Surrender (Seaside Pictures #4) - Rachel Van Dyken Page 0,30

awakened a bit in that moment. I’d always been that guy — the one who made people cross the line, the one who justified it and gave them reasons it was okay to sin because I was there sinning right next to them.

But this time? It was more savior than sinner; at least that was what I told myself as she stared me down.

I loved the way her green eyes widened and then almost threatened to swallow the room whole with their intensity. She reached for my hand and then brought it to her lips, not what I’d expected. They were petal-soft, my mouth would know, as she kissed each fingertip, taking time to savor me in a way I’d never experienced.

I tried not to shake, but my body had other ideas.

What was happening?

What was this surreal feeling as she slowly seduced me with her tiny innocent mouth?

Throat dry, I swallowed as she took that same hand and pressed my palm against her chest, her eyes asking what her mouth couldn’t.

I slowly lowered my hand, my fingertips grazing her breast.

She let out a tiny gasp at the contact; it was so light, so brief, but it didn’t matter. I felt that touch everywhere as I slowly rubbed my fingertips across her smooth skin. I rolled a nipple between my fingertips; her sharp inhale giving me all the encouragement I needed as I moved my hand and cupped her face, pulling her in for a kiss.

Her mouth opened for me as she twined her arms around my neck and pulled me flush against her.

“Hot,” I teased between kisses. “So hot.”

“Scalding,” she agreed.

“Dying,” I rasped as I dug my hands into her hair. My cock strained against her stomach, greedily searching for any sort of relief.

She moaned and started rocking against me. The water swirled around us, building just like the intensity between us continued to spiral out of control.

“Mom?” A knock sounded on the bathroom door. “Mom, can I come in?”

She jerked away so fast from me that water kicked up over the edge of the bath. Bronte touched her lips and paled like she was horrified that we’d just kissed in her bathtub.

I’d felt a lot of things in my life.

Shame was one I knew quite well.

And her expression mirrored it perfectly.

It wasn’t just that she was kissing me.

She was embarrassed she’d given in.

And maybe even a little bit ashamed that the person she’d given in to — was me.

I steeled my expression then looked away. I couldn’t even find a smile to flash at her in the moment. Because I wanted this — I wanted her — and I hated that she viewed me as a mistake when I saw her as a reward.

“Just a minute, honey.” Bronte quickly got out of the tub, wrapped a towel around herself, and left the bathroom.

Left me.

Alone, in an empty tub.

Couldn’t say it had ever happened to me before, a woman just walking away after I teased her breasts, kissed her mouth.

I waited in the tub, drumming my fingertips against the tile until finally, it was bordering on embarrassing with how cold the water was getting.

I grabbed a towel, dried off, put my clothes back on, and managed to empty the tub all within a few minutes.

When I cracked the door open, it was to see Amelia lying in bed with her mom, both of them sleeping.

And the lonely rockstar in the tepid bathwater? Completely forgotten.

Anger warred with rejection, and then a blanket of sadness decided to wrap itself around my throat as I tiptoed past the bed where they lay intertwined.

Where they physically showed me, there was no place for someone like myself, no room.

I tried to conjure up my walls, the familiar anger, but all I felt was left behind, abandoned, and I hated that feeling because it was the one I’d been running from my entire existence.

Bronte’s heart had been carved out by her three children, leaving no room to stretch for a guy she didn’t know, didn’t trust.

Feeling like an idiot, I reached for the sliding glass door and opened it.

“Sorry,” Bronte whispered. “She wasn’t feeling good, and I didn’t want it to look suspicious,” She was suddenly behind me, wrapping an arm around my stomach.

I glanced over my shoulder. Amelia was completely out and turned the other direction, the comforter over her head.

“It’s fine,” I said, holding a polite tone.

“You’re upset.” Bronte slowly turned me to face her. “I panicked, all right? She’s not ready to see