Page 13

Chapter 13

Cyn

T he ride to Garrett’s apartment is charged with anticipation. Every stoplight gives me another chance to change my mind. Another chance to turn around.

The radio plays some pop song about taking chances. I snap it off.

His condo building appears ahead—modern, sleek, exclusive. The kind of place that screams successful NHL coach.

He’s waiting for me next to the visitor’s parking. Damn, he’s gorgeous standing there with a sexy smile on his face. This man…

We barely make it through the door before he’s pulling me close, our lips crashing together.

"God, I've missed this," I breathe against his neck.

He takes my hand and guides me to the bedroom, but a soft meow interrupts us. I pull back, surprised.

"Oh! You have a cat?"

He chuckles. "Yeah, that's Shade. She's usually not this social with strangers."

I kneel down and offer my hand to the curious feline. Shade sniffs at my fingers before rubbing her head against them. I smile, feeling a warmth in my heart.

"She's beautiful," I say, scratching behind Shade's ears. “I wonder how she'd get along with my puppy, Oscar."

"Won’t know until we try, right?" he asks, watching me interact with Shade.

I nod, standing up. "Yeah. Maybe they could have a playdate someday."

I love the thought of our pets meeting though I have no idea what Oscar would think about being around a cat. I’ll have to ask him later…

"Come here," Garrett murmurs, pulling me close again. "I want to show you something."

He leads me to his bedroom and then into his bathroom, flicking on the lights. In the middle of the bathroom is the most glorious, luxurious bathtub I’ve ever seen. He even has candles in one of the corners

"Oh my God, Garrett. This is amazing!"

He grins, reaching for the faucet. "Care for a soak?"

“Are you kidding? A bath like this is my kryptonite.”

I can't stop staring at the tub. It's like something out of a luxury magazine—deep enough to submerge completely, wide enough for two people, with elegant chrome fixtures that gleam under the soft bathroom lighting.

"I thought you might appreciate this. You just seem like a bath girl to me," Garrett says, his voice low as he reaches for a glass container on the shelf in the linen closet. "Lavender okay?"

"Perfect," I whisper, feeling a delicious nervousness flutter through me.

He pours a generous amount of bath salts into the rushing water, and immediately the scent of lavender fills the steamy air. The bathroom transforms into something even more intimate, more magical.

"Now to get the lighting right," he says, flicking another switch. Tiny lights embedded in the ceiling dim to a soft glow, and he lights three thick candles on the ledge. Their flickering light dances across the walls.

I stand awkwardly for a moment, then decide to just go for it. I pull my shirt over my head, feeling Garrett's eyes on me. There's something thrilling about being watched by him.

"You're so incredible" he murmurs, stepping closer.

His fingers trace the edge of my bra before he unhooks it and tosses it on the floor. The cool air makes goosebumps rise on my skin. I shimmy out of my jeans and underwear while he begins to undress too, his movements deliberate, unhurried.

I can't take my eyes off him as he removes his shirt. His chest is magnificent—broad and strong, with just the right amount of dark hair tapering down the center. Each muscle is defined yet natural, not like those overly chiseled fitness models. This is the body of an athlete who's dedicated years to his sport.

Scars tell stories across his skin—a thin white line near his collarbone, probably from a hockey stick; a small puckered mark by his ribs that I ache to trace with my fingertips.

My gaze travels down to his abs, which tighten slightly under my scrutiny. Six defined sections of muscle lead my eyes lower, to where he's now unbuttoning his jeans. He slides them down his powerful thighs, revealing black boxer briefs that do little to hide his growing arousal.

"See something you like?" His voice is husky, teasing.

"Everything. All of it," I whisper, not trusting my voice for more.

He hooks his thumbs in the waistband of his underwear and pulls them down in one smooth motion. I can't help the small gasp that escapes me. He's fully erect now, impressively thick and long, jutting proudly from a nest of dark hair. My mouth goes dry, and I feel a pulse of desire so strong it makes me dizzy.

We both climb into the warm tub and it feels and smells so delicious.

Steam rises in lazy curls around us, diffusing the lavender scent until it feels like we're floating in a fragrant cloud. The candles cast dancing shadows across his features, highlighting the strong line of his jaw, the curve of his lips.

"I would kill to have a tub like this," I murmur, leaning back against his chest. "It's like a spa retreat."

His laugh rumbles through me. "I use it all the time, actually. It's the best way I've found to relax my muscles."

I turn slightly to look at him. "Really? I wouldn't have pegged you for a bath guy."

"Coaching hockey is hell on the body," he says, his fingers trailing patterns on my shoulder. "Ice baths are functional but miserable. This—" he gestures to the tub "—this is therapeutic. I come home some nights barely able to move, and thirty minutes in here makes me human again."

I imagine him here alone, his powerful body submerged, steam rising around him.

"Plus," he adds, his voice dropping lower, "now I have someone to share it with."

His hands slide down my arms, leaving goosebumps in their wake despite the heat of the water. I lean back further, my head resting against his shoulder, exposing my neck.

His lips find my neck, planting soft kisses along my pulse point. I shiver despite the warmth of the water, tilting my head to give him better access. The gentle scrape of his stubble against my sensitive skin sends electric currents racing down my spine.

