Page 72 of On the Slopes of Tahoe
Her fingers trail lower down my side and I suck in a breath, the muscles tightening. When her fingers reach the waistband of my shorts, she looks up. The blazing heat in her irises matches the burn of her fingers where they skate across my lower abdomen to the tie on my shorts. I catch her hand, a tremble in my own, unsure of what I intend to do now that I’ve caught it.
She licks across her bottom lip before drawing it into her mouth, and I lose any semblance of restraint.
“Fuck it.”
I bend over her, pressing her back into the side of the tub, forcing water to slosh out onto the ground. I lace my hand into her hair and pull her head back until it rests against the top of the tub. I slant my lips over hers and don’t bother taking my time. My tongue seeks hers, sliding between her lips and tasting the sweet cinnamon and sugar of the cookies. I press forward, towering over her, one knee bent on the seat between her spread thighs. Her chest lifts on each inhale and brushes against my bare skin.
“Breck,” she pleads.
She doesn’t need to beg; I’ll give her anything she wants.
“Rory,” I murmur against her mouth, sliding my other arm behind her back. I shift us so she’s straddling me. She squeaks with surprise but quickly finds her way back to my mouth, letting her hands delve into my hair and pull me closer. She rocks against me and I groan against her lips. Her hand trailsdown and over my tattoo. Up and down, again and again, until I can’t take the soft touch any longer.
“Rory.” She knows I’m unraveling. Every part of me is giving up the attempt to stay away, to keep my distance, to keep this platonic. I lift my hips, seeking friction—seeking her. She moans, teeth grazing my tongue, as she arches into me. “Yes. Fuck. Rory.”
“I’d like that.” She trails kisses down my neck before nipping at my collarbone and positioning herself so she’s closer, showing me exactly what she wants. I chuckle, but it’s dark and heavy, full of promise.
“Okay, baby.” I wrap my arms around her back and stand up. She squeezes her legs tighter around my waist like putting any space between us would be a tragedy.
I settle her on the edge of the tub, letting the cold air heighten the sensitivity of her skin, and trail my fingers up her arms. When my hands reach her neck, I look into her eyes and see the anticipation. She’s waiting for me to bury them in her hair again and take her mouth, but I don’t.
Instead, I trail my fingers lightly away along her shoulders then back again before I grip the strings of her bikini and pull. I slide my hands lower and repeat the motion at the tie on her back. We’re still pressed together, my body holding her top in place. I quickly glance around to ensure none of the neighbors are out and then I put an inch of space between us, feeling the fabric slip.
With a nip at her collarbone, I say, “You’re going to have to let me go so I can get us out of here without falling.”
Desire flames bright in her eyes and she slides her legs from around my waist. She whimpers in protest when I step back. I get it, I miss her body against mine too. The wet fabric slips the rest of the way off her and I catch it in one hand. My eyes rove over her, sitting like a goddess on the ledge of the tub. Needovertakes every other thought, and I guide her out. Our feet land on chilled wood boards, but the heat between us makes that unimportant.
Her hands slide across my slick torso, over each ridge of my abdomen and up to my pecs, the light brush of her thumb over my nipple making me jump. Our mouths fuse again, and with one lift, her legs are back around my waist. I stalk toward the house, the skin of her naked torso slipping against mine with every step. It’s glorious torture.
“Still want this?” I ask against her neck, kissing down the column and stopping just at the hollow of her throat.
“More than I should.”
“Same, baby. Same.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Rory
Isit up and pull the sheets tight around my bare torso. The place beside me is empty and cold, and I flop back into my pillows with a groan. Last night was a mistake. Breck and Willow have less than two weeks left in Tahoe, then they’ll be back on the other side of the world. Yet here I am, falling into bed with him—maybe falling in other ways too.
Jamie’s words come back to me. Last night wasn’t careful. It was reckless—it was alsosogood. My bed smells like Breck, fresh and clean with a hint of something spicier, somethingmanly. I bury my face in the pillow he fell asleep on and breathe him in. At least I think he fell asleep with me. I remember falling into a sated heap of tangled limbs, our breathing evening out into soft inhales and exhales. After that, I don’t remember a thing.
Maybe he didn’t stay at all, just rolled out from beneath my tired body and scampered off to his own room. That would’ve been the smart choice. Willow finding us tangled up in each other would have been disastrous. That girl has too many questions on a good day. I don’t even want to imagine the rapid-fire explosion of words that would escape her in that scenario.
We said we couldn’t do this, and it wasn’t only for Willow’s sake. Now I have to walk out there and act like I can’t vividly remember how his skin felt against mine when we fell into this bed—swimsuits discarded, towels and drying off not even a consideration. Pretend I can’t remember every sweet word he whispered in the dark as our bodies moved together.
I squeeze my eyes shut and roll my lips over my teeth. I’m an adult. I can go out there and act like one, keep up the pretense that there’s nothing between us.
But… what if I didn’t? What if—
A light knock at the door derails my train of thought and I pull the covers tighter against me. “Come in,” I say, my voice high and squeaky.
Breck peeks his head around the door. The sexy smirk on his face when he sees me sunken down into the bed makes my toes curl.
“Coffee?” he rasps.
Between that sound and the smell wafting in, I could melt into these sheets right here and now.
