Nurturing Britney (Surrender Book 7) by Becca Jameson (inspirational novels .TXT) 📕

as he passes me, heading for the kitchen. He returns moments later, leans over the back of the couch, and kisses the top of my head. Then he disappears back into his office with a bottle of water.

Eventually, he comes out for good. He orders pizza and then we watch a movie. As soon as it starts, he reaches for me, and I scramble over to sit next to him, leaning into his side.

It’s a romantic comedy, and I smile often while it plays, but mostly I’m focused on his hand roaming absently up and down my body from my thigh to my hip and back. Each time he touches my bare skin, my dress creeps up a bit more. Eventually, I’m practically holding my breath because his fingers are teasing the backs of my legs, inches from my panties.

It’s hard to keep from squirming. I keep my hands between my breasts, fisted to contain my reaction. I don’t want him to stop, so I don’t move. I’ve never been this aroused with a man before. My panties are soaked. My breasts feel heavy. My nipples are pressing against my dress. Without a bra, I keep thinking he will notice them when I move. They must be obvious points by now.

The tension builds until I might explode. I think about that vibrator. Not only didn’t he give it to me, but the bag disappeared. I have no idea where he put it. I could get myself off with my fingers when I go to bed later, but he’s told me not to. I still can’t imagine how he would know, but the man seems to have a sixth sense, so I’m not going to take that chance. With my luck, the infraction would end up as a tally mark on the mysterious naughty list.

When the movie ends, I hold my breath, wishing I didn’t have to move, wanting two more hours of him stroking me even though I’m about to explode with need.

He lifts his hand and pats my bottom. “You should go take your bath and get ready for bed, sweetie. You’ve got to be exhausted. It’s been a long day.”

I turn my head to look at him. I want him to kiss me. I want him to keep touching me. Instead, he lifts me up and sets me on my feet. We’re eye to eye when I’m standing and he’s sitting.

His hands are on my shoulders. “Have you found everything you need in your bathroom, sweetie?”

My belly flips when he calls me that. He does it often. It’s endearing. It’s also causing me to pretend I mean more to him than I possibly could. I lick my lips. “I’m going to need a razor at some point.”

He frowns. “Didn’t I leave you some hair remover?”

I swallow. “Yeah, but I’ve never used something like that before. I’m not sure what to do with it. It made me nervous.” I bite my lip, my face heating as he stares at me. What an intimate discussion I hadn’t expected.

“I’d rather you try it out. It’s safer than razors. You can’t accidentally cut yourself with a foam hair remover. Do you need me to help you with it?”

I flush deeper. Jesus. I shake my head. “No. I’ll read the can and try it out.” I look down, embarrassed.

He lifts my chin, as he often does, and then he kisses me briefly on the lips. “Try it. If you need help, call for me. Otherwise, I’ll come check on you and tuck you into bed in thirty minutes.”

I nod. My heart is racing again though and when I shudder, I remember how sensitive my nipples are and glance down. Shit. He’s surely seen them.

He releases my shoulders, turns me around, and pats my butt again. “I put a nightgown on your vanity.”

I draw in a breath and flee the room, not wanting to look back and risk him seeing how flushed I am or how stiff my nipples are. I’m not sure I breathe again until I’m closed in my bathroom, door locked, my butt leaning against it. I’m gasping for oxygen.

It takes me a few minutes to catch my breath before I realize I’m on a time schedule. I need to somehow figure out the hair remover, take my bath, brush my teeth, clean up my bathroom, dress in whatever he’s left me, and be under my covers in thirty minutes. Anything less will risk embarrassment.

I shove off the door and grab the pink aerosol can. I quickly read the directions and decide I can handle this. It says it’s for sensitive skin. It can’t be that bad.

I strip quickly, drop my dress and panties in the hamper, find a hairband in one of the drawers, and gather my long locks on top of my head. I’m nervous as I climb into the tub. After sitting on my butt, I spray a generous amount of the foam into my palm and then spread it on my legs starting at the ankles. When I’m fully covered, I glance at my pubes. I’ve been carefully shaving there every night for a year. It wasn’t something I was accustomed to before I started dancing, but Licorice told me how to do it efficiently. There’s nothing worse than a stray pubic hair sticking out of my thong.

I decide to go for it. Maybe this will be easier, and like Davis said, less risk of nicking my skin. Odd thing for him to consider, but my entire day has been filled with odd things. Why should my new hair removal product be any different?

I spread it around my labia, above my clit, and then down to my bottom. Then I lean forward to turn on the water super low to rinse my hands off. Now, I wait.

I don’t have a clock and my phone is still in the kitchen. I should have brought it with me. Instead, I have to guess. If I go too long, I