but it still sounds pretty amazing. I’ve never had someone as good as he is in my life.

I squeeze his hand. “Okay, Rig. I want to try for this, too.”

We swap halfway through the drive, and Rig bunches up his coat and falls asleep against the passenger window. And there’s something warm in the center of my chest about sitting next to this man as we thrum down the road. I like him resting while I get us back home. I like taking care of him. Home. He’s said let’s try and make it work, but the house on the beach and what that might mean is still flickering in the back of my mind.

When we arrive back at my apartment, he grabs his duffel out of the trunk and I follow him up the iron staircase. In the bedroom, I drop my bag on the floor and head through to the bathroom, picking up my toothbrush, and he appears behind me in the doorway, watching me in the mirror. He’s taken his top off, and his broad hairy chest makes my mouth water. Then he leans over and picks up a glass from beside the sink, and I shift to one side as he fills it from the faucet.

I tip my head as I smile. His eyes are heated as he steps in front of me, glances down at my breasts and then back up to my eyes, leaning in and brushing his lips across mine and my mouth chases his.

“Been thinking about this all the way down,” he rumbles.

“Thinking about what?”

He shifts back and brings the glass up and pours the water down my T-shirt. It’s cold and wet and makes the cotton stick to my warm skin, soaking into my jeans and splashing down onto the linoleum floor.

I gasp with the chill and the shock. “What are you doing?”

He grins. “You asked me about playing with liquids,” he says, “when I met you. I like the shower, the soap, and getting you all slippery, but there are other things I wanna do.” His eyes gleam.

My breasts are outlined through the thin material, my nipples hardening as the icy water brings goose bumps up on my skin. So cold. A long finger comes up and runs along the side around the curve of my breast and back up the center of my chest as he groans.

“Only like doing this with women I trust.”

What?

“You know a lot of untrustworthy women, Rig?”

He laughs. “Yeah, babe, you’ve met some of them.”

Right enough, I wouldn’t trust Sadie or Amanda as far as I could throw them. But I’m also fascinated by this insight. He’s not one for sharing his feelings, his past. I can see how much he struggles sometimes, trying to be open with me. I just get these glimpses into how he thinks, his history, what he likes. I don’t mind. I like his brand of quiet, how he’s a doer. I look at the scruff on his chin and the dark lashes fanning his cheeks as he stares down at me.

“So I’m trustworthy?”

He laughs. “You said that like it’s a question. You’re the definition of trustworthy, babe. You’ve sat in a dead-end town for years because you’re so loyal to your dead son.”

I turn my head away. “It sounds so stupid when you say it like that.”

He cups my jaw and turns my face back to his, somber eyes meeting mine. “No, it’s not stupid. Not stupid at all.” He draws a finger down my throat and taps my sternum. “It’s something in here. You can’t replicate it, can’t fake it. Loyalty. Honesty. If guys don’t see that in you, they’re ignorant as shit. Now stop talking so I can concentrate on this.”

He slides his hand farther down to play with the curve of my breast, stroking along the wet fabric underneath and making my nipple tighten even more. He runs his thumb over it, playing with the stiff bud.

“Jesus, baby, look at this.”

When I look down, my chest is outlined and it leaves nothing to the imagination.

“No bra,” he murmurs, his other hand coming up to cup my breast. “So cold.”

“It’s always more comfortable without one. I’m not big enough to need …”

He grips me gently. “Your breasts are fucking perfect.” He squeezes. “Fit my hands like they were made for them.” He’s watching what he’s doing, like he can’t take his eyes off me.

He holds me in one hand as he pours more water over me with the other, gripping me firmly in his hand and squeezing as the water cascades down my body.