Page 48 of Play for Power (Central Sparks #3)

“I still can’t believe that is what you named your toy,” he says under his breath.

“What name you giving that one?” He busies himself with getting the bath ready.

I also hadn’t pegged him for a bath guy, but I guess you learn something new every day.

I start to stroll past him into the bedroom, mulling over the name ideas for my new little friend here.

“How about Charlie?” I call out to him as I fall onto the bed, letting the toy fall to the mattress as I get comfy on the big cloud of goodness.

With my eyes closed, I don’t see him but feel his presence in the room, and when the mattress dips from under me, my eyes blink open.

He has perched himself between my legs, his hands beside my head, holding his weight as he lowers himself—still fully clothed in his suit—and lays a soft, teasing kiss to my lips.

“Charlie? Like a boy Charlie? I don’t know if I can handle you calling out ‘Charlie’ when you come.

” He frowns, but I can see the amusement lining his face.

I chuckle and push at his chest, making him fall beside me as I sit up on my side facing him, playing with the buttons of his slightly undone shirt.

“Charlie, as in the unicorn, because he took me right to Candy Mountain.” Caleb’s lips pop open as his eyes blow wider, the memory, I assume, hitting his mind.

It takes a few seconds, but then he’s falling back, a barking laugh coming from his chest. I laugh with him at the mental image of the unicorn cartoon video.

After a few minutes, Caleb’s laugh stutters out, and he wipes absently at his face.

“Oh my god,” he whispers. “That’s hilarious. Best name yet. Definitely better than Vivienne.” I smack his chest playfully and his hand reaches up to grab it, standing from the bed and pulling me with him.

“C’mon, I ran you a bath.” He pulls me into the bathroom, and I yank my hand from his when I see the fucking candles. This guy. Again?

“I can just go home and have a bath,” I say from where I’ve paused at the entrance to the bathroom.

It was already late and we both needed to just sleep.

The rest of the night was uneventful. Satan and his spawn stayed away from me and Caleb, and I came back to his place to get freaky, only for me to lie down and close my eyes.

Just for a second , I’d said. I must have been a lot more tired than I thought I was.

His head tilts like a confused puppy before he steps into my space again, tucking a curl behind my ear, his eyes turned slightly serious, searching my face.

“Why, when I have a perfectly fine bath right here for you to use.” He starts unbuttoning his shirt.

“But…we didn’t even sleep together. And I’m really tired anyway.

Don’t you want to clean up and go to sleep?

” I stutter through an excuse that makes no sense.

His clothes were rapidly disappearing, and all I can do is just stand there and watch him undress.

Then, he’s naked as the day he was born, taking sure steps closer to me, his arrogant sex smile firmly in place as he looks me up and down.

“I am about to clean up. But, I’m going to clean you up too.

” He is seriously delicious to look at, but my brain is struggling to work out what’s happening right now.

He’d poured me a bath that night in my apartment, too, and lit candles.

What man lights candles? Certainly none that I’ve slept with.

“You’re sleeping with the wrong men then, Rosebud.” He chuckles. Fuck, did I say that out loud? How badly had that nightmare ruined my brain?

“C’mon. It’s just a bath.” His fingers go to the hem of my T-shirt, lightly pulling, but not stripping it off me just yet.

I flick away the weird feelings of doubt and anticipation that have my stomach tied in knots, the strange sensation of being nervous.

I, me, the Rosie Garcia, did not get nervous.

Least of all for a man. It is so goddamn confusing.

“What about my tea?” I breathe. Nothing about being around him feels normal tonight. I don’t feel normal. I don’t feel any of the things I usually feel looking at a naked man with the prospect of sex staring back at me.

“Do you really want to drink it?” He raises a brow, and I shake my head. I also can’t stand tea. But the gesture made me feel guilty for not drinking it.

My breaths come in harder and he seems to have had enough of the patient act.

He yanks the shirt over my head and I’m completely bared for him, in nothing but his boxers.

He gives me a once-over, his eyes turning heated as he takes in my bare chest and his boxers against my increasingly hot skin.

The only sound for a few minutes is his muffled, “ Fuuuuuuuuck ” as he wipes a hand down his face, not even trying to hide the way he ogles me.

The way he scans a path up and down my body.

Like he can’t get enough, like he can’t believe what he is seeing.

