Page 62 of Slow Burn

I undo the buttons of my shirt as Lyla steps into the stream of water. It rolls in rivulets down her body, taking with it some of the dried and caked on mud.

Lyla watches me from behind the glass, her gaze landing on the smattering of dark hair on my chest, catching and lingering for a moment on the tattoo on my pec. She follows the line of my abs down to my jeans where I work at my belt buckle. Her eyes widen when I push my pants down, my hard cock springing free.

Lyla lets out a laugh. “That’s what you look like under those chaps?”

I don’t know whether or not to be offended, but my size has never been an insecurity of mine, so I’m fairly convinced she means it with no ill intent.

“Just what every guy wants to hear when they’re standing naked in front of someone,” I say, with mock offence.

“I didn’t mean it that way,” she rushes out through giggles. “I just never… I never thought you’d be that hot.”

I bring my hands to her hips, joining her under the warm water. It almost burns, even though the temperature isn’t hot.

“Then I guess I’ve got one up on you there,” I say, a smirk toying with my lips.

She arches an eyebrow.

“I always knew you’d be that hot.” I mimic the way she had said the words, right down to the playful lilt of her voice, and it draws another laugh from her throat.

She throws her head back, water spilling over her face, her dark hair almost black and so shiny I can almost see my reflection in it. It falls down her back like an inky waterfall, and all I can do is admire her, this woman I’ve been in love with for decades.

“You really have been playing with fire,” she says, stretching up on her tiptoes to twine her arms around the back of my neck. “Lusting after your best friend’s sister like that.”

At the reminder, my shoulders drop, and she must feel it, because her eyes search my face.

“Don’t do this again, Beck,” she says. “Don’t put your walls up.”

“About that,” I say, my voice lowers to a gravelly pitch. “I want this with you, so badly. But I don’t want to… go all the way. Not yet. Not until I can talk to him about it.”

She leans up, kissing me on the cheek, my jaw, my neck. Oh god, my neck.

“It’s okay,” she murmurs as she pulls herself close to me, hugging me as if I might draw back on her again.

I won’t. Whatever happened the other day, it was a one off. It’s why I wanted to bring up how I feel about this, us, now. So she never has to wonder if my holding back is about her, so she never feels rejected by me.

“I get it, Beck.” She leans back and gazes into my eyes, and I could get lost in those chocolate pools. “But you did promise you’d help me get cleaned up.”

“You are absolutely right,” I say through my smile. “I sure did.”

I kiss her again and her lips part for me, letting me in. I show her everything I struggle to say with my words. I convey everything I’m feeling for her in this moment–adoration, awe, gratitude.

There’s still mud caked onto her legs where her leggings weren’t covering, and her arms where her sleeves got pushed up. A few smears of dirt are still visible on her face as well, so I do what I promised her I would. I grab the bar of soap on the ledge and I wash her beautiful, milky skin.

I gently wipe the dirt off her face, kissing every spot that I scrub clean as I go. I plant kisses on her shoulders as I clean the mud off her arms. I rub the slick bar of soap down her body, on the insides of her thighs.

It falls to the floor with a clatter when I let go of it, so I can trail my finger tips where I had previously cleaned. I tease her, touching her everywhere except the one place I know she wants.

“Please, Beck,” she pleads. “Give me something.”

I tip my head side to side, considering. I’d already decided I wouldn’t sleep with Lyla, but the line is drawn clearly in the sand, far enough away from where we are. A black demarcation on white. But this part? This is a lot more grey.

“I like you like this, desperate for me.” I don’t want to deny her, because I’m enjoying this moment way too much, the one where Lyla Morgan is finally coming undone in front of me, finally begging for me. But I’m crossing boundaries I never thought I would, and fast.

“Beck…” she groans, teeth sinking into her bottom lip.

I hold her eye contact as I slide two fingers into her wet heat. This will be it, this will be the line that stays solid. I can give her what she wants as long as she’s asking for it, but I won’t indulge in my own pleasure until I sort through what this means. Her breath hitches, mouth falling open.

“Is this what you want?”