The Mrs. Degree (Accidentally in Love 2)

It’s the longest car ride of my life.

Tension fills the air when we arrive at the room. The sizzling, sexual kind. My satin dress caresses my legs with every step into the room I take, knowing it’s going to come off and I’m going to slip inside the bathwater.

Invite Jack in with me.

Well, maybe not at first.

He makes himself busy while I run the water, setting a few towels on the edge, grabbing the soaps and shampoo and conditioner even though I pin my hair atop my head.

Leave the earrings in.

Finally, I step into the tub, getting comfortable, mostly submerged so my boobs aren’t floating against the surface before inviting him into the bathroom so we can chat.

Jack sits on the edge, eyes scanning the surface of the bubbles the same way he’d done when we’d video chatted.

“I do love this habit of yours.” His fingers flick at the bubbles. “I’ll have to build you a bathroom with a giant tub.”

“Does your place not have a tub?”

“No. Only a shower—a giant, marble shower with six showerheads.”

“That sounds amazing, too. What’s your house like?”

“I’m actually in a condo right now. I took the contract with Colorado, but we’re never sure if we’re staying to play, so I never went house shopping. Seven years and two championship rings later, it’s a safe bet I’ll be there a while.”

“I like my house enough, but it’s never felt like my house. I feel no sense in ownership because Davis owns it. Yes, he bought it so Skipper and I would be close, but it’s not mine. It’s this giant beautiful reminder of how indebted to him I am.”

“You’re not indebted to him. He did it because you’re his sister, he can afford it, and he loves you.”

I play with the bubbles, shifting them around, aware that Jack may catch a glimpse of my nipple.

His nostrils flare.

“Do you want to climb in?”

He inches forward. “I’m wearing clothes.”

I roll my eyes. “I meant, do you want to get naked and climb in? I won’t look.”

He snorts. “I haven’t got anything you’ve never seen before.”

True, but the years have been better to his body than they’ve been to mine. I’m not the one who spends countless hours in the gym and on the field, honing and toning.

It stands to reason that I’m grateful for these bubbles floating around me, concealing my belly and whatever else I don’t need floating about.

“Are you sure you want company?”

His hands are at his top button, hesitating, stuck between wanting to dive in yet maintaining some semblance of propriety.

“Like you said, you don’t have anything I haven’t seen before.”

“A soak would feel good.”

“Then you can get a good night’s rest for your game tomorrow.” Jack moans as if he hadn’t wanted the reminder. “What, you don’t want to play?”

“Not really, if I’m being honest. Or maybe I’m getting lazy now that I’ve taken some time for myself with you and Skipper. It’s been ages since I’ve used my downtime for family stuff, you know. Usually, if I have free time, I use it to train. Which is work.”

He laughs, standing, shedding his shoes and socks, then undoing his belt buckle.

I watch, transfixed, as his tan hands pull the hem of his dress shirt out of his pressed pants. Inch by inch, he removes it as if purposely going in slow motion to torture me—or put on a show.

A striptease.

Magic Mike has nothing on Jack. And yes, he has a farmer’s tan when he finally removes his shirt, but the muscles and chest more than make up for it.

No complaints here.

I’m tempted to dunk my head under the water when his fingers go to the button of his pants, my warm face growing hotter by the second. I’m clammy and dewy and wet all over—and not from the water I’ve been soaking in the past few minutes.

Ugh.

No chickening out now.

When his fingers go to the zipper and pull it down, I almost squeeze my eyes shut, not wanting to stare at his dick when he pulls his pants down, or stare at it when he’s completely naked and stepping over the side of the tub to settle in at the opposite side.

The water level rises by a good five inches as Jack sinks into the bubbles down to his chest, massive shoulders smooth and defined.

He has a body built like a god, but it’s bruised and scarred, too.

A giant yellow and purple bruise on his collarbone draws my attention, and I ask about it.

“This? Who knows. It probably happened in the last game. Could have happened in practice.” He rests his head on the back of the tub on the stack of towels there. “I was right. This does feel good. I usually hate the hot tub at the stadium, but this isn’t anything like it. Plus, I’m usually in it with another hairy bastard.”