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If there was ever an appropriate time to cuss, it would be now, because dayum, the man dripped sexual innuendo. Or perhaps, the dripping was me, and for the second time in a week, I wondered if I’d squirted.
The familiarness of the thought had me pausing as a memory pushed to the surface between Simon and me. But as Slade drew nearer, I shoved it aside, unable to focus on it. The only thing in my vision was him.
Water dripped down my body, a puddle collecting at my feet. My hair was a sopping mess flat against my head, and yet under his gaze, I felt seen by him in a way I never had before.
“Peach, put on the damn shirt. I can see your nipples from across the room, and I only have so much restraint. Plus, if you catch a damn cold because you’re too stubborn, no one will believe me that you chose to stay wet. I’ll have Simon and Bubba so far up my ass over it, I won’t be able to sit for a week. So, please, for the love of my ass, take off your clothes. If you’re nervous, I’ll turn my back.”
He towered over me, breathing down at me, and I felt every hot caress of his breath as he spoke. I missed half of what he’d said, too focused on the energy surging between us, that underlying current now a blazing fire. Keeping his gaze, I dropped the shirt onto the chair and pushed off my straps.
I wanted to be seductive while doing it, but it came out more angrily than I intended. My hackles had been raised, and it took everything in me not to be a stubborn donkey’s butt and stay in the wet dress. The cold won out in the end, and I submitted to his demand, hating every second of it.
Pushing the wet material over my breasts, I slid it down, having to practically peel it off where it had molded to my skin. The slapping sound of the dress hitting the ground echoed in the small room. I was so angry, my breathing had increased, my thoughts dared me to put this guy in his place, to show him just how unaffected I was by him. His jaw ticked, his eyes never leaving mine, not even when I unhooked my bra and dropped it to the ground. Slade stayed zeroed in on me, his emotions hidden behind his wall.
My earlier self-consciousness had long fled now, and I stood practically naked in front of him, daring him to do something. Gathering my hair in one hand, I wrung it out, the water puddling on the floor. I didn’t care that my tits were out on display. I wanted to push him over the edge like I had in my dream. I only needed to find the right button to push. I felt daring, a strong desire to punish Slade for hating me.
Slowly, I grabbed the shirt and slid it on over my head. His fresh woody smell encircled me, laying claim to my skin as I covered my body with him. I couldn’t help it. I breathed it in, a shudder rolling through me at smelling him this close. It was bold and fresh, bringing a heat to my skin as the shirt kissed it. Once it was over, I pulled my hair from the collar and returned to staring at Slade. Except he was no longer in front of me.
Slade was bent over his desk, his arms braced on it as his back lifted, presumably taking deep breaths, in and out.
Rolling my eyes at his dramatics for having to be in a room with me, I scooped up my wet clothes and tip-toed out into the hall. I snagged one of the candles he had lit as I went, not wanting to be in the darkness alone. Hanging my wet clothes in the bathroom, I found a comb and managed to detangle my hair. It started to kink up as it dried, and I knew I’d have a frizzy mess once it finished.
Stepping out, I returned to the office and found Slade sitting on the floor, a bottle between his legs. Quirking an eyebrow, I set the candle down and sat on the floor opposite him.
“Playing spin-the-bottle with yourself?”
“I was thinking more truth or dare. You up for it, Peach? Or are you, what was the word you used? Too scared?”
The thunder cracked overhead again, making me jump, and I swallowed. “I’m not scared.”
He chuckled, that rich tone hitting me straight on the clit, and I crossed my legs in a different direction as I tried to get some friction indiscreetly. He poured two shot glasses and pushed one over to me. I stared at the liquid for a moment, debating if I was about to do this. I hadn’t drunk anything since that night. Slade’s voice had me lifting my head.
“Truth or dare, James?” He smirked, his cockiness returning, and I found myself wanting to wipe it off his face. Perhaps, this could be my chance to get some answers and finally discover what I’d done to him.
“Fine.Dare.”
His smile widened, his eyes lit with mischief, and I wondered briefly what the hell I’d just gotten myself into.
Dear Blaze.
I’ll forgive you for your awful knock-knock joke.
I want to sing “Purple Rain” now, I feel like it matches you. Your love of rain and the color purple. Maybe, just purple Blaze then. What kind of music do you like? I love all kinds of music. It’s a thing with me and my dad. We’ll play around on his guitar, and play ‘guess this song’. I love to sing too. I’m always humming. I’d love to sing on stage one day, but I don’t know if I’ll ever get up the courage. Like you, I think it seems frightening. When you’re up there for everyone to see, it’s so raw. Is that why you won’t?
If you could see me now, I just blew out a big breath making my hair flutter in front of my face because even though you’re right and pen pals are perfect to share secrets with, it kind of feels too raw still. But maybe I need to get it out there. How about I give you pieces of it, and so each time, I’m a little step closer to the truth?
The first piece, well, I thought I was in love with my best friend.
I’ve included a picture of my backyard. See? No cows. So, now you can say you’ve seen the sunset in Kentucky. While I don’t have cows, there are a lot of farmlands around, though I’m partial to the horse farms. Horse racing is huge here, and in Northern Kentucky, there are rolling acres of bluegrass and horses. If I stay here when I grow up, I think I’d move there.
I’m glad the stars worked for you. I don’t know what time zone you’re in, but maybe one night we can go out and look at the stars at the same time, and it will be like we’re sharing it together. Maybe it won't feel so bad? It’s probably a corny thing to say or do. So, if you don't do it, just don’t tell me, okay? I’d rather believe it instead of feeling like an idiot.
Double hands or feet? I think I would rather have hands as well. It might get weird, but having toes to eat just doesn’t sound appetizing
Parents not being perfect? Mine was two summers ago when Noah was 6 months old. My mom had her first manic episode that I was aware of. It was the start of the bullies and mean girls. She got help, and is better now, but no one lets her forget it.
My favorite color is a tie between turquoise and purple. I kind of like that it’s your favorite color too.
My questions.
