Page 125 of Snowed In
She tilts her head. “And?”
“You also like me,” I prompt, and she laughs this delighted laugh that makes me ache.
“And you,” she says generously. “Sometimes.”
“Sometimes, huh?” I watch a strand of her hair curl in the steam, twisting until it rests on her cheek.
“Sometimes I like you a whole lot,” she says. “Sometimes you’re all I think about.”
You could set off a firework behind her, and I still wouldn’t be able to look away, but she gets shy again, averting her gaze like she can no longer look at me. She reaches for her empty glass and then for the empty bottle. “Do you want me to get another one?” she asks, and I shake my head. “Do you want—”
“Megan,” I interrupt softly. “Come here.”
It’s enough to make her stop breathing. At least I think she stops. She definitely stops moving, watching me with glittering eyes before slowly, carefully, she sets her glass on the side of the tub and crosses the small distance between us. I assumed she was just going to sit beside me, but instead, she places herself astride my lap, and the first thing I notice is how different it feels to when she did it at the pub, where she perched on me like she’d rather be doing anything else.
Now she drapes her thighs on either side of my legs, settling down like she’s done this a hundred times before. Like my body is a familiar thing.
She straightens her spine, and she’s close enough to kiss. But not yet. Not quite.
And now I’m the one who can’t draw a breath.
We stay like that, unmoving for a long second before she trails one finger down my nose and traces my lips. I let her, giving her as much time and space as she wants. Whatever she wants, I’ll give her. I realize that now. How I’ll never be able to say no to this person.
How I’m completely at her mercy.
“This doesn’t feel like pretend,” she says quietly.
“Do you want it to be?”
She shakes her head, and I see the movement of her throat as she swallows. “But I don’t know what this is yet.”
“Me neither,” I tell her. “But it doesn’t have to be anything. We can just…”
Her lips pull up when I trail off. “You were going to say vibe, weren’t you?”
“No,” I lie.
“Yes.” She laughs, looping her arms around my neck. “All the vibes,” she whispers.
Her eyes flick over my face, gauging my reaction, but there’s nothing unsure about her movements as her hand dips below the water and finds mine, bringing it to her hip. The strap of her bikini presses against my palm, and it takes supreme effort not to simply untie it right there and then.
I know she can feel my erection.Ican certainly feel it, pushing up between her thighs, but when she doesn’t hesitate or move away, I pull her tighter to me, tight enough that she groans, tight enough that I do too.
“This okay?” I ask, and she nods, pushing her hips into mine. My other hand finds her waist, but she catches it and brings it to her breast.
I swear I get even harder. I don’t know why I thought she’d be shy about this. There was a moment after her mother’s party that I felt like she was going to rip my clothes off, but this? The confidence in showing exactly what she wants and exactly how she wants it is making me lose control.
I cup her breast as directed, rolling her nipple under my thumb until her eyes flutter closed. I don’t even dare to blink, scrutinizing her expression for the slightest change until the moment I take a gamble and pinch her.
Her entire body jolts as her heated gaze snaps to mine, and before I can do anything else, she’s kissing me.
It’s a hungry kiss, all tongues and teeth, and gasping breaths, and I don’t think I’ve ever been so turned on in my life. I love kissing Megan. She does it with an enthusiasm I’m not used to. Like she’s not scared to show how much she wants me. It’s what I’ve always liked about her. She plays no games, no tricks.
Her hips start to move, instinctive, undulating motions until she’s arching into me. My hand at her waist slips under the strap and starts to travel. I go slowly, pressing firmly so she’s aware of my intentions and can give me plenty of opportunity to stop. And I think she’s going to when her lips leave mine, but she only drops her mouth to my shoulder, kissing the skin she finds there.
I drag a finger through the heat of her, purposefully avoiding all the places I know she most wants me to go.
“You’re wet,” I tell her, rubbing her again.
