Page 73 of High Water

“Don’t order me.” I try to put us back to rights.

“I’m asking then. Nicely.” A pleading look crosses his face, softer than the one he wore before.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It’s my prerogative.”

“Give me this. Please, honey.” His eyes are wide as he implores me. “I want to see my wife on our wedding night.”

“I’m not twenty anymore, Bishop.” I hate myself for saying the words because I’d felt so confident all night. So sexy. I try to put myself back in that headspace. “So you don’t tell me what to do.”

“I’m not telling. I’m asking. And thank fuck you’re not twenty anymore. I loved her, don’t get me wrong, but this version of you? She’s the best one yet. I wouldn’t have survived her then, but now…” There’s a playful smirk on his lips, but I still feel the urge to warn him. I don’t think I could handle seeing disappointment in his eyes.

“I have stretch marks from the pregnancy. They’re faded, but I—” I pause when he leans forward and kisses the tops of my thighs. It unnerves me to feel his mouth on my skin again, the heat of his breath dancing over it and lighting me on fire as he makes his way down to my knee.

I’ve forgotten what I was saying, distracted by the feel of him. I’m desperate to have his mouth in other places, but I can’t.

“Bishop,” I warn.

“Let me?” He reaches for the sides of my robe but waits to pull them back until I give him the go-ahead with a subtle nod.

I lift my eyes to the ceiling to avoid his reaction as he stands and slips the robe off my shoulders. I let it fall to the desk below, pulling each of my arms out and shifting myself to rest on my palms again. I feel the ghost of his hands over my body until he reaches my stomach. He drags the backs of his knuckles over my skin.

“These aren’t something to be worried about, Jones. They’re just another thing about you to be obsessed with. Secret little memories. Reminding me that you carried my whole fucking heart in this body. I might not have gotten the chance to see it for myself in person, but this is the next best thing. Only turns me on more.” His words echo through me and fill me with renewed confidence.

This version of him is dangerous. The twenty-something Bishop was soft-spoken and hesitant to confess his thoughts to me. An improvement on the teenager whose silence was only broken by the occasional murmured sound of approval when he touched me. The man standing in front of me now only vaguely resembles him, filled out in all the right places, confident, and eager to please with the most charming smile I’ve ever seen in my life. One that widens as I let him continue touching me for a few more moments.

The slow, maddening descent of his hand against the soft curve of my body stops just as his fingertips reach the lace band of my panties. I wrap my hand around his wrist, then, stilling the motion.

“Sit down before I make you.” I bark out the order, and he complies easily. He wasn’t lying about being turned on. He’s still hard for me and so thick that I can already imagine it’s gonna take me time to warm back up to be able to take him. “Give me your palm again.”

He holds it out, and I lean over and spit in it. His eyes flash brightly before his lips quiver with amusement.

“Now fuck yourself with it. I wanna watch you.” I slip my fingers back under the lace of my panties, taking my time and teasing myself with the slightest touches. “You have to get me nice and wet if you want a good taste.”

“You’re fucking wicked.” He grins before he bites down on his lower lip, another pass of his hand takes him closer to the edge of his pleasure. He groans, and my clit practically pulses along with the sound. I need him inside me so badly it hurts.

I drag two fingers through my wetness, lifting my hips as I spread my thighs to get them nice and coated for him. I’m going to give this man everything he asks for. Taunt us both with all the possibilities he’s been craving.

“You like it this way though,” I whisper as I pull my hand free, pressing my fingers to his lips and pushing inside. His tongue swirls around them, and his eyes slowly close as he lets out a moan. “Suck them clean.”

He does exactly as instructed, stroking himself with a grip that has me watching his head grow from a deep pink to a flush of red as he builds to his climax. I pull my fingers free, watching as he licks the traces of me off his lips.

“Christ, you taste so fucking sweet, honey. Please. Give me more. Let me fucking eat that sweet little cunt. I’ll make you come so fucking hard if you let me.”

Dear god. I’m not going to survive him a single night.

I want him so badly. But I need time and space to process what we’re doing and what it means. I don’t want to rush into this only to hurt us both all over again.

“You haven’t earned it yet,” I say softly. His eyes lift to meet mine, a flash of disappointment in them before he sees the reassuring look on my face. “But you keep listening so well like this, showing me how good you can be. You will.”

“Anything you want.” His gaze drifts down my body, heavy-lidded as he works himself over. He slows his pace, drawing it out and trying to hold off the inevitable.

“I want to watch you come. I want to see you make a mess of yourself and those pants for me. Like you can’t help yourself.”

“I’ve never been able to when it comes to you.”