My heart races, my want for him gathering as I struggle to reign in my desire. But it’s not just me needing him to touch me that has my heart racing.

It’s panic.

Yup, I’m straight-up panicking because I’m becoming obsessed with the way he looks at me. The impossible shade of blue that leans into purple fixates on me with that barely banked heat and a touch of longing. I want to stand here and watch him look at me for an eternity.

I want to hear his whispered words. Him calling me beautiful, calling me pretty girl, his little vixen. I want him to grab my throat and call me a good girl while he kisses me gently and teases me aggressively. And I have absolutely no business feeling any of it.

Cue full-body shiver.

“You’re keeping these,” he says, his voice having dropped an octave as he tucks a finger behind the strap, pulling and letting it slap at my skin.

His lips tip up in a satisfied smirk when he hears the rush of breath I take in, his eyes lingering by my lips.

“But right now, they’re coming off, and you’re getting in the bath.

Can’t kick me out this time.” Smug bastard.

Obviously I can’t kick him out of his own apartment.

And he knows I’m not leaving now. My pussy is basically on her knees, barking for the naked god in front of her.

He leans down until our lips are barely a breath apart, and he lingers.

The anticipation has shivers racking my whole body, and from the way he smiles like the devil, he notices.

“Take them off and get in the bath,” he whispers, and damn , if the sweetness of his melodic voice deepening doesn’t have a moan nearly slipping from my lips.

He lingers against my lips still, never touching, never giving in to the kiss he knows I am suddenly desperate for.

But instead, he backs away and stands near the bath, still naked, and it is utterly ridiculous and distracting. And hot as fuck.

I force a swallow before hooking my thumbs in the top of the boxers and dragging them down my legs.

“Good girl,” he coos and then points a hand to the bath. “In.”

Oh, sweet heavens. When did this happen to me? I’m meant to be in control. I’m meant to be calling the shots…why were my lady parts so goddamn excited to follow instructions, and why do I love being good, just for him?

I take a few steps toward him, but…I’m stalling the last few because that feeling of panic is starting to rush through me at rapid speed.

Why am I glad that he suffered through a Garcia event with me?

Why am I always so ready to give him my control?

Why do I have no interest in sleeping with other men?

Why do I prefer his company over being alone?

WHY!?

His little love tap to my ass snaps me out of my panic. “Stop being a brat, get in.” I follow instructions, but I’m far too childish to do so without a retort, so I mock a “ sToP bEiNg A bRaT” under my breath, and I hear his responding chuckle.

“Scooch forward.” He gestures as I sit down, and when I turn in his direction, he is already climbing in behind me.

I make room, allowing him to seat himself behind me, placing a leg on either side of my body before he wraps his big arms around my middle, pulling me flush against his chest. “Are you okay?” he asks, but I swear he is laughing at me.

“Huh?” I’m trying my hardest to clear my head, but I’m still trying to understand what is going on.

I don’t know how to do…whatever this is.

He’s being so…kind? But not in a playful way that I can usually get around.

It’s sincere. It’s laced with care and…what the actual fuck is happening right now?

“You’re stiff, are you all right?” His voice lowers and a gentle hand lands under my chin, turning my head until I’m looking right into his sparkling, deep blue eyes. They bounce between mine, looking almost concerned.

“Yeah,” I whisper back to him, feeling frozen by the way he has completely consumed me.

“Breathe in,” he instructs, and I, for some reason, listen, taking a deep breath. “Breathe out.” And I release my breath, his warm body completely wrapped around me.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks gently, the intensity of his stare never wavering, his hand not dropping my chin.

I only stare blankly at him. “The dream?” he clarifies, and I shake my head quickly.

No way am I opening that can of worms with him.

But he doesn’t push, just presses his lips to my forehead and takes a deep breath.

The breathing does something to relax my muscles, and when he feels me soften slightly, his hand on my chin loosens, gently nudging my head to lay against his chest. And then he presses a kiss to my hair before he rests his chin on top of my head.

What. The. Fuck?

“Are we…cuddling?” I whisper, too scared to say it out loud, and the chuckle is almost instant.

“Do you have something against cuddling, Rosebud?”

“Well…I’ve…I don’t?—”

“What? No one ever cuddled you?” he questions like he doesn’t believe me.