Soaked (The Water's Edge #2) (11 page)

I grinned up at him, and poked him in the chest with my finger.

“Alison!” I yelled. “This guy—” poke “—needs a pineapple margarita. And I’ll take the lemonade one next.”

She raised an eyebrow and looked at Nick for confirmation.

Nick with the bulge.

He leaned closer to me. “Why pineapple?”

I rolled my eyes. “Because I can’t remember. And this will solve the problem!”

“Can’t remember what?”

“If it’ll make you taste sweeter.”

He stared at me, then coughed. “Do you mean—”

I leaned over and patted his lap. “Down
here.
”

He mumbled something and removed my hand from his lap. “Maybe Alison can get you a water if I agree to drink a pineapple margarita?” He shuddered and made a face when he said
pineapple.

“I don’t want water.”

Alison slid a bottle of water in front of me, top removed. She was such a good friend.

I drank half of it down in one swallow.

Nick was watching my throat with a bit of a glazed look in his eyes.

Or were my eyes glazed? Could you see if your own eyes were glazed, or just someone else’s?

I scrunched up my face and stared at his eyes, trying to puzzle it out.

Alison put a different drink in front Nick. Something dark in a squat glass with a few ice cubes.

“That is
not
a pineapple margarita.”

“No.” He smirked at me.

“You lied to me. Why does every fucking guy on this planet lie to me? Is it a gender thing? Or is it something about me specifically?” I pushed Nick’s shoulder, but he didn’t budge.

Nick took a swallow of his drink. I bet it was something fancy. Refined. Scotch. Or whiskey. Some top-shelf shit. He closed his eyes for a moment as he put his drink down. He had a nice neck. I’d never really noticed before.

“But now I won’t be able to answer my question.” I frowned at him. It was all his fault.

“How would you have known if it was sweeter?”

I squinted at him. “Tasted it?”

“But how would you have known if it tasted
sweeter?
Wouldn’t you have needed an initial taste to compare it to?”

Damn. Nick with the bulge was fucking smart. “I haven’t tasted you yet.” Something else I failed at. I wouldn’t get the answer to my question now.

“Nope.”

“Does it taste okay normally?”

Nick choked on his drink. “I’ve, uh, not had any complaints.”

“But have you tried drinking pineapple juice before?”

Handing me the water bottle again, which I obligingly took a sip of, Nick sighed. “Sadie. Why are you down here getting wasted?”

I was not
wasted.
I was . . . close, maybe. But not sloppy drunk. “Because of reasons.” I nodded.

“Tell me the main one.”

I’m not sure why that did it. Why that little phrase was enough to unlock all the confusion bottled up inside, but it was. The four margaritas probably helped too.

Words tumbled out of me. I told him about West, who wasn’t drowning after all. And West who wouldn’t let me walk home. And West who drove me home from a party, but I was wasted and woke up in his bed and my thighs weren’t sore at all because we hadn’t had sex. And West who showed up at a drive-in and let another girl climb in the back of his truck before he saw me. And West who took care of me when I was sunburned, and made me penis pancakes for breakfast. And West who fucked me silly on a staircase, but then let another woman stay at his place that night. And West who flew a kite with his nephew and made me fall in love with him, but had pictures of another girl in his nightstand. And West who then carried that same girl in his arms off his boat, and away to their picture-perfect fucking future. And the West who finally said he loved me, who fucked me in a parking lot, but it was too damn late because I was done, gone, over it, and out of there.

That West.

By the time I was finished, I wasn’t as drunk as I’d been when I’d started and two more empty water bottles lay on their sides on the bar. Alison had done last call twenty minutes ago.

I should’ve been humiliated.

But,
fuck,
it just felt good to let it all out.

“What kind of pictures?”

“What?”

“What kind,” Nick repeated, “of pictures were in his nightstand?”

