“Are you okay?” He peered at me. “You’re starting to pant. Are you feeling faint?”
Oh, God. I’m panting. I’ve become Bethany. “Uh… maybe?”
“Did you eat anything today?” He abandoned my feet and moved closer, his hand sliding up my calf, and thank God for my failed date with Adam and the shave job I had tackled as a result.
“I ate a lot today.” It came out as a whisper, and I really hoped it was my imagination working overtime, and that my voice didn’t really sound all husky and full of need. Mr. Oinks farted, one of his really loud and wet ones, and the horrified look on Declan’s face … I burst out laughing.
“Please tell me that isn’t going to smell,” he stage-whispered the plea, as if Mr. Oinks might hear and get his feelings hurt.
I smiled. “Sometimes it does. Do you mind putting him out in the hall?”
He rose to his feet, carefully releasing my feet, and I put them under the water, watching the dirt bleed off. I turned my head, watching as he awkwardly herded Mr. Oinks through the door, his hands shooing at the air, his legs moving side to side as if he was a soccer player guarding a goal.
When he returned, closing the door behind him, he had a triumphant look on his face. “One farting pig removed.” He sniffed the air, his hands on his hips, and grinned. “And… no smell.”
I raised my hand for a high five. “Team No Fart.”
He hesitated, then met my palm in the air, his hand closing around mine.
He’d never seen such a sexy woman. Every part of her. Her adorable motions. The unexpectedly awkward things she said. Even her lightheadedness was sexy. It gave her eyes this wild need, her breath coming harder, her hands beginning to tighten on the hem of her dress.
He returned to the floor, kneeling on the tile and picking up a half-used bar of lavender soap, using it to suds up his hands. Her feet were in the water and he pulled one free, carefully working across the dips and arches of her feet, moving his fingers in mini circles, his forehead tightening in concentration as he removed the dirt while trying to steer clear of her injuries. She actually had several cuts, micro-skins likely caused by running on the sidewalk. She inhaled a few times as he worked, and he glanced over in concern. Each time, she waved off his worry, but she wasn’t looking well. Her mouth was slightly open, and she seemed to have trouble breathing, one hand moving to grip the edge of the tub, her knuckles turning white.
It shouldn’t have been a sexual moment, but it felt like it was. Her pain indicators sounded so fucking erotic that he had to shift his position as he moved to the second foot, turning away from her in an attempt to hide his arousal. God, the way she was squirming. He tightened his hold on her foot and brushed his knuckles across her sole, softly, and then deeper, massaging the tight muscles there. “Stay still.”
There was a thud and he looked over to see her head dropped back against the wall, her eyes closed, one hand fisting at the front of her dress. The tight hem of it had risen higher, exposing more of her thighs, thighs he wanted to spread open, plant kisses up along the length of them, and settle his mouth between, exploring and tasting her, getting his fill of—Jesus. He swore under his breath and refocused on her feet, willing his dick to soften, willing her to stop doing everything she was doing. Her toenails were painted a tangerine pink and he moved her foot under the water’s flow, watching as the soap dribbled off them. Her feet looked so delicate in his hands, and he’d never had a foot fetish before, but maybe this was how it started. He cleared his throat. “I think we should get you on the bed.”
“What?” She panted out the question, and if he didn’t know any better, he’d say she was aroused. All hazy eyes and flushed cheeks. He stood and bent over her, taking the opportunity to lift her into his arms, though there was no reason she couldn’t stand.
“I can walk,” she mumbled, her hands fisting in his shirt. One of his buttons fell undone and she flushed.
“I don’t want you to slip.” He paused at the bedroom door, studying her closely. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”
“I’m fine.” She wet her lips and was absolutely stunning. “Maybe I should get on the bed.”
“Yeah. That way I could treat the bottom of your feet.”
“Right.” She wet her lips again, her soft pink tongue darting out and he struggled not to lean forward and kiss them.
He should move into the bedroom. He could be done in ten minutes and headed home. There was no reason for him still to be standing in the doorway of her bathroom, holding her in his arms. She looked up at him. She had pretty eyes. He hadn’t realized that earlier. Blue, with little brown flecks in them. And she was wearing eyeshadow, pale gold eyeshadow with some of her mascara dotting it. He reached up and brushed some loose strands of her hair off her forehead. “You are a very beautiful woman,” he said softly.