Page 32 of Love Below Zero

32

BLACK HOLES

BECKY

I stare at James. I’d be lying if I said the sight of him sprawled out in the bathtub, hair wild, doesn’t set me on fire. I itch to touch him, to be touched by him, but I’m not going to overstep his boundaries.

Even though I crave the reassurance of his touch, I don’t move.

“What?” I squeak out.

Prehnite eyes find mine in the dimly lit bathroom. His gaze rakes down my body, and this is what being turned into spaghetti by a black hole must feel like.

“Get in the bathtub, darling.”

“With you?” I ask.

Instructions unclear.

“Yes.”

I audibly gulp. I feel like a cartoon deer caught in headlights.

“Are you sure I should?—”

“Take off your clothes, and get in the bath. Do not make me ask again.”

His eyes stay locked on me as I strip off my workout clothes. I went for a walk this morning to clear my head, and to talk myself off of the metaphorical ledge. He didn’t mean to be dismissive last night—he was just tired and overstimulated.

Still, my thoughts spiralled for hours, and I promptly booked an online appointment with a therapist when I woke up.

I drop the last of my clothes on the floor before stepping into the tub. Maybe it’s the way he looks at me, but I don’t feel the need to hide my body from him anymore.

Thank god for oversized hotel bathtubs, otherwise our long legs would have never fit. I sit down at the opposite end of the tub, between his feet.

His eyes are dark and hooded. He leans forward, wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me toward him. He deposits me on his lap and I wrap my legs around his waist. The water sloshes between us, splashing over the sides. His other hand wraps around my neck, and I barely have time to gasp before he’s kissing me. His lips are soft on mine, his thumb tracing the column of my throat.

Heat pools between my legs.

His growing erection presses against my thigh and I slide forward, pressing my chest against his. His cock slides between my folds and we both let out a moan. I instinctively clamp a hand over his mouth to shut him up.

He looks at me, amused. “What are you doing?” he mumbles against my skin.

I remove my hand.

“Sorry, old habits. I guess we don’t have to be quiet anymore. ”

“No, we do not.” He leans in, his lips trailing down my neck.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” I ask, my voice a hoarse whisper.

“Yes,” he breathes. “I need to get lost in you.”

Who am I to deny the man anything?

He bites down on my neck and I yelp, pulling back to run my fingers over the mark. He looks way too proud of himself for that.

“You’re obscene,” I tell him. “You can’t leave hickies where people can see—I told you this.”

He looks like the cat who got the cream. His head dips down and he traces his tongue over the tender spot. My breath catches.

“We don’t have to hide anymore, love.”

He has a point, and the thought of him leaving marks on me sends a thrill up my spine. His hands grip my hips, rocking me slowly into him. His cock slides between my legs, back and forth, back and forth, the slow rhythm driving me insane.

“James,” I groan, my head flopping down on his shoulder. I feel him bury his face in my hair, his breath tickling my scalp.

“Touch your clit for me, love, please,” he says, voice rough. I reach down between us, fingers finding the swollen bud. “Slowly,” he instructs, and my core clenches.

He places my free hand on the side of the tub, curling my fingers around the edge. The unspoken message is clear. Don’t let go.

Then he kisses me again, tongue dipping into my mouth. I fidget on his lap, the rhythmic sound of the bath water splashing against the sides of the tub, his cock pressed against my entrance, and my fingers on my clit are all too much. I try speeding up, desperately needing the friction, but his firm touch holds me in place.

“Greedy little thing, aren’t you?” He lets go of my hip to grab the hand on my clit. He slows down my movements, agony and desire burning through me.

“James, please ,” I beg.

“Please what, darling?”

“Fuck me. Touch me. Anything. Everything. Please.”

His movements still and he curses.

“The condoms are in my bag.”

I’m very tempted to say fuck it and just let him fuck me without one, but I can’t take that chance. Reluctantly I peel away from him, getting to my feet before helping him up. We step out of the tub, not even bothering to dry off. James grabs his toiletry bag, pulling out a condom.

“On the counter, now,” he growls as he rolls the condom on. I push his things aside before hopping up, pressing my thighs together.

“Who’s the greedy one now?” I tease, tracing a hand over my breasts, fingers playing with my nipples. Maybe I should make him wait. Make him watch as I touch myself first.

“I’m always greedy for you,” he says, stalking over to me and grabbing the backs of my thighs, spreading my legs. Any thoughts of making him wait quickly fly out the window. I don’t want to wait either. I want him inside of me, want to help him chase the release he craves. I grip the counter for support, throwing my head back as his cock teases my entrance.

He thrusts into me with one firm stroke. My body shudders and I let out a half moan, half scream. Oh god, I really hope these walls are soundproof.

“Do you like this, Rebecca?” he asks, sliding out of me fully before thrusting back in. “When I’m a little rough with you?” He leans down, clamping his mouth around my breast, rolling my nipple between his teeth. He bites down hard and my toes curl.

“Fuck. James. Yes.” I gasp, fighting for air. His hand finds its way to my hip again, the other tangling in my hair. His fingers dig into my skin and I hope he leaves a bruise. It drives me crazy, seeing this normally composed, serious man so wild for me.

“Can you come like this?” He tugs on my hair again and I arch my back into him, rolling my hips against his. There. I can feel the tip of his cock pressing against my sensitive spot.

“Yes. Harder,” I pant. “Faster.”

He certainly is good with instructions. He pushes into me, deeper, harder, faster, the only sound in the room our gasps and moans, wet skin sliding against one another. He bites down on my nipple again and I explode, my orgasm rolling through me like a tidal wave. I yell his name, and he whispers filthy praises into my ear.

“Good girl. Look at the mess you’re making, love.”

His thrusts turn sloppy, frantic, and soon I feel him shudder with his own orgasm. I keep gripping the counter, knowing not to touch him.

“Fuck.” I have no other words, except maybe thank you .

We sag against one another, breathing deeply for a few moments.

I whimper as he slides out of me. His grip on me loosens and he places a chaste kiss on my forehead .

“Enjoy that, did you?”

“Enjoy is an understatement, Doctor Reid.”

He chuckles, helping me down from the counter. My legs wobble.

We climb back into the tub, this time on the same side with my back to his chest. I’m exhausted, but it’s the good kind of exhausted. The “I’ve just been thoroughly fucked” kind of exhausted.

“How are you feeling?” I ask.

“Like I can get some proper sleep now.”

We clean ourselves, then the bathroom. Water really does go everywhere.

Room service brings us dinner and I have to stop myself from ordering every single item on the menu. If I never have to eat astronaut sludge again, it’ll be too soon.

We try to watch a movie, but he falls asleep in the first five minutes. I switch the TV off, getting comfortable beside him. His face looks five years younger when he’s asleep. All the stress melted away.

Am I doing us both a disservice with this two-month apart thing? It seemed like a good idea in the dome. I need to at least try to write this book, and I want him to be sure of his feelings for me. And yet he keeps telling me how much he wants me, how sure he is of me. If only I was that sure of myself. Of my career.

Why am I so quick to give up on things? Sure, my career as a physicist didn’t work out. But I am a good author. People get writer’s block all the time, but it’s my fault for letting mine spiral like this. If I had been honest with Anne from the beginning, she wouldn’t have needed to threaten to terminate my contract. She would have given me time. Space. Maybe to write something else or work on other projects. I have options, but at the time I was so caught up in my own head that I didn’t see it. This overthinking thing really sucks.

I trace the lines on James’ face with my eyes.

I’m going to fix me. I just hope he’s willing to wait.