More Than Need You, Page 27

  we’d save our girl and all that.” When she shudders, I can’t stop myself from kissing the top of her head. “Not every movie can be Love Actually.”

  It’s one of her favorites.

  “I wish it could.”

  Twenty minutes later, the cop rescues his pretty damsel, who manages to run an awful lot in stilettos, and the bad guys all either died or went to prison. That’s the ending I expected, so I’m good. I look down to find that Britta has fallen asleep against me.

  I smile at the trust she’s shown, the comfort she’s allowed me to give her. I would love this every night for the rest of our lives.

  Balancing her upright with one hand, I rise, doing my best not to jostle her awake. As soon as I’m on my feet, I lift her into my arms.

  Her lashes flutter open. “What? Where…”

  “Shh. It’s late. You’re tired. I’m taking you to bed.”

  She shifts in my embrace and tries to wriggle free. “I can walk.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  I don’t wait for any more conversation, just head for the dark wooden stairs that wind up to our bedroom. There’s no way I can’t not stare at her. She was always beautiful to me, but up close she’s a masterpiece. And right now she looks so soft and sleepy and happy nestled against me, I don’t want to put her down.

  Inside the bedroom, I don’t have a choice, so I reluctantly set her on her feet. She’s blushing as she blinks up at me. “Thanks, Griff.”

  “Being with you in any way is always my pleasure.”

  She looks away with a bite of her lips, a flush to her cheeks. “I’m going to…um, take a soak in the giant tub.”

  It’s just as well. If we climbed into bed together now, I don’t know how I’d stop myself from crawling all over her. “I’m going to make sure the house is locked up and the coffeepot is ready for the morning.”

  I kiss her forehead again, then leave the room before the urge to slide my lips elsewhere on her skin overcomes me.

  The next seven weeks are going to test the hell out of my restraint unless she ditches the banker fast.

  After I make the rounds through the house, I return to hear the bathtub running behind closed doors. She’s in there naked, and I would love the right to walk in and ravish her. Hell, I’d settle for merely looking at her.

  Since that’s not happening, I check on Jamie, who’s fast asleep on his side with his blanket curled up in his arms. He needs a bigger bed. I make a mental note to bring that up with Britta tomorrow. The playpen just isn’t cutting it anymore.

  Clad only in my boxers, I pull the comforter down and slide between the sheets. The big bed feels empty. I’ve only been sleeping beside Britta for a few days, but I’m already used to her curling up beside me, to hearing her soft, even breathing. Sadly, she’s not one of those women who wants to cuddle in her sleep. She doesn’t need to seek me out for warmth in Maui. She doesn’t require consoling for nightmares she doesn’t have. And she’s certainly not looking for nookie in the middle of the night.

  I distract myself by scanning my emails. I read some agent feedback about one of my listings and agree the kitchen needs updating, but the seller isn’t interested in sinking more money into the house. I have a web inquiry about another property and dash off a response that I’ll call first thing on Monday.

  Then I launch into my social media to check the stats of my active ads. I hear the water turn off in the tub. Britta is playing soft music via the high-end speaker in the bathroom. The tune is something soft and instrumental. Sounds like she’s in for a long soak.

  Over the music, I hear…panting? Must be background for the song. I grunt. I hardly need something more to work me up tonight.

  But when I hear it again, I frown. Is Britta in distress?

  I don’t know, but I cock my head, listening more closely. Water sloshes. In between more of those heavy breaths, I hear a whimper. Pain? Sadness? Melancholy? Something else? I need to know if she’s all right.

  Slowly, I climb out of bed and head to the double doors on silent footfalls. I can’t hear much better. But the crack between the doors shows me a shimmering shadow of water movement. I hear another high-pitched cry.

  “Britta?” I call softly.

  A gasp. A trio of harder pants. A strangled moan. “Griff…”

  That’s it. If she’s sobbing her heart out in the bathtub, naked or not, I’m not leaving her there to cry alone. I can control myself long enough to comfort her. I think. And if I have to blot out the memories of her in the buff…that’s one reason God invented Scotch.

  I shove open the doors, expecting to see mascara running down her face and her eyes swollen with tears.

  I don’t expect to see Britta lying in the tub, head tossed back, hand between her legs.

  “Don’t”—she opens her blue eyes, which look heavy and sensual in pleasure—“come in.”

  Too late.

  I can’t move. I’m staring. Holy motherfucking hell. She looks amazing with her hair piled on her head, tendrils falling softly around her neck, trailing toward the bubbles clinging to the swells of her breasts. Her cheeks are flushed. Her lips are swollen.