“Oh.” I scowled, picked at the hem of my shirt. “Boudoir shots. They were good too. I took them myself. Wasn’t that nice of me?”

Nick raised his eyebrows.

“Show me.”

“Show you what?”

“Show me the images. Do you have any on your phone?”

I huffed and pulled it out, jabbing at the screen until the thumbnails I was looking for were displayed. “I never showed you these. They’re
confidential.
” My flat tone had him chuckling.

He studied them, blowing two up to see the details better, before handing my phone back. “Have you ever done any?”

“I just told you. I took those.”

“No.” Nick smiled. “Have you ever had some taken of
you?
”

I wrinkled my nose and looked down at myself. “No.”

“You should. You should get to experience what it’s like to pose for a session.” Pulling out his phone, he tapped it a few times and slid it across the bar to me. “For the kind of boudoir pictures I take.”

I squinted at them, unsurprised to find his technique in this also topped mine. “Why? What’s so special about the way you do it?”

He dropped his hand on top of mine, waiting until I met his gaze. “In my sessions, the woman puts me under her spell. She teases me, tempts me, taunts me with flashes of her body, her skin. She lets me look, fucking turns me on just about every time, but she knows I can’t touch. It’s a strong, heady feeling to have all that power. To feel sexy and wanted and beautiful and to be in control of the situation.” He withdrew his hand slowly, his thumb rubbing my wrist once, twice. His eyes were darker than earlier, his voice deeper. “You should let me shoot you, Sadie. Show you what that’s like. Remind you that you
are
all those things.”

My palms were damp, and when I realized I’d curled my fingers into loose fists, I forced myself to relax and wiped my hands against my jean-clad thighs.

“The pictures would be yours. You could have the memory card when we finished.”

The offer was tempting. “What would you get out of it?”

He chuckled. “You saw me after that session with that lady the other day. Did it look like it was a hardship? And with you? Seeing you in that setting would be reward enough.”

I glanced down. His bulge was bigger.

“Let’s do it.” I wanted that—all those things he described. To feel sexy, desirable, powerful. Not this emotional hot mess sitting at a closed bar.

“Maybe tomor—”

“Now.”

“I don’t thi—”

“
Now.
” If I didn’t do it tonight, before I lost my nerve, I knew I wouldn’t. And I wanted to. Wanted to seize the moment, be reckless.

Nick dropped his hand, adjusted himself.
He’d do it.
“You—you’ve been drinking.” He stumbled over his words, belatedly playing the gentleman. “We should wa—”

I put my finger over his lips. “You done arguing?”

He nodded, rose from his stool.

“I know the room. Let me change and I’ll meet you there in ten minutes.”

I didn’t wait to see if he’d follow.

I
WORE RED LACE.
The silky sheets, the mountain of pillows, and the filmy panels hanging from the canopy bed were black, the lighting subdued, and the air rich with incense. He’d clearly had this room redone just for photoshoots, because the guest rooms I’d seen, my own included, were all white linen and vibrant, tropical prints. Low, pulsing, bass-heavy music set the tone.

I’d taken a long shower to gather my courage before coming over, and had almost backed out twice. But then it seemed like just another thing Aubrey would have beaten me at. And,
fuck,
I was tired of losing to her.

A bowl of strawberries and a bottle of wine perched on the nightstand. I poured myself a glass because I didn’t know what else to do while he set up, and more alcohol sounded like a good idea. I had to give Nick credit; he didn’t skimp when it came to good alcohol.

He also hadn’t rushed me. I’d slipped off my simple cotton dress as soon as I’d entered the room, knowing the longer it stayed on, the harder it would be to take off. Then I’d crawled across the artfully disheveled bed, which he swore was covered in freshly laundered sheets, and lounged against the pillows, trying to calm my nerves.

Finishing off the wine in my glass and plucking a perfect strawberry from the bowl, I took a second to appreciate the way he’d set the scene. The door to the balcony was propped open, allowing the warm salty air to ripple the fabric draped from the canopy. It was voluminous, partially obscuring him.

