Page 20 of In Hot Water

My hands follow my mouth, palms splayed wide as I map every inch of him, slow and deliberate. Dawson’s body is a goddamn work of art—every muscle defined, every reaction immediate and intense. When I drag my nails down his chest, the hair there rasps against my fingertips, the sensation making my skin tingle. I pause over his left nipple, roll it between my fingers, then close my mouth around it and suck, hard.

He hisses, the sound pulled straight from his gut, and the cuffs rattle against the bed frame as he strains against them. “Fuck,” he groans, voice raw. “You’re trying to kill me.”

I let my teeth scrape just enough to make him gasp, then soothe the bite with my tongue. I keep moving lower, kissing a line down the ladder of his abs, stopping to circle my tongue into his belly button before going further. Every touch, every lick, is measured, clinical almost. I want to see exactly how far I can push him before he breaks.

When I reach his hips, I bite down on the jutting bone, leaving a mark that will bruise by morning. He bucks up, thighs trembling, and I glance up to see his eyes locked on me, dark and wild. There’s no fear there, only surrender.

“You like this?” I ask, voice low.

He laughs, breathless, the sound fractured by need. “I like you,” he says. “I like everything you do to me.”

“Good answer,” I say, and slip my fingers under the band of his briefs, dragging them down his legs. He’s fully hard now, cock flushed and leaking, the head so red it looks painful. I let it rest against his stomach and trace the vein with my tongue, watching his face for every flicker of reaction.

He’s biting his lip, eyes half-shut, but he can’t look away. His hands flex uselessly in the cuffs, the need to touch me overridden by the fact that he can’t. It’s intoxicating, the power, and I let myself drink it in for a few seconds before getting back to work.

I kiss along the crease of his thigh, lick the salt from his skin, then take him in my hand, squeezing gently from base to tip. He groans, head falling back, and I marvel at how much I can make him feel with so little.

I keep eye contact as I wrap my lips around the head, swirl my tongue over the slit, and slowly slide down, inch by inch. He lets out a strangled noise, a sound I’ve never heard from him before, and his hips jerk up, desperate for more. I pull back, teasing, then take him deeper, relaxing my throat until he bumps the back of my mouth.

“Oh, fuck—Isla—” he chokes out, his voice ragged. His legs are shaking, toes curling in the sheets. I set a steady rhythm, up and down, slow at first, using my hand to stroke what I can’t fit in my mouth. Every so often, I hollow my cheeks, drag my teeth just barely along the shaft, and he loses his goddamn mind.

I feel his whole body tense, every muscle drawn tight as a cable, the fight-or-flight response overridden by pure, helpless pleasure. He’s panting now, moaning my name, and every sound is a spike of electricity straight to my core.

I let go with my mouth, wipe spit from my chin, and stroke him hard and fast, watching his face as he realizes he’s not in control—not even a little. His jaw is clenched, veins standing out in his neck, and I know he’s close, right on the edge.

“You want to come?” I ask, voice gone hoarse from wanting him.

He nods, frantic, eyes wide. “Please.”

I ease up, drag my nails over his balls, and lean in to whisper, “Not yet.” I want to see him beg. I want to own every second of his surrender.

I start over, slower this time, using only my mouth, torturing him with the pace. His hands are fists, white-knuckled, straining so hard against the cuffs I wonder if he’ll snap them. Sweat beads on his skin, and I let myself get lost in him.

When I finally decide to let him come, I wrap my hand around the base, take him deep, and hum. The vibration makes him shout, a sound ripped out of him, raw and desperate. He comes hard, pulsing against my tongue, filling my mouth with heat and salt and the taste that’s uniquely Dawson.

I swallow, licking him clean, and crawl up his body, kissing the sweat off his chest, the shuddering gasp from his lips. I unlock the cuffs, free his wrists, and he grabs me, flipping me onto my back, kissing me so hard I can barely breathe.

“Fucking hell,” he whispers, voice wrecked. “I love you.”

I blink several times as his words wash over me. A smile starts deep in my soul and stretches out across my face. “I love you, too.”

He nods, forehead pressed to mine. “Thank God. Because I was worried I’d have to kidnap you and keep you hidden in my lair until you fell for me.”

“I’m glad I can keep you from falling into a life of crime.” I settle into his arms, tangled and spent, and think about what I might try next time. With him, there will always be a next time.

“It’s going to be a lifetime commitment for you,” he mutters, pulling me tight against his side.

And just like that, everything falls right into place, and I couldn’t be happier or more content.