Page 56 of Almost Ravaged (Men of Evercrisp Orchard #1)

Chapter forty-seven

Sawyer

“ L ean back, sweetheart.” Mercer glides his hands up my arms, causing the warm water around us to slosh.

Once I’m settled against his chest, I close my eyes and release a sigh.

Fuzzy satisfaction blankets my brain.

I am warm, I am safe, and I am so thoroughly sated.

I can’t remember the last time I felt this in my body. I’m mentally present and emotionally steady in a way I almost never am.

“You are perfection.” He drags his hands over my shoulders and down my sternum, cupping both breasts. He lingers there, playing with my piercings as he kisses along my neck and nips at my ear.

A shiver racks through me.

Mercer has tuned my body like a well-loved instrument over the last hour in the tub, scrubbing me clean while learning all my sweet spots and doubling down when he discovers a new way to please or tease me.

“You’re sure you don’t want me to wash your hair?” he murmurs.

I can’t help but smile, but I still shake my head.

There’s no fucking way .

We may be in a large, remodeled bathroom, but a spa, this is not .

Noah has exactly one bar of soap. He fetched it from the shower, along with half a bottle of woodsy-smelling shampoo-conditioner-body wash combo.

The three-in-one cleanser smells delicious on him, but I absolutely will not put it in my hair.

“Thank you, but no.”

Mercer continues his ministrations, this time smoothing under my breasts.

As his hands come into view again, I marvel at his long fingers, enamored by the way the light dusting of hair over each knuckle contrasts against my pale, freckled skin.

Behind me, he shifts. Then his hands are on my shoulders, his thumbs digging into the sore muscles there. “You’ll let me do it someday, though, won’t you?”

I peek back up at him, fighting a grin. “Do you have a hair-washing kink, Professor?”

He huffs, the hint of self-deprecation giving way to a quiet laugh. “I didn’t think I did, but apparently I have all sorts of undiscovered desires when it comes to you.”

He grips my chin, keeping my head turned so he can look into my eyes.

“I like taking care of you. Cherishing you. Making you feel good after a scene.” His gaze narrows, his entire focus fixed on me. “I told you before, Ms. Davvies: I don’t take what we’re doing lightly. I’m all in when it comes to you.”

My breath catches. This type of adoration is so foreign, so consuming. On a shuddering exhale, I cup the back of his neck, bringing his head down. When our lips meet, I pour my emotions into the kiss. The joy. The appreciation. This sense of satiation and general ease.

In seconds, my blood warms and heat pools in my belly. I slip my tongue into his mouth, desperate for more. Our mouths give and take, fresh sparks of arousal creating that floaty feeling in my chest. He grows hard against my back as we savor each other.

But I think we’ve all reached an unspoken understanding that we’re done for tonight.

Mercer breaks away first.

It’s for the best. If he hadn’t, I may have gone back on that silent agreement.

He cups my face, kisses me once more, then lifts his chin, eyeing his best friend .

If he’s worried I forgot about Noah, he shouldn’t be. I didn’t. I couldn’t.

But the man has been sitting stock-still, in complete silence, for over an hour. Discomfort radiates from him, but I don’t have the first clue how to break through and ease what ails him.

He’s motionless on the floor, sitting with his knees bent and his elbows propped up on his thighs.

Frowning, I look to Mercer for guidance, but in return, he only shakes his head.

He doesn’t know what to do either.

An ache swells inside me. I can’t sit here and not try.

I ease off Mercer’s lap and move slowly so I don’t slosh water over the edge. We got sidetracked while we undressed and did our best to convince Noah to join us, so the water level is far too high for two people.

Naturally, Noah’s response was a hard and fast no.

I expected him to leave the room completely, but Mercer pulled him aside and spoke to him, convincing him to stay.

Physically, at least.

I don’t think any part of him is mentally or emotionally available right now.

With my arms draped over the edge, I reach out and quietly ask, “You’re sure you don’t want to come in?”

He lifts his head and offers me the saddest smile.

My heart aches, concern and regret twisting my insides painfully.

Was our moment in the cornfield too much for him?

Did we push him too far?

“I’m good right here,” he eventually tells me, making a point to hold eye contact.

That’s progress.

I lick my lips, and he tracks the movement, another positive sign. Cautiously, I lean forward so I can brush a loose tendril of hair from his face.

Water droplets drip from my hand, landing on his temple. Before I can wipe them away, he captures my wrist and presses my palm to his cheek.

A hint of relief threads its way through me. “You’re okay, though, right?”

He’s so quiet and stoic. Reserved and serious.

I worry he’s punishing himself. Depriving himself of a relaxing, sensual moment to connect.

As if he has something to atone for .

He was feral in the field, gripping the back of my head and driving into my mouth over and over with abandon.

But when we stepped inside the house, a switch flipped.

He insisted Mercer and I come upstairs so he could run a bath for us, then adamantly refused to join us.

Mercer brushes his fingertips against the side of my ribcage, the soothing gesture bringing me back to the present moment.

Clear-headed once more, an idea strikes.

“Would you get in if it was just me?” As I ask, my lip quivers, a lilt of vulnerability clinging to the question.

With an exasperated sigh, Noah releases my hand and hangs his head.

The loss is like a sharpened skate to my chest.

I just made it worse.

Behind me, as if reading my mind, Mercer squeezes my hip and pulls gently, urging me to settle back in the tub.

Clearly, he thinks I should leave Noah alone.

But the pain Noah is experiencing doesn’t sit right with me. I’m not giving up on him just yet.

What we just did? It wasn’t nothing.

The connection Noah and I have is palpable. It’s been brewing since the day we met. Our mutual attraction and all the little moments of interest existed between us before I showed up here tonight.

Those feelings and that connection are worth fighting for.

I refuse to let us backslide.

Rather than retreat, like Mercer probably wants me to do, I push my top half even farther out of the tub and cup Noah’s jaw. I rub my thumb over his cheek, relishing the prickly sensation of his short beard.

He’s not alone.

Even if he can’t be present, I want him to know I’m here.

That is, as long as he wants me to stay.

“Noah.”

He peeks up without truly lifting his head.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to get in. I won’t ask again. But I’m worried that you’re regretting what we did.” My voice cracks on the last word.

I bite down on the inside of my cheek, willing myself not to tear up. The last thing I want to do is weaponize my emotions against him. But if he’s regretting me less than an hour after our first sexual encounter, it would be easier on all of us if he just called it right now.

He straightens, grimacing. With a quick shake of his head, he banishes the expression and sits even taller, his irises brighter and the virility I’ve become so accustomed to returning as he blinks.

Of his own volition, he reaches for me. He brings my hand back to his face and places a kiss on the center of my palm. Then he rests it on his cheek, right where it was before.

“I could never regret you, honey.”

As hope takes flight in my chest once more, I lean farther out of the tub, eager to get closer.

On a whisper, I ask, “Will you at least kiss me again?”

Noah blinks, the concern in his eyes transforming into something more heated.

Rising up to his knees, he shifts forward and cups my face with both hands.

And with all the hope and passion and resounding affirmation I need, he kisses me.