Page 31 of Mother Pucker

“You smell like heaven and taste like home,” I murmur over her skin.

Grabbing her thighs with my palms, I lift her hips and flatten my tongue against her. I drag it from ass to clit, back to front.

I do it again and again, making her almost clamor out of my hold.

Jesus Christ. Is it hot in here?

I read the scene again–you know, just to make sure I didn’t miss any key details–but about ten minutes later, my eyelids get heavy. Putting my Kindle aside, I quickly set my phone timer to wake me up, promising myself nothing but a five-minute nap so I have enough time to drain the tub and put my clothes back on before Rowan gets home.

And no one will be the wiser.

Except . . . someone is the wiser.

Because, what feels like only thirty seconds later, I hear the softest rustling, as if the hottest man in the entire world–a NHL defenseman with the number sixteen on his jersey, perhaps–has run his palm over his scruff.

Forgetting where I am, I grab hold of the edges of the tub and clamor to my feet–my mermaid bikini having long deserted me like a cheap whore. A whoosh of water pours over the sides, pooling around the tub, but it’s the amount that’s gliding off me–like I’m made of waterfalls–that finally has me processing what’s exactly happening.

My eyes widen as they connect with the Adonis sitting on the bench next to all my clothes across the room, in a full suit noless. His ankle sits over his knee, and his fingers scratch his chin casually, without a hint of surprise in his gaze. As if he’s used to seeing his doctors rising out of his tub like underwater swamp creatures.

Without thinking, my hand flies to one of my boobs and the other rushes over my eyes. “It’s not what it looks like!”

His low chuckle has goosebumps smattering across my bare skin. I can even visualize the way his Adam’s apple must be bobbing, the way his teeth are gleaming inside his beautiful smile. “I’m going to have to disagree with you, Doc. It’sexactlywhat it looks like. And what it looks like is my goddamn fantasy just came to life, and it’s a hundred times better than I could have ever imagined it.”

My cheeks flame as I peek through my fingers to look at him, but the expression on his face threatens to make my knees buckle. He looks positively ravenous as he takes me in from head to toe under his hooded gaze. Sliding his tongue over his bottom lip, he pulls it into his mouth and takes a long breath.

It’s then that I realize my hands could probably be positioned better, and I quickly move the one from over my eyes to between my legs, squeezing my thighs together, and covering my other boob with my forearm. Shit, why the hell didn’t I bring a towel with me?

There’s no telling how high my body temperature is at this point, because I feel like I’m going to overheat and pass out from mortification.

“Jesus, you’re so fucking beautiful, I’m finding it hard to breathe.” His voice sounds strained, like he’s having trouble finding it, but his words send a flutter of butterflies soaring inside my belly.

“Thank you,” I whisper, shifting from foot to foot. “Um, can I . . . Can you hand me a towel and my clothes, please?”

A sly grin crosses his face and he reaches out a large paw and picks up my navy-colored bra, dangling it in front of me. “You mean, this?” His eyes cut away from mine for a second before he picks up my matching panties. “Or do you mean this?”

I swallow. “You know exactly what I mean, but yes, those.”

Rowan’s eyes smolder, sparks igniting behind his irises as he brings my panties to his nose, smelling them like a tiger would his fresh kill.

“Fucking hell,” he rasps. “So goddamn delicious, and I haven’t even had a taste yet.”

“Rowan,” I urge again, my cheeks burning.

“You want your clothes, Doc?” His smirk lifts to one side. “Well, come and get ‘em.”

I look around, my heart thumping against my chest. How am I supposed to climb out of this huge tub without putting my arms down? And how the hell did I get myself into this stupid predicament in the first place?

This guy is not going to give me my clothes or a towel, no matter how much I beg, and I’m getting cold from just standing here, butt naked.

Taking a short breath, I decide to take matters into my own hands, and surprise him at his own game. If this asshole thinks I’m going to shy away from getting out of the tub because I’m some kind of prude, then he has another thing coming.

Dropping my hands, I grab the edge of the tub and heave myself out, splashing more water on the floor but no longer feeling guilty about it. It should also be noted that I do not look sexy doing this–no one could, not even Gal Gadot. But if this is how he wants to play it, well . . . I’m going to make sure to drench more of his pristine marble floors!

Throwing my shoulders back, despite the fact that there’s a bead of sweat lining my brows and my body could burst intoflames at any moment, I pad over to him, my wet feet tapping against the floor.

His eyes hood further as I come to within a foot of him, but before I can reach out for my clothes, he lifts his arm, holding them a thousand feet over my head and shifts so I can’t get to the towel, either.

Ugh! I fold my arms across my chest, feeling more of the chill against my skin. “Rowan. I need my clothes back.”

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