It was a clever technique, letting the woman feel less exposed, even though that was the whole point.

“Wait.” His voice was husky.

I paused, the strawberry almost to my mouth.

“Slower.”

My tongue reached for the fruit, catching the tip and angling it toward my face. I took a bite, savoring the sweetness, tipping my throat back, and licking my lips afterward. Then my fingers.

Nick worked quietly, efficiently. No flash to startle or disrupt the flow.

I finished the berry and flicked the stem back to the bowl.

Squirming against the pillows, I fiddled with my hair, smoothing it over one shoulder. “How exactly does this work?”

He leaned against the mahogany bedpost at the foot of the bed and smirked. “You’ve done this—you know how it works.”

I bit my lip and crossed one leg over the other, unsure how to start, although I could tell the wine was starting to go to my head after all those margaritas earlier.

“You want me to coach you through it? Would that be easier than posing on your own?” His voice was smooth, eyes dark in the dim light.

I nodded and ran my hand through my hair, pushing it behind my back again, just to have something to do with my hands. I’d left it down, the natural waves slightly messy. My eyes were smoky, and my lipstick matched my pushup bra and boy-short set. My metallic gold nails were the only other touch of color. Smooth, tan skin and red lace on black satin.

Before I could wonder how Nick saw me, his voice rasped over the music. “Lay back.”

I slid down the sheets, one leg automatically bending at the knee.

“Arms above your head, arch your back.” He moved around the billowing fabric to capture me from the side.

“Eyes up, head back.”

I tipped my chin, exposing the length of my neck, my mouth partially open. My tongue slipped out, ran along my bottom lip.

“Gorgeous. Raise up on your elbows, keep arching.”

I flexed further and pointed my toes, breasts thrusting upwards.

“Look at me.”

My head tilted, eyes hooded, and my heart beat loudly in my ears. It was both wanton and glamorous.

Everything about this scene screamed decadence. And he was right—it was a heady feeling.

My eyes dipped. Nick was hard. Already. But he stayed at the edge of the mattress, keeping his distance as promised.

“Relax onto the bed again,” he urged. “Get another strawberry. Start at your mouth and trace it down the center of your body. Watch me while you do it.”

The chilled fruit slid down my neck, between my breasts, and over my bare stomach, leaving goose bumps and hard nipples in its wake. My bra was thin. I knew he could tell. I loved that he could tell.

The click of the camera was barely detectable as he followed my actions.

“Yes, Sadie. Beautiful. Raise your hand up high and feed it to yourself. Pretend it’s a thick, juicy cock. Let your lips surround it. Lick it. Savor it.”

My pulse picked up as I mouthed the ripe fruit, and sampled the very tip. A small drop of juice escaped the corner of my mouth, and I caught it with my thumb, sucking it clean.

Nick cursed.

I finished the berry and stretched, arms above my head, tangling in my hair. I rocked my hips one at a time, tightening the muscles in first my right then left leg before relaxing and curling inward on myself.

He moved behind me and part of me knew he was catching the line of my spine, the flare of my hips spreading to the curve of my ass. I pushed it out further, then peeked over my shoulder at him.

His eyes met mine briefly, but it was enough.

The power—the undeniable, primal power a woman held over a man with just her body—it filled me. I was a goddess in that moment. And I reveled in it.

I moved without prompting, slowly twisting and bending my body, displaying my soft curves. I taunted, I teased, I tormented. Warmth pooled between my legs and I wanted more. Never wanted this feeling to stop.

Confidence surged through me and I knelt on the bed, spreading my thighs wide. This—this is what brought men to their knees. The helplessness to resist what hid between a woman’s legs. It started battles and caused wars. Civilizations rose and fell from the power of that hidden honey.

And tonight—I owned it.

I traced a finger up my inner thigh, toyed with the edge of my panties.