Lizzie Blake's Best Mistake (A Brush with Love, #2)(60)

It did odd things to Rake’s composure.

“Shower,” Rake said gruffly, disentangling himself from her warmth and her smell and her damn hair and making a beeline for the bathroom.

Slamming the door, he pressed his back to it, squeezing his eyes closed and trying to think of anything, anything, that would remove the imprint of her touch from his skin. He brought his coffee mug to his lips and took a scalding sip. Burning off the roof of his mouth seemed to help take his mind off Lizzie’s body, so he gulped down a bit more.

After feeling as though he’d properly collected himself, he opened his eyes and flicked on the lights.

And what he saw almost caused him to faint.

Panties.

Panties everywhere.

And bras for Christ’s sake.

He was surrounded by a sea of red and pink and blue and black lace. Straps and strings. Bows and the random rhinestone. A bra here, a thong there.

It wasn’t often that Lizzie did laundry, but when she did, the results were almost more of a mess than what needed to be cleaned. And apparently her delicates were no exception.

She had bras draped over the shower rod. Frilly underwear hanging on the edges of the mirror and on the towel hooks. Two pairs were draped over the back of the toilet, another hung from the vanity knob. It was like walking through a maze in her underwear drawer.

It was hell. Absolute torture.

Rake did what he could to ignore them. He descended deep, deep down into one corner of his brain that was still able to find cool indifference to the world around him. But that tiny corner wasn’t a great match for the burning flame of his heated blood, the pounding of his pulse in every inch of his body as he maneuvered around Lizzie’s most intimately acquainted articles of clothing.

With shaky hands, he pulled the bras from the shower rod, trying his best to gently stack them together before placing them on the washing machine in the closet. He pinched only a millimeter of lace as he lifted a pair of underwear and retrieved his towel from the hook below, replacing them as though they’d burned him. He gingerly transferred the panties sitting on the toilet to wait with the bras so he could put down his towel.

After being certain he’d cleared a decent path, he turned on the shower, pushed the curtain aside, and stepped under the spray. He closed his eyes and tried to let the water relieve the tension in his shoulders, the pounding of his pulse.

He couldn’t keep doing this, keep thinking like this. Neither of them wanted a relationship, and marriage had been swiftly rejected, but they both needed to be in their child’s life. And Rake recklessly hoped that they would do such in camaraderie. As a team.

But a team wasn’t performing at its best if one of the players desperately wanted to fuck the other.

Rake scrubbed the water from his face and opened his eyes, looking for his shampoo. But a tiny scrap of red lace on the edge of the tub caught his attention instead, just an inch peeking out below the wrinkled edge of the curtain liner. Slowly, so slowly one would think he was about to reveal a severed head, he pulled the curtain back.

And looked at those torturous fucking panties. Stared at them for one …

two …

three …

Fuck it.

Rake snatched up the fabric like it was food and he was a starving man, then fisted his cock, no resistance left.

He could picture Lizzie, wet and soft in the shower with him, her curves slick and yielding as his hands traveled all over her. She’d throw her head back as he dragged his teeth along the column of her throat. He could hear the sweet moan she’d let out as his lips traveled down to her breasts, taking the nipple of one between his teeth, pinching the other with his fingers. He could taste every freckle he’d lick along her body.

He continued to stroke his cock, pressing his other hand that still gripped the panties to the cool tiled wall. He was so far gone, he could practically feel her hips rubbing against him, her body bent over and shaking for relief. He’d drag his hand over that perfect ass, spanking and squeezing the tender flesh until she writhed against him, begging for him to push inside her. His hand would trace around to her front, gliding over her soft lips, finding the spot that would make her moan and pant and scream for him. And then, only when he was sure she was close, so close, would he surge into her.

A strangled growl broke from his throat as he imagined pounding into her warm, wet heat. The way she’d call his name right before she came. Rake. Come. Now. Come with me. Rake.

And he’d—

“Rake?”

The reality of Lizzie’s voice—her close voice—scared the soul from Rake’s body. He jerked up so fast, he went light-headed, seeing stars.

“Sorry to barge in, but I need to grab my makeup. I’m going to be late for work.”

Rake was disoriented, no blood reaching his head, as she moved farther into the bathroom. He couldn’t keep his balance with his head spinning, the shower tiles twisting and turning as he tried to get a grip.

His feet slid across the tub floor, his hands clawing at the walls and the curtain, neither of which offered any support.

“Are you—”

Before Lizzie could get the question out, Rake’s legs slid out from under him, and he fell with a loud smack onto the bathtub floor, ripping the shower curtain down with him.

The only noise he heard for the first second was the ringing in his ears, the distant sound of the water falling around him.