  She’s aroused. I swallow hard.

  “Griff.” Britta shakes her head like I can’t stay here, like she’s denying me.

  I don’t know if she’s embarrassed or worried or what, but I’m thrilled, turned on, and eager. Sure, I would have liked it a whole lot more if she’d come to me with her needs, but I can work with this.

  “Don’t stop, angel. Keep going.” I lean against the counter a few feet away and lock gazes with her. “I’ll watch. Nothing else.”

  “N-no. You can’t. I can’t.”

  I hold up my hands where she can see them both. “I won’t touch you.”

  “You shouldn’t be seeing me while I’m naked and…” She bites her lip like she doesn’t want to admit precisely what she was doing.

  “Masturbating?” I smile.

  She sighs. “Just leave. It’s humiliating.”

  “No, it’s sexy as hell. Seriously. Do it, angel. Touch yourself.”

  “I can’t do that with you in the room, staring at me.”

  “I’ll bet you can. No reason to be shy. I’ve seen every inch of you. I’ve touched it, kissed it, worshipped it. Close your eyes and pretend…” I’m touching you now. “Whatever turns you on.”

  Her eyes flutter shut. “This isn’t right.”

  “This is just for you. If we’re going to act as if we’re really married, me watching you self-pleasure wouldn’t be any big deal. We’ve had a big day and a lot of important conversation. You need to feel good after all that. If I can’t touch you myself or make love to you for a long, luxurious time, then let me be here for you while you make yourself feel so good.”

  She writhes, stretches. I see her pressing her thighs together. “Why do you do this to me? One look at you and I…want. It’s almost physical. It hurts. I don’t know how to stop it. I should. I try not to feel this way—”

  “You don’t have to. I won’t do anything except talk to you. Close your eyes. Listen to my voice. Feel good. I want that for you so bad.”

  “What about you?” Her eyes flit open and she casts a long glance at the erection behind the fly of my boxers.

  “I’ll worry about me later.” I’m doing my best to hang on to my resolve that my next orgasm will be one she gives me. But as far as I’m concerned, if being near me turns her on, I’m not putting a stop to that. If she really objects, I’ll back off and give her privacy…but the way she’s looking at me now, like she’s eating me up with her stare, I don’t think she wants to be alone.

  She begins squirming in the tub again.

  “That’s it. Touch yourself where you need it. Are you wet, angel?”

  She gives me a shaky nod.

  “I know your pretty folds are still bare.” The way I like them.

  “Yes.”

  “They slick?”

  “Yes.” She’s
breathy again.

  It’s arousing as hell.

  I want to cheer. Hell, I want to see for myself. The voice of sanity in my head—what’s left of it, anyway—tells my libido to stick to the subject.

  “Is your clit hard?”

  Water sloshes. Her arm moves. She gasps. “Yes.”

  Everything about her is so fucking hot I’m overheating. I would give anything to drop to my knees and worship every inch of her.

  Right now, I have to settle for what she’ll give me.

  “Good.” I swallow hard. “Lift your other hand to your breast. Squeeze your nipple.”

  She does with a whimper. The movements under the bubbles pick up speed. Her back arches. She lifts her feet out of the water and braces her heels on the edge of the tub.

  Yeah, it’s getting serious now. I take a step toward her. Another. Last one, and I’ve closed the distance between us. Slowly, I lean in, brace my hands on the edge of the tub. My own breath is nearly out of control.

  I won’t touch her. I promised I wouldn’t. I don’t want to give her anything more to be tormented about. I just want to give her relief. And…if she thinks about me the next time she’s feeling sexy, that’s a bonus. It’s been forever since I’ve been with her. She used to associate me with bliss. I want to build that connection in her head again. I want to hear her in climax. I want my ears to ring with the cries of her ecstasy.

  “Griff…” Her voice is both a pant and a warning.

  “I’m not coming any closer. I just couldn’t stand anymore. You make me dizzy, angel.” I drop to my knees beside the tub. “Your scent is swimming in my head. And I have to see you clearly to help guide you through the pleasure you need.”

  Sure, she knows how to find climax herself. She doesn’t need me for this. And yes, I could turn up the lights to get a clearer view from afar. But I think she’s less likely to relax enough to find her pinnacle with an LED blasting in her face. The low, golden haze from the canned lights on dimmers coupled with the pair of scented candles burning at the head of the tub are absolutely perfect. Her skin shimmers golden as her lips part. Her shoulders twist. She inhales a broken breath as her eyes slide shut again.

  She’s every fantasy I’ve ever had. She’s everything I remember and more. She’s the woman I’m going to spend my life with.

