“You wanted to clean up.”
I watched, gaping as he pulled off his shoes and then shrugged out of his jeans, revealing the lean lines and hardness of his body. There wasn’t an inch of fat to him. He was corded and sinewy with muscle, skin smooth and golden except for the narrowing happy trail that led to that part of him I was already familiar with.
He tested the water, adjusted it with a nod, and then reached for me.
“What are—”
My voice died abruptly as he tugged my dress free and tossed it aside for the second time tonight.
He wrapped an arm around my waist and lifted me easily, depositing me in the shower. Warm water sluiced down me, plastering my hair to my face. Gasping, I quickly pushed the strands out of the way, slicking my hair back. He followed me inside, closing the door. The water hit him and he stretched his neck, angling his head to better wet his hair, turning the dark blond almost black.
His body crowded me in the small confines of the shower. Steam started to fill the air that wasn’t infused by pounding water. I inched around him, moving in a small circle, staring up at him uncertainly.
He stared back down, watching me in that way that made me feel almost hunted.
“You never took a shower with a guy before?”
I shook my head. I was beginning to realize there was a lot that I’d missed out on with Harris.
His eyes narrowed, considering me. “Did you ever come before tonight?”
My throat constricted and I looked away. He grabbed my chin and brought my gaze back to him. “Don’t be ashamed. Tell me the truth.”
I shook my head and then added, “No.”
“No what?” he pressed me, his expression fierce, his blue eyes like a storming sea.
“No. I’ve never . . . come before.”
A slow, satisfied smile curled his lips and I wanted to smack him.
“Until tonight,” he clarified. And the rest was there, unsaid but heard. Until me.
“Don’t look so smug,” I muttered, feeling as though I had just handed him the recipe to my undoing.
The water beat at my back and ran down my legs. Still watching me, he grabbed the bottle of body wash and poured some of the liquid soap into his hands.
I motioned tentatively to the shelf hanging off the showerhead. “I have a sponge—”
“I’ll use my hands.”
He set his soapy hands to my body, washing me and massaging me so thoroughly I couldn’t stop from moaning. It was unbelievable. He started at my shoulders, then down my arms. He missed nothing, not even my fingers. He worked intently over every digit, my wrists, and then back up my arms to my shoulders again.
He stepped closer, his chest brushing the aching tips of my breasts as his hands worked their way down my back to massage the rounds of my ass. I arched my face up into the spray of water, mouth gasping wide with sharp whimpers.
Nothing had ever felt so good. It was like taking the best massage of my life and merging it with the hottest sex (which coincidentally had happened only ten minutes ago).
His foot nudged my feet apart and his fingers slipped down the cleft of my ass, skimming me until he found my entrance. He only teased there, soapy fingers softly circling my oversensitive button and giving it a roll.
“There it is,” he murmured in satisfaction as a hiss escaped me.
Then his hands were gone from between my legs. I mewled in disappointment. He spun me around, lifting both my hands and flattening my palms to the tiled wall.
I heard the squirt of the bottle and knew he was getting more soap. I didn’t look back, just stood there, quivering in anticipation, my hands on the wall. The tips of my breasts were cold against the tile but I didn’t care.
His hands came around and cupped my breasts, warming them. His hands squeezed and fondled the soapy-slick flesh for several moments before palming his way down my stomach. One hand slipped between my thighs from behind while the other hand attacked from the front.
He eased one finger inside me the precise moment the other one found and played with my clit. I dropped my face to the wet shower wall, my cheek plastered to the wet tile as I convulsed. Moans rolled over my lips, endless and without break as I came in a flash.
His lips moved against my drenched hair as his finger stroked inside my convulsing channel, building the ache back to a simmer. “God, baby, you’re so tight and swollen. Are you sore from that last fuck?”
I shouldn’t love dirty talk like this, but my belly dipped and twisted at his words. He brought something out in me I didn’t know existed. A darkness that needed to release itself into the world. If only for tonight. This felt like freedom.
I nodded with a hiss as he pushed his cock against my backside, sliding it against the cleft of my cheeks.
“I’ll just have to get us off this way then.” His erection ground against me while his finger pushed deeper.
My voice rose up, broken and ragged over the beat of the shower. “N-no. I want you again.”
He paused for a moment. “You won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”
I spun around and the sight of his beautiful face, the stark lines and hollows sluiced with water, the dark glitter of his blues eyes brought that darkness in me swimming to the surface. “I don’t want to walk tomorrow. I want you now.”
To prove these words, I grasped hold of his cock and squeezed. He filled my hand, water-slick and hard as a rock.
I pumped my hand over him until he cursed and dropped his head into my neck, the hard bands of his arms gathering me up close. He groaned and thrust himself into my hand several times. I ran my thumb over the engorged tip of him, wondering what it would take for him to bury it inside me.
“Logan.” He lifted his head to look at me and the battle was in evidence all over his face. “Make me come again. Please.” I licked drops of water off my lips and went for the thing I knew would get to him. “Be the first guy to ever fuck me in the shower.”
His eyes went black. I watched my words sink in and ripple across his features. He picked me up in one move, guiding my legs around his hips. He entered me in one thrust, impaling me to the shower wall.
I cried out, the pleasure white-hot and blinding, dancing the fine line of pain.
He groaned and held himself still for a moment, adjusting us both to the feel of him inside me. I was swollen, and if possible he felt bigger inside me than the last time.
“I can’t . . . not move,” he gasped into the wet snarl of my hair.