"Garrett," I whisper, his name quickly becoming my favorite word.

He turns me in the water, our bodies sliding against each other with delicious friction. His mouth captures mine in a kiss that starts gentle but quickly deepens, his tongue seeking entrance. I open to him willingly, hungrily, my hands coming up to frame his face.

The taste of him is intoxicating—a hint of mint and bourbon that I'm already addicted to. Our tongues dance and explore as water sloshes gently around us. I feel weightless, suspended in this perfect moment where nothing exists beyond this bathtub, beyond us.

His hands slide up my ribcage, leaving trails of heat that have nothing to do with the bathwater. When his palms finally cup my breasts, I gasp into his mouth. My nipples harden instantly against his touch, and he breaks our kiss to look down at me.

"So responsive," he murmurs, his thumbs circling my nipples. "I love that about you."

I can't form words as he gently kneads my breasts, his touch alternating between feather-light and firmly possessive. The contrast is maddening.

I arch my back involuntarily, silently begging for more. He notices—of course he notices—and the corner of his mouth lifts in a knowing smile.

"Patience," he whispers, but then contradicts himself by pinching my nipples between his fingers.

"Oh God," I gasp, my head falling back.

The sensation shoots straight between my legs, where I'm already throbbing with need. He rolls my nipples gently, then with more pressure, gauging my reactions. Each touch sends new waves of pleasure through me, building and building until I'm squirming against him in the water.

"You're so beautiful like this," he murmurs against my ear, his breath hot. "And I fucking need you."

One of his hands trails down my stomach, leaving my breast bereft but creating a path of goosebumps in its wake. His fingers brush against my abdomen, circling my navel, dipping lower with each pass. The anticipation is delicious torture.

"Please," I whisper, not caring how needy I sound.

His hand moves lower, fingers threading through the curls between my legs. I hold my breath as he pauses there, hovering just above where I'm aching for him to touch. Then slowly, deliberately, he parts me with his fingers.

"So soft," he whispers, and I shudder as his fingers explore me, gentle yet oh-so confident.

The water makes everything slick, heightening every sensation. His middle finger slides between my folds, circling my entrance before moving up to find my clit. I gasp at the contact, my hips jerking involuntarily.

"Stay still for me," he murmurs against my ear, his voice a delicious command.

I try to obey, but it's nearly impossible when his finger begins to trace circles around the bundle of nerves that's already throbbing for him. The pressure is perfect—not too hard, not too soft—as if he's already learned exactly how to touch me.

"Like this?" he asks, though the smirk in his voice tells me he already knows the answer.

"Yes," I breathe, my voice barely audible over the gentle lapping of the bathwater. "God, yes."

“Are you sure?” he teases. “I can’t tell if you’re enjoying it or not.”

I open my eyes to look into his and smile. “Stop fucking with me.”

“Oh, I’ve only just begun.”

His hardness presses against my thigh, hot and insistent even underwater. The knowledge that he's so aroused by touching me only heightens my pleasure. I reach down, wanting to feel him, but he catches my wrist with his free hand.

"Not yet," he says, his eyes dark with desire. "Let me take care of you first."

The restraint in his voice—the control he's exerting—makes me wild. I want to feel him lose that control, want to be the reason for it, but right now I'm at his mercy.

His fingers work magic, finding a rhythm that has me clutching at his shoulders.

"Garrett," I gasp, as he increases the pressure slightly.

"Tell me what you need," he whispers against my ear, his breath hot. "More pressure? Faster?"

I can barely form words. "Just...don't stop."

He chuckles, the sound vibrating through me. "I wouldn't dream of it."

His middle finger continues its maddening circles while his index finger joins in, adding a new dimension to the pleasure building inside me. The sensation has me arching my back, water sloshing over the edge of the tub.

"Sorry about your floor," I manage to say between ragged breaths.

"I couldn't care less about the floor right now," he murmurs, his eyes never leaving my face. "I only care about watching you come apart."

The lavender-scented steam fills my lungs with each gasping breath. Droplets of water cling to his eyelashes, making him look almost ethereal in the candlelight. I'm mesmerized by how he watches me—like I'm the most fascinating thing he's ever seen.

He adjusts his position slightly, his fingers never breaking their rhythm. Then he slides his free hand beneath me, supporting my lower back as I arch against him.

"That's it," he encourages, his voice a deep rumble against my ear. "Let go for me, baby."

His fingers move with perfect precision, circling and stroking. My entire body is tensing, coiling like a spring. My toes curl, my legs tremble.

"I can't—" I gasp, unsure if I'm telling him I can't hold back or I can't bear the intensity.

"You can," he whispers, his lips brushing my temple. "I've got you."

The pressure builds and builds, an exquisite tension that borders on unbearable. I'm clutching his shoulders, my nails digging into his skin.

"Garrett, I'm—" My words dissolve into a moan as he increases the pressure just slightly, just enough.

"Look at me," he commands softly. "I want to look into your eyes when you come."

It's almost too intimate, but I force my heavy lids open, meeting his gaze.

The pressure inside me finally explodes, ripping through my body with the force of a freight train. I let out a loud, primal scream as my orgasm hits, leaving me gasping and trembling in its wake.

My breathing finally evens out, and Garrett tightens his arms around me. In this moment, anything and everything feels possible.