  With every moment that passes, I die a little more.

  “Oh, angel…” I croon. “Can you feel lips on your neck? A hand skimming up your thigh?”

  In my head, that’s me touching her, but if she needs me to keep this generic for her sanity, I’ll grit my teeth now and prove my point later.

  “Yes.”

  “Feel hot breath on your nipple?”

  She’s breathing so hard and the bubbles are dissipating with every moment that passes. I swear I can see the outline of her breasts under the shallow surface. I see the dark shadow of her areolas. The jut of their hard tips skim the surface of the water.

  I grip the edge of the tub. I have to stop myself from reaching down and helping her along. I would kill to touch her now. I would love to be the one to give her release from all the stress and worry she’s been under for weeks. But I can’t risk alienating her because I was impatient, pushy, and horny. Well, more than I have been.

  “Imagine a tongue dragging over those nipples. You like it, don’t you? Yeah. They’re sensitive.”

  She gives me a jagged nod. Her breathing picks up speed. Her back twists. I see the circular motion of her hand by the jerky movements of her arm. Her chest flushes pink.

  She’s seconds away.

  “That ache building? Growing? Can you feel your blood racing?”

  “Yes. Yes…” Her breathing is so hard I can barely discern her words. “Yes.”

  “It’s going to be so sweet. It’s going to feel so good. You’re rubbing it, right? You going to come?” For me.

  Her entire body tenses. She freezes—muscles, breath, words. I see the frantic shutter of her pulse at her neck and the frenzied motions of her arm before she opens her mouth with a pained cry that’s music to my ears.

  I sit back, watch, mesmerized. She is, without a doubt, the most sensual woman I’ve ever known. From the moment I first kissed her until the last time I made love to her, she’s kick-started my desire like no one else. And this episode is tattooed in my mind indelibly. I’ll never forget her sharp sounds, her female scent, the abandon in her movements.

  Best of all, this moment is totally mine. I’m pretty sure butthole has never seen her this uninhibited. She gave a slice of her most secret self to me like a gift. I’ll cherish it always. Someday, I’ll thank her properly for it.

  Right now, her sob of ecstasy is ending in a whimper. Her body goes limp. Her eyes flutter open. “Oh, my god. That was… I don’t know what to say.”

  “Amazing?”

  “Really damn good, yeah.” A hint of a smile plays at her mouth. “I’m embarrassed.”

  “Don’t be. I’m glad you shared with me. I helped, right?”

  Her glance tells me I did, more than she wanted me to. “Don’t push your luck.”

  “Need help out of the tub?” I grab her towel. “I’ll dry you off thoroughly, angel.”

  Because I’ll bet her pussy is still so wet. I bite those words back. My hard-on isn’t her problem.

  “Didn’t I just tell you not to push your luck?”

  Is that…? Yeah. She’s teasing me. That’s a great sign. After I took her virginity, she cried. It was emotional and that confused her. The fact that she’s not caught up in anything but the afterglow gives me hope.

  “Fair enough. What made you want orgasm? Why did you need it?”

  Her smile falls. “Don’t make me answer that.”

  Britta tells me without telling me that I’m the reason for her need. Exactly what I wanted to hear. I’m calling it a victory…but bowing out gracefully after my win.

  I lay her towel on the side of the tub. “I’ll leave you alone, then.”

  As I back out of the room, I watch her watching me. Our gazes connect. Her stare doesn’t have the same hunger, but it’s not lacking in intensity. I’m in her head, under her skin. I think I’m working my way back into her heart.

  I cross the threshold. I know I should shut the doors, but I can’t take my eyes off her.

  “Close them, Griff.”

  So I can’t peek when she rises from the water like a Venus. Damn it.

  I find the strength to do as she asks. No doubt she feels as if she’s stretched her boundaries enough for one night.

  As I grab the doorknobs to give her some privacy, I glance at the counter and see her phone, lip gloss, and jewelry next to her sink. I see the piece from the banker glimmering and it makes me want to snarl.

  “All right. But if we’re going to act like we’re a couple for the rest of our agreement, you can’t be wearing his ring, Britta.” My sanity and self-restraint won’t be able to handle it. “That finger is mine.”

  “I know.”

  Thank fuck.

  I sweep the doors closed and march across the room to open the sock drawer. She should be wearing my ring, by god. As I’m yanking the jewelry box from the back, her voice stops me. “But I’m not wearing your ring unless I’m going to put it on forever.”

  Damn it. Son of a bitch. I would have loved to see it on her finger at work. At breakfast. When we go to bed.