I watched, gaping as he pulled off his shoes and then shrugged out of his jeans, revealing the lean lines and hardness of his body. There wasn’t an inch of fat to him. He was corded and sinewy with muscle, skin smooth and golden except for the narrowing happy trail that led to that part of him I was already familiar with.
He tested the water, adjusted it with a nod, and then reached for me.
“What are—”
My voice died abruptly as he tugged my dress free and tossed it aside for the second time tonight.
He wrapped an arm around my waist and lifted me easily, depositing me in the shower. Warm water sluiced down me, plastering my hair to my face. Gasping, I quickly pushed the strands out of the way, slicking my hair back. He followed me inside, closing the door. The water hit him and he stretched his neck, angling his head to better wet his hair, turning the dark blond almost black.
His body crowded me in the small confines of the shower. Steam started to fill the air that wasn’t infused by pounding water. I inched around him, moving in a small circle, staring up at him uncertainly.
He stared back down, watching me in that way that made me feel almost hunted.
“You never took a shower with a guy before?”
I shook my head. I was beginning to realize there was a lot that I’d missed out on with Harris.
His eyes narrowed, considering me. “Did you ever come before tonight?”
My throat constricted and I looked away. He grabbed my chin and brought my gaze back to him. “Don’t be ashamed. Tell me the truth.”
I shook my head and then added, “No.”
“No what?” he pressed me, his expression fierce, his blue eyes like a storming sea.
“No. I’ve never . . . come before.”
A slow, satisfied smile curled his lips and I wanted to smack him.
“Until tonight,” he clarified. And the rest was there, unsaid but heard. Until me.
“Don’t look so smug,” I muttered, feeling as though I had just handed him the recipe to my undoing.
The water beat at my back and ran down my legs. Still watching me, he grabbed the bottle of body wash and poured some of the liquid soap into his hands.
I motioned tentatively to the shelf hanging off the showerhead. “I have a sponge—”
“I’ll use my hands.”
He set his soapy hands to my body, washing me and massaging me so thoroughly I couldn’t stop from moaning. It was unbelievable. He started at my shoulders, then down my arms. He missed nothing, not even my fingers. He worked intently over every digit, my wrists, and then back up my arms to my shoulders again.
He stepped closer, his chest brushing the aching tips of my breasts as his hands worked their way down my back to massage the rounds of my ass. I arched my face up into the spray of water, mouth gasping wide with sharp whimpers.
Nothing had ever felt so good. It was like taking the best massage of my life and merging it with the hottest sex (which coincidentally had happened only ten minutes ago).
His foot nudged my feet apart and his fingers slipped down the cleft of my ass, skimming me until he found my entrance. He only teased there, soapy fingers softly circling my oversensitive button and giving it a roll.
“There it is,” he murmured in satisfaction as a hiss escaped me.
Then his hands were gone from between my legs. I mewled in disappointment. He spun me around, lifting both my hands and flattening my palms to the tiled wall.
I heard the squirt of the bottle and knew he was getting more soap. I didn’t look back, just stood there, quivering in anticipation, my hands on the wall. The tips of my breasts were cold against the tile but I didn’t care.
His hands came around and cupped my breasts, warming them. His hands squeezed and fondled the soapy-slick flesh for several moments before palming his way down my stomach. One hand slipped between my thighs from behind while the other hand attacked from the front.
He eased one finger inside me the precise moment the other one found and played with my clit. I dropped my face to the wet shower wall, my cheek plastered to the wet tile as I convulsed. Moans rolled over my lips, endless and without break as I came in a flash.
His lips moved against my drenched hair as his finger stroked inside my convulsing channel, building the ache back to a simmer. “God, baby, you’re so tight and swollen. Are you sore from that last fuck?”
I shouldn’t love dirty talk like this, but my belly dipped and twisted at his words. He brought something out in me I didn’t know existed. A darkness that needed to release itself into the world. If only for tonight. This felt like freedom.
I nodded with a hiss as he pushed his cock against my backside, sliding it against the cleft of my cheeks.
“I’ll just have to get us off this way then.” His erection ground against me while his finger pushed deeper.
My voice rose up, broken and ragged over the beat of the shower. “N-no. I want you again.”
He paused for a moment. “You won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”
I spun around and the sight of his beautiful face, the stark lines and hollows sluiced with water, the dark glitter of his blues eyes brought that darkness in me swimming to the surface. “I don’t want to walk tomorrow. I want you now.”
To prove these words, I grasped hold of his cock and squeezed. He filled my hand, water-slick and hard as a rock.
I pumped my hand over him until he cursed and dropped his head into my neck, the hard bands of his arms gathering me up close. He groaned and thrust himself into my hand several times. I ran my thumb over the engorged tip of him, wondering what it would take for him to bury it inside me.
“Logan.” He lifted his head to look at me and the battle was in evidence all over his face. “Make me come again. Please.” I licked drops of water off my lips and went for the thing I knew would get to him. “Be the first guy to ever fuck me in the shower.”
His eyes went black. I watched my words sink in and ripple across his features. He picked me up in one move, guiding my legs around his hips. He entered me in one thrust, impaling me to the shower wall.
I cried out, the pleasure white-hot and blinding, dancing the fine line of pain.
He groaned and held himself still for a moment, adjusting us both to the feel of him inside me. I was swollen, and if possible he felt bigger inside me than the last time.
“I can’t . . . not move,” he gasped into the wet snarl of my hair.
