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1.Heat—L.A. Rose | SummerOtoole.com/Playlists
Chapter twenty
Steam and Smoke
Harlow
Everymuscleinmybody is still humming with bliss as I lay panting on Cash. “You’re a fucking goddess,a chuisle. Afucking goddess,” he mutters, his lips brushing my forehead.
That word.A chuisle. I’d been scared to ask what it meant.
At first, I ignored it. Silly, foreign pet names seemed so insignificant to my bigger mission. And then I grew curious, but could never quite tell whether he said it mockingly or endearingly. And after all the other filthy things he’s called me in English, I decided I didn’t want to know that he was just calling me a whore in another language when I was starting to find comfort in the word.
And now, it feels like he’s handed me a little piece of his heart. A piece he’s kept safely hidden behind cruelty and violence. A piece that once knew love and is now—maybe—learning it again. My throat constricts at the thought, because it’s touching or overwhelming, I don’t know. Perhaps both.
Cash trails soft fingers up and down my spine as we catch our breath, hearts beating in sync against each other. “If you keep doing that, I’m gonna fall asleep.”
“I can think of worse things than you falling asleep, all sexy and sated, on me,a chuisle.”
“I need a shower, not sleep.” I prop myself up with my forearms on his chest. He looks down his nose to meet my eyes.
“I suppose I can allow that.” He absentmindedly twirls a piece of my short hair around his finger. “Why don’t you head in there and I’ll meet you in just a sec.”
Cash’s shower is huge, with room for two opposing shower heads and a long rain shower in the middle. The walls are smooth concrete with a built-in bench and floating shelves on one side, small ferns and pothos plants dotting them. The tile flooring is black marble to match the matte-black finishes, and recessed lighting creates a moody, but still elegant, atmosphere.
I turn the water on hot, letting steam fill the space. A hanging bouquet of eucalyptus fragrances the air. I hum to myself as I stand under the rain shower, the heat making all the heightened spots of my skin tingle pleasantly. I wet my hair but don’t worry about washing, since Cash washed it last night.
Last night…it feels like a fever dream. The sheer horror and panic I felt when I picked up the envelope from the police station reception. It had been dropped off via courier while I was meeting with Leo. Which was also a waste of time—Leo telling me they couldn’t force Cash or his businesses to turn over footage without probable cause of a crime committedbythem. Without a justifiable warrant, they had to rely on what Cash was voluntarily supplying.
I was so mad at Cash walking out of that conversation, feeling like every step forward was followed by two steps backward and a stab of betrayal. But then I opened that envelope, and I didn’t want to be anywhere else but in his arms.
When the beer supplier stepped out of line, he put him in his place. When bullets were flying, he shielded me. And I just knew that when my best friend’s killer found me, I wouldn’t feel safe again until he was with me.
“I could stare at you all damn day.” Cash stands in the entrance of the shower, setting something on the counter out of view. His eyes travel my body unhurriedly and with great care. Warmth spills into my stomach at the same time chills radiate down my arms.
His dick is still hard, jutting beautifully. And all fucking mine.
Seeing him like this, naked and etched with muscle, painted with ink, makes me burn with hunger. I know I just came, but try telling that to my cunt. Bitch is already throbbing again, eager for more. I step out of the stream to grab his hand and pull him back under it with me.
As his body becomes wet, it slides like satin against mine. We hold each other under the caress of the water, feeling a tension that is both so sweet I don’t want it to end but also so unbearable that I need it to snap.
It does when I palm the back of his head and bring his mouth down on me. With the first contact of his lips on mine, the tension doesn’t snap, it fucking explodes. He picks me up, wrapping my legs around his waist, and then he’s slamming us against the shower wall.
“Fuck, baby, I need you so bad.” He growls as his fingers dig into the fat of my outer thigh.
I’m not ready to give him what he wants.
I want to—god—do I want to. But while there is light in Cash Fox, more than I ever thought, there is more darkness. And I only just started crawling out of my own darkness. It’s too soon to risk falling into another’s.
I knit my fingers through his short hair, the wet, buzzed sides feeling like velvet. I use my grip to secure our kiss and try to convey the feelings I can’t put into words. I can feel his desperation radiate off him like a flammable gas.
I can’t give himthat, but I can give him anything else.1
I push on his chest and wiggle in his grip so he sets my feet down. I walk him back, his heart pounding under my palm until his back and shoulders are under the shower. I slide to my knees as he looks on, jaw clenched and eyes smoldering. There’s reservation in his gaze, like he doesn’t want to quite let himself get his hopes up.
I hold my hands behind my back and look up at him, a study of masculine beauty shimmering in droplets. “Use me, Cash. Any other way you want. My body is yours.”
His lips purse as he considers my offer. His dick is mere inches from my face, so I part my lips to let him know I will give him it if he wants.
