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I wanted to make them bleed.
She moved past me to start the bath. The tub was big enough for two people and had a bunch of jets. The glassed-in shower stall in the corner got a lot more action. In fact, I’d used the tub exactly twice since I’d moved in a year ago. Once I’d been so sore after a fight I filled it with ice and marinated like a day-old steak. Another time I’d been feeling self-important and had gotten drunk off my ass on fancy champagne while I phone-sexed some chick. She’d talked me through an orgasm and I hadn’t even touched my dick.
Guys could fake ’em too. At least on the phone.
I didn’t invite women to my apartment. I went to theirs or we went to hotels. There had been a few memorable encounters in the back hallway of the gym and at a club. A few other random places too. But never here. I liked my privacy, and I didn’t bring ring groupies home.
Mia was…Mia.
She struggled to get the temperature right and I leaned over to help her. That put me in direct proximity with the side of her breast, which I paid no mind to. All right, little mind. Indestructo erection was still knocking on heaven’s door in my pants. Her ass jiggling as she squirted bubble bath into the water didn’t help.
She capped the bottle after using the recommended amount of suds and handed it back, but I wasn’t about to let her skimp. I hoisted the bottle high and squeezed.
When she was with me, I’d give her everything I had. My jacket, orgasms, extra bubbles.
“I think you’re using too much.”
“Says who?” I tossed the empty bottle over my shoulder and motioned for her to get into the warm, frothy water. It was starting to get a little sudsy, but that was good, right?
“I hope you have a nice super,” she muttered.
I wouldn’t call him nice, but I wasn’t real afraid I’d get kicked out for bathroom mishaps. Being related to the owner of the building was a handy perk.
Mia sank into the bubbles and moaned, so loud I had to press my wrist against my zipper. Luckily, she didn’t notice. She dropped down into the thickening suds until they covered her chin, then let her head fall back until her hair slipped into the water. Her lids lowered, her dark lashes fanning over her cheeks.
She didn’t say anything, just floated while bubbles accumulated at an alarming rate and the jets stirred them up. Her cheeks flushed and she actually smiled, her lips curving like a rainbow hesitantly arching across the sky after a rainstorm.
Slowly, she opened her eyes. “Aren’t you going to join me?”
No. I wasn’t. I wanted to, God knew, but she needed all the room in the tub. And I needed to be outside it, with enough distance that I couldn’t feel every inch of her skin against mine. I would never smell grape again without thinking of her like this and knowing I’d been the one to give her that small pleasure.
Now I would give her more.
“Think I can wash you better like this.” I knelt at her side and dragged my hand through the water. My eyes widened. “Shit, that’s hot.”
“I know.” Her dreamy smile spread. “I like it that way.”
Her smile faltered as I picked up the soap and rubbed it between my hands. “You’ll like this too.” I hoped.
She scrambled upward, her heels sliding on the bottom of the tub. “It’s okay, I can wash myself.”
More than anything, I hated the fear that flashed through her expression. I could handle fury or indifference or anything else she tossed my way. But not that.
“If you want me to stop, I will. I promise. It’s all up to you.” I kept my gaze on her face until she looked at me, the shadows in her eyes engulfing the momentary light. “Trust me, Mia.”
Chapter Fifteen
Mia
I gripped the side of the tub and hoped I looked less panicked than I felt. If he’d been undressed, if I’d been on my knees instead, I wouldn’t have been as nervous. But the intent gleam in his sea-blue eyes scared the hell out of me.
He’d take things from me, things I couldn’t get back. I wanted him to.
Wordlessly, I nodded. I didn’t trust myself to answer.
His hand disappeared under the bubbles—they seemed to be multiplying really fast—and re-emerged on my foot. He rubbed the bar of soap along the top and the arch, using his other hand to raise my ankle. His fingers looked dark against my calf and the calluses on his fingers rubbed like sandpaper over my warmed skin. I couldn’t hold back a moan.
He glanced over his shoulder, the corner of his mouth lifting. He didn’t speak, just kept scrubbing my feet and legs.
