Chapter 35

Thirty-Five

SCOTTIE

Look away.

I need to look away.

Scottie, look away!

Oh my god, I can't.

Words no longer exist, and my stomach dips with need. I try to steady myself against the vanity, pushing into it farther and farther until it cuts into my back. The minty toothpaste that was perched on the bristles of my toothbrush has fallen to the floor, and I'm suspended in time.

It was supposed to be a super-quick in and out thing.

Emory left his touch on me after the locker room, and it rattled me.

Looking back to just a minute ago, I thought my plan of acting nonchalant and walking into the bathroom for toothpaste, knowing he was showering, was a clever way of retaliation.

He wanted to act like we were husband and wife by stripping in front of me in the locker room? As if it was the norm for us? Then fine. I'll do the same and charge into the bathroom while he is showering to show him that his bare chest and bedroom eyes don't affect me one bit.

What a colossal mistake that was.

The second he turns and spots me, I drop my toothbrush.

It takes a nosedive to the floor, but neither one of us moves to look at it.

Water drips from his tight jaw to the shower floor, and every one of his muscles is locked. The longer we stare at one another, the more the glass door fogs.

I clench my legs together, and my pulse picks up speed.

Emory Olson is beyond attractive.

He knows it.

I know it.

And my body knows it.

My lips tingle with the thought of his mouth on mine, and every time he touches me, whether it's for show or not, I find myself having to ignore the twisting in my stomach that lingers for far too long.

"Enjoying the show?" His voice is deep and husky.

What would it feel like to have his rough whisper skim my skin?

I haven't been touched in so long.

Honestly, I'm not sure I've ever been touched in the way I know Emory Olson touches someone.

There's a possessiveness to his grip that could trick any woman into thinking he'd do anything to keep her.

And I crave it.

I crave it so much that my legs shake.

I can see his flickering muscles even though I refuse to look at what his hand is doing. He bounces his eyes back and forth between mine, waiting for my answer.

"I just needed toothpaste." Warmth coats me from my head all the way down to my toes. My voice comes out like a soft flutter, and when my teeth unknowingly sink into my lower lip, Emory's eyes light up.

I turn away, leaving my toothbrush hostage. I take one step but stop when his voice floats around the steamy bathroom.

"Don't go now," he grunts. "It's just getting good."

Oh, my god.

Go, Scottie.

He's tempting you on purpose!

My feet are glued to the floor, and I pretend I can't hear my subconscious's pleas through Emory's throaty noises.

This is so bad.

I'm not going to be able to look him in the eye come tomorrow morning.

But I swear I feel his grip on me tighten.

I turn around hesitantly, and he immediately gets ten times more attractive while stroking himself.

He slowly raises his eyebrow at me, as if he's surprised. I raise my chin, and it's too late to leave now. If I run, he'll know how much of an effect he has on me.

If he touches me, he'll know too.

"Want to know what I'm thinking about, Scottie?" he asks breathlessly.

I'm afraid to know.

I'm suffocated by the hot tension between us every time we're together, but it's hard to know if he feels that way too. For all I know, Emory is getting off on tricking me into thinking he finds me attractive. He does love to irritate me.

My breathing turns from slightly erratic to sharp and fast. I reach behind me and grip the edge of the vanity to steady myself after he swipes his forearm against the foggy glass. There's a throb in between my legs that pounds with each beat of my heart. Sweat prickles my neck, and I know Emory has noticed how captivated I am.

"You do want to know, don't you? I can tell by the look in your eye."

Typically, I'd argue with him. I'd tell him he doesn't know anything about me, but he's right.

I want to know if he's still thinking about the other night like I am.

"Yes," I rasp, throwing him off course.

There's a glint of surprise there that I don't see often, and his hand starts to move faster. I take a peek and suck up all the moisture in the air. Emory's hand is large, but it doesn't make him look small by any means.

"You."

His answer pulls my attention, and my breasts grow heavy. He looks at my chest, and I hate that I'm not wearing a bra, because when his jaw slacks, I don't have to look down to see my nipples poking through the cotton of my T-shirt.

"Fuck," he groans. His sultry gaze travels back to my face. "You like knowing I'm picturing you, don't you?"

I swallow and try to push myself to leave the bathroom.

"I'm picturing my wife on her knees, sucking me off until I can't take it anymore."

His wife.

Why do I love the sound of that?

It's like he can uncover the secrets trapped inside my head.

He knows how to push my buttons and what'll take me over the edge.

"You can fool everyone else with that sweet smile and pretty blush on your cheeks, but I know you better than you think."

I'm panting, and although he's talking, I can't stop looking at his tight grip and fast strokes.

"Tell me what you like, Scottie. I want to know if I'm right."

He is.

He is so right.

I answer, unable to pull myself back to reality. "Wife," I say. "I like it when you call me your wife."

Did I really just admit that? My cheeks are warm, and I want to take back what I just said, but then he makes a sexy noise, and I buckle at the knees.

"Me too," he groans, struggling to speak. "I like referring to you as my wife because that means no one else gets you."

I fall back against the vanity, hoping it'll keep me upright.

"Don't worry. Your secrets are safe with me."

His head flies backward, and the muffled noise he makes is the hottest sound I have ever heard.

Holy shit.

The look he gives me after he finishes could stop my heart if I let it.

"Your turn… wife ."