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I let the warm and steady pressure of his hands seep into my bones, keeping the guilt at bay.
Next, he grabs a washcloth and scrubs my hands until the last traces of chip dust disappear from my nails.
“How does this feel? Okay?”
I sink deeper into the water, letting it lap at my chin. “I hate that you’re right.”
“Get used to it.” His fingers trail through the water, creating ripples that brush against my skin.
“I meant what I said. About the restaurant.”
His hand stills. “Naomi, stop.”
“You light up when you talk about food. You always did.”
“Times change.”
“They don’t have to.”
“We’re not talking about my shit.” His fingers resume their lazy pattern, his forearm muscles flexing with each movement. “We’re dealing with yours.”
I don’t want to deal with mine. It’s disgusting enough that he saw me like that.
Maybe…
I sit up, water cascading down my chest, his eyes tracking the droplets.
“Brandon.”
“I know what you’re doing.” He withdraws his hand.
Water sloshes as I shift closer. “You don’t want me?”
His jaw ticks. “No sex.”
“What if I’m ready? Believe that you won’t leave.”
“You’d rather let me fuck you senseless than admit you’re struggling?” He leans forward, close enough that I can see the tsunami raging in his eyes. “Rather have my cock inside you than deal with what’s eating you up?”
“I do.” I surge forward, crashing my lips to?—
His hand grasps my chin, stopping me inches from his mouth. “No kissing. Did you forget?”
I don’t care. Right now, I’ll give him anything, so he just takes over control. Makes this go away.
Makes me feel desired and not disgusting.
I grip his wrist, trying to break free.
He removes my hand. “Stop.”
“Why?” My brow furrows. “Do I disgust you?”
His eyes darken. “Turn around and grab the edge.”
I grip the edge of the tub, but don’t turn. “Why? So you don’t have to look at me?”
“I said turn around.” His voice carries that edge of authority that makes my skin tingle. That I want. Need. “Now.”