Blind Spot - Katana Collins Page 0,71

of footsteps, and when I looked over my shoulder, Tate was staring at me, leaning against the sink.

“I think you should stay—and help.”

His eyes flickered, the orange glow of the candlelight contrasting with the cool blue in his eyes. “I’ll meet you half way,” he whispered. “I’ll stay and watch—if you’re comfortable with that.”

Holy hell. Was I comfortable with that? I wasn’t sure I was comfortable with any of it, to be honest. My insides felt two sizes too large for my skin, and the room temperature must have spiked twenty degrees. But despite my nerves, I found myself nodding.

I dipped a toe into the bath water, and after a moment, lowered in the tub. Tate sat on the toilet, watching intently. Bubbles encompassed me, popping along my heated skin like a thousand tiny kisses over my body. The temperature of the water combined with Tate’s searing gaze had me melting like a piece of candy left in the midday sun.

Was I really doing this? In front of him?

Hell, I was the one who’d asked him to stay.

It was new. And I wanted it. I wanted him here, experiencing this with me. My hand fluttered down between my breasts, slick with water and soap. As my fingers skimmed across my nipples, the ache between my thighs tightened. My fingernails dragged slowly down my stomach, and I caught my lip between my teeth, snapping my eyes open. He was staring as though there was nowhere else he wanted to be. As the edges of my fingers brushed between my legs, adrenaline spiked, my muscles instinctually bucking against my touch.

“Tate,” I panted, and his lips tipped into a barely there smile.

“Yeah, babe?”

“I–I can’t…”

His eyes softened, but he cut me off. “Does it feel good?”

I nodded, my breath shattering through my clenched teeth.

His smile widened. “Then, yes, you can.” The low, throaty growl of his voice was darker than usual. “Turn your new toy on.” Was it a command? A request?

Did I care?

My heart was running a marathon in my chest, slamming into my ribs with each frenetic beat. What was I doing? Beneath the surface of the water, I flipped the vibrator on, and it hummed against my body as I slowly moved it down. Gently at first, I pressed it against my clit, and I jumped at the fiery contact. Holy shit—no finger in history could achieve that sensation. With another deep breath, I brushed it against myself once more. This time my grunt came from the back of my throat.

Tate’s cheeks reddened as he breathed heavily. I had no idea what the fuck I was doing. Not that that mattered, because everything was working just fine. The vibrator turned the small flame within me into a raging inferno, and Tate watching me simply added the accelerant.

With the vibrator barely touching me, I stroked myself, and the ache, the tingle, flared down to my toes, which curled against the porcelain tub. A moan escaped as I pushed the vibrator deeper. Wow. Okay, yep—that felt good. Water splashed around me as I rocked my hips in circles, the water growing clearer as the bubbles melted away. The tension mounted inside of me, spreading to my chest, and a swell of panic caught in my throat. What was I doing? This wasn’t me. I didn’t masturbate with a hot guy watching me from the toilet. I wasn’t satin and silk. I was cotton. Boring, plain cotton. My moan turned into a gasp as pressure clamped onto my throat. Oh God. No. I squeezed my eyes shut, pushing my toes into the bathtub. Not here. Not with Tate—I could not have another panic attack in front of him. I opened my eyes, searching for him, and this time concern marred his brows. His gaze washed over me like a calming wave, and I breathed in his demeanor. “I need you,” I whispered. Damn, that was hard as hell to admit, and yet, it slipped out easier than I expected. I blamed the alcohol. With my admission, his lips parted. He was on his feet in seconds, crouching beside the tub, his hand brushing gently across my cheek.

“I’m here,” he rasped. His touch was a comfort I hadn’t experienced from a man before. I grasped the edge of the tub with my free hand, knuckles almost as white as the bubbles dissolving around me. The panic melted, disappearing into a sea of abandon and passion.

“Touch me,” I whimpered, pushing the vibrator firmer against myself. It