She scoots closer to me and turns around, waiting for me to continue. As gently as I possibly can, I grip her tired muscles with my hands and start to rub out the tension and stress of the day.
“Does this feel good?” I ask her, moving my hands from her neck to her shoulder blades and down to her lower back.
“Mm,” she says, closing her eyes.
I love the way she starts to melt right in front of me. Although I’d be lying to myself if I said I’m not trying to seduce her, my main objective for the evening is to earn her trust.
If what we’re doing is wrong, I need to do everything in my power to make it feel right. Even if we’re the only two people in the world who see it that way.
I want her to feel completely comfortable with me. And I can’t think of anything more comforting than a hot bath, a gentle back rub, and a beautiful view of the city lights.
But I’m not looking out the window right now. Why should I? The best view in the entire city is sitting right in front of me.
Inside the tub, Mira is rising from the sudsy bathwater—the foam clinging to her curves, giving me a peek-a-boo view of her wet, naked body as she sits up and leans back to receive my touch.
I can see that she’s ready for me, but I don’t know if I’m quite ready for her. I look away from her and count to five. I want to enjoy this moment for just a little while longer.
I scan the room for a distraction, but instead, my eyes settle on the washcloth and the bottle of body wash.
When I imagine dipping the washcloth into the warm, soapy water, my head fills with an assortment of bad ideas—bad ideas that are going to feel so, so good.
Chapter 27
Owen
Even being in the same fucking room as this girl is dangerous. She brings out something in me that I’ve never experienced before—something that I can’t have.
Or, rather, something that I can—but I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t fucking dare.
On a caveman level, I know that I could pick Mira Wilder up right now, throw her on the bed, pin her down and lay pipe on her virgin pussy before she could even let out an obligatory, ‘Oh!’
But I’m not a fucking caveman. Last time I checked, I was a rational man with some shred of morality still hanging heavy on his conscience.
I don’t dare try to access my conscience right now, though.
Being in the same fucking room as Mira is dangerous. Kneeling before her while she lounges nude in the bath?
Ever since I met Mira, that shred of morality has been tap dancing on the edge of a skyscraper and juggling chainsaws.
As I raise the sponge to her shoulder, I think I can feel that shred of morality jump to its fucking death. There’s no going back now, though. I’ve allowed myself this—or I’ve justified it to myself hard enough, in enough different ways.
Men like me don’t turn back.
There’s only one direction: forward.
I move the sponge across Mira’s shoulder blades, leaving a streak of velvet bath foam across her pale, flawless skin.
“God,” Mira sighs. “That feels incredible. You really know how to pamper a girl.”
“You have no idea,” I growl back. Christ, my voice has never sounded so strained in my life. “Lean forward. Let me do your back.”
“Is that how you like it? From behind?”
The fingers of my free hand twitch. My other hand tightens around the sponge so hard that I squeeze all the damn water out—and then some.
I’m so fucking tempted to haul this little minx up out of the tub right now, take her over my knee and show her exactly what men like me do to the behinds of girls like Mira.
But I don’t. I need to have half a modicum of self-control.