Page 35 of Higher Ground
Fuck.
It wouldn’t be fair to Emory. She deserved so much more than he could give her. Byron wasn’t about to let his own bloody feelings get in the way of her dreams. He should never have kissed her.
Only he had, and now that he had done it once, he fucking desperately needed to do it again. What was it she’d said? Something about having a little fun while they were stuck? He could do that. He’d enjoy it. A lot. And she would too.
He could fool himself into thinking that getting all the sexual tension out of their bodies would help ease it, but he’d have to keep his heart under lock and key while they did.
Chapter 17
Emory
It was late by the time Emory had convinced Clayton it was time to go to bed. He’d spent his entire bedtime routine protesting, and her patience wore incredibly thin, but she persisted until he finally fell asleep as she dragged out a made-up lullaby for the fifty-somethingth time.
Her thick socks were soft against the carpet of the hallway as she crept out of the room and snuck down the hall to her own bedroom before Byron could see her. She wasn’t hiding from him, but she wasn’t ready to face him yet either.
Every sense had been heightened, and she’d been on edge all day, but it had become exceptionally worse after Byron had kissed her in the hall. She let out a shaky breath at the memory. Kissing Byron had been everything and not enough. If he had intended it as a mere teaser for what was to come, it had worked. Emory had spent the rest of the afternoon and all evening with the memory of his lips on hers, and she was ready for more.
But she needed to shower first, to douse herself in cold water so she could back off just a fraction. Maybe then she wouldn’t come off quite so needy.
She gathered her things and snuck across the hall to the bathroom. Dropping her towel on the floor, she pulled off her clothes. The water was still cold as she stepped in, but the shock was exactly what she needed.
With soapy hands, she let her fingers roam over her body, and her imagination ran wild. She pictured Byron, in the shower with her, getting her all sudsy and slick. She thought of his hands exploring her body, and she remembered that this was no longer just a fantasy. This could be her reality.
It was wrong, wasn’t it? To want Byron in this way. Wasn’t that what she had told herself so many times over the past few years?
But even with those years of trying to force away her sexual attraction for the man, it still blossomed deep in her belly. As the water streaming over her warmed, so did the desire. It pooled in her core, and she realised that this was it now. There would be no turning back.
She was suddenly determined to see this through. After all, she’d earned herself a little fun, hadn’t she?
The rest of her shower passed in a blur, she was in such a rush to finish. To find Byron. To claim what she’d wanted for so damn long. She was just rinsing the conditioner from her hair when the lights turned black. A half second later, before she’d really had time to process the lack of light, the water turned icy. She yelped at the chill. Reaching behind her, she fumbled to turn the tap off. A little excess conditioner in her hair wouldn’t hurt. She could wash it off tomorrow when the power came back on.
As she stepped out of the shower, the bathroom door swung open and torch light shone into the space. Byron’s figure was silhouetted by the bright beam, which blinded her. Dropping to the floor, Emory scrambled to find her towel. But Byron had jolted the torchlight away, and her eyes were still flashinganyway. That was a top, her leggings, until finally she felt the soft fabric of the towel and hastily wrapped it around herself.
She was unsteady as she stood, both hands grasping at the towel, holding it against her dripping body.
“Fuck, sorry,” Byron mumbled. He’d half turned away but left the torch shining against the ceiling. “I heard you yell. I worried you’d fallen when the lights went out. I’m sorry.”
He thrust the torch towards her, shaking it around a little. “Take this,” he added. “I’ve got another in the den.”
Emory pulled her lower lip between her teeth. She wondered if she should be embarrassed, but she wasn’t. She was … thrilled. Excited, even. Her pussy throbbed and she felt a wetness that had nothing to do with the shower beginning to pool.
Holding the towel with one hand, she reached her other out to grab the torch from Byron. There was nothing accidental about the way her fingers brushed against his, or the way she held her hand over his instead of pulling the torch away.
“Byron,” she whispered. Her exhale was shaky, and the sliver of courage was waning. She needed him to turn around. To look at her, to see her. To feel it too.
His eyes were closed as he turned his body back to her. Emory watched his Adam’s apple bob in the shadows from the torch. She waited, and waited and waited until she couldn’t hold herself together any longer.
“Open your eyes.”
Her chest heaved, and something deep rumbled from Byron’s.
“Can’t,” he groaned.
Oh.Oh.
“Why?”
Please don’t say you don’t want to.God, if he had changed his mind about this, she was going to crawl into a tiny ball andhide right here inside the bathroom until the flood receded and she could escape.
