Page 25 of Stick Break (Boston Bucks #8)

Charley

H is hands glide over my skin, slick with soap, moving slowly, carefully, like he’s handling something precious.

Honestly I don’t think any man has ever made me feel so cherished before.

The scent of citrus and heat swirls in the steamy air, and bubbles burst between us, tiny pops of joy that match the fizzing in my chest. I feel ridiculous and light and overwhelmingly happy, a feeling I haven’t let myself touch in far too long.

His thumb brushes over my nipple, the coarse pad dragging across the sensitive peak in a way that’s anything but casual.

He lingers there, testing my reaction, and I arch into him with a soft gasp.

His cock nudges harder against the curve of my backside as he gently turns me beneath the spray.

The water is cool, the way we both wanted it, but his touch burns.

God, I love when this man puts his hands on me.

Like he’s learning me. Committing every dip and swell of me to memory. Like he needs to remember the shape of my body in his hands so he can recall it when he’s back in Boston… and I’m not.

A tiny ache blooms at the thought, and I shove it aside, burying it deep.

Not now.

Now is for joy. For feeling. For this.

I tip my face to the water and close my eyes, letting the rivulets rinse away the soap.

It does nothing for the fire crackling under my skin.

A blaze lit by Rip. I want him with a kind of desperation that should scare me, but how can I be scared when I’m with a man who someone makes me feel so safe.

I turn slowly, facing him, pressing my hands to his slick chest as I rise onto my toes and brush a kiss across his lips, gentle, soft, nothing like the storm gathering in my veins.

“All clean,” I whisper, letting my words glide against his mouth. My body thrums, greedy for more. I shift him under the water and glance down. “Does the cold water feel okay on the burn?”

“Yes, but I?—”

His breath catches as I soap up my hands and wrap them around his cock. Whatever he was about to say is swallowed whole by the sheer heat between us.

“Babe, this is not a good idea,” he rasps, voice fraying at the edges.

I look up at him with a grin, slow and sultry. “Really?” I stroke him, once, twice, and he swells even more in my grip. “Because your body seems to think it’s the bestidea that’s ever existed in the entire history of ideas.”

He groans, his hands clamping onto my shoulders like he’s bracing himself against an oncoming wave. His hips betray him, already beginning to rock in time with my rhythm.

“Yeah. The little fucker is a traitor,” he mutters, half-wild with want.

“Maybe he wants my mouth,” I tease, flicking my tongue across my bottom lip just to drive him insane.

His head falls back with a sound that’s somewhere between a growl and a prayer. “Fuck yes.”

God, that sound. That raw, wrecked need…it’s everything. A thrill rushes through me at how quickly I can unravel him, how desperately he wants me. But this isn’t just power or lust. It’s something deeper. Mutual destruction. Because he can reduce me to ash with just one grin, and we both know it.

I start to lower myself, but suddenly, he steps back like I’ve scorched him.

“Out. Now.”

I blink up at him, startled. “Wait, are you…kicking me out?” My voice is half a laugh, half a challenge.

He looks tortured. Beautiful and naked and strung so tight I think he might break. “Charley…”

“But earlier,” I remind him, tilting my head, “You said I was going toget it.” I soften my voice into something sweet and utterly dangerous. “This doesn’t seem like I’m getting it, at all. I’m pretty that qualifies as false advertising.”

“Jesus, Charley,” he mutters, stepping under the cold spray like it’s the only way he can keep from ravaging me right here, right now. I wouldn’t mind. But we do have his injury to consider. I’d never forgive myself if we did anything that caused more damage.

“Youaregoing to get it,” he grits out, water streaming over his head, jaw tight like he’s in battle.

“I just… if I don’t do some very aggressive mental math right now and get my goddamn dick under control, the first time I put it in you will be over in five seconds. Maybe less. And I want to remember it.”

Something in memelt, not from the heat, but from the honesty. The restraint. The sweet, slightly desperate truth tangled in his words. My heart soars, even as my thighs press together on instinct.

God, I love him like this.

Trying to hold himself back. Tryingnotto ruin it by taking too much, too fast.

And, well, I can’t resist poking Big Bear.

I throw him a slow, sassy look over my shoulder, giving my hips a little wiggle as if I’m not currently vibrating with need. “Well,” I say breezily, “Guess I’ll just have to start without you.”

I inch the curtain open, steam billowing around me like drama on cue. I step out slowly, giving him a show, knowing exactly what I’m doing and loving the low, wounded growl that follows me through the room. I reach for a towel and cinch it tightly around my chest, but only for effect.

Then I pause.

“Do you think I should start here?” I ask innocently, spreading the towel just enough to slide my thumbs over my nipples. They peak instantly, betraying the cool air and the hot pulse thrumming inside me.

Behind me, there’s silence— charged silence. The kind that hums with all the things he’s not saying. When I glance back, I find him standing there, still under the water, absolutely stricken—jaw slack, eyes dark, cock harder than any human should be capable of.

Poor man looks torn between worship and weeping.

“Or here?” I ask sweetly, sliding one hand down, slower than necessary, until my fingers dip between my thighs and I let out a soft, genuine moan.

He swears. Just one word, but it’s guttural. Maybe I really should be scared, but I think this man is going to wreck me, in more ways than one.

Then the spray cuts off.

I squeal and bolt, laughing as I run toward the bedroom like a thief in the night. My feet slap against the floor, wet and reckless, and I barely make it to the bed before I hear the unmistakable sound of him . Heavy, determined footsteps. Curses. A low growl of impending doom.

Then—

He appears in the doorway, towering, dripping, glorious in nothing but a towel tied at his waist. His body looks carved from stone, every muscle tight with tension, every inch of him thrumming with intent. He’s beautiful and lethal, and my playful smile dies the second our eyes meet.

“Rip…” It’s all I can manage. My throat is dry, my lungs forget how to function.

He crosses the room slowly, deliberately, until he’s standing over me. I crane my neck, eyes wide, every nerve ending buzzing.

“Well,” he says, dragging a hand down the center of his chest like he’s trying to give me a stroke. My gaze follows the path, over hard pectorals, down the ridges of his abs, to the trail that disappears into the towel still slung dangerously low. “What did you decide?”

I blink, struggling to form words. “What?”

He leans closer, the heat of him wrapping around me like a second skin. Then, with a flick of his fingers, he unknots my towel. It drops soundlessly to the bed.

My breath catches as the cool air ghosts over my now-bare skin. His eyes take their time, and when they finally meet mine again, they’re dark, searing, focused like a man on a mission.

“Where did you decide to start?”

I stare up at him, lust-rattled and trembling, as realization dawns like a thunderclap.

And just like that, the game resets.

But this time, he’s in control, and I love it.

Giving him what he’s asking for, a smile curves my lips. “Oh,” I say, a wicked little smile curling on my lips. “I thought I’d start here.”

I shimmy backward to the center of the bed, and settle my shoulders against the headboard.

The sheets are cool beneath me, a contrast to the heat pulsing between my thighs.

Slowly, deliberately, I bend my knees and let them fall open, baring myself to him.

My hand trails down the slope of my stomach, fingers light and teasing as I touch the skin that’s been aching for him all night.

“This,” I murmur, pressing just above my mound, “This is the spot that’s been screamingat me to use our code word.” My eyes flick up to his, dark with hunger and heat, and I give a little breathy laugh. “She’s not subtle.”

He juststares at me, like he’s watching something holy, sacred—and a little dangerous.

His eyes are locked on where my fingers move, and I swear he forgets to breathe.

I’ve never done this before. Never had the nerve to touch myself in front of anyone.

But with Rip, it’s different. He makes me feel powerful and wanted and completely unashamed.

So I keep going, circling, stroking, letting him see everything.

A soft moan slips from my lips, and that’s what breaks him.

With a sharp inhale, he moves, circling the bed with the grace of a predator who’s done holding himself back.

He drops down beside me and the mattress dips under his weight.

His presence floods the space, all heat and want and something deeper.

I lean into him, our skin brushing, and his voice drops an octave, all low, masculine gravel.

“You’ve been hurting.” It’s not a question. It’s a knowing, intimate confession wrapped in silk and steel.

I nod, voice shaky. “So bad.”

His eyes flick to mine. “We can’t have that.”

When he reaches for me, I let my hand fall away, surrendering. His thick fingers part me, slow and deliberate, and when he slides them through my slick heat, I groan, because my wetness has nothing to do with the shower andeverything to do with him.

No one has ever touched me the way Rip does. No one’s everseenme like this and made me feel so safe doing it.

“I could barely think straight all night,” I confess, breath hitching as he strokes again, so gently it borders on torture.