He reaches between us, unbuttoning my jeans and shimmying them down my legs as his lips find my neck. He moves down my body, nipping at my breasts and stomach as he lowers to his knees.
His fingers hook into my lace underwear, and I frown as his eyes widen.
“Nina, you’re fucking bleeding!”
He kneels, staring at my centre, and I step back, looking down at myself. I have a small patch of blood on my underwear.
“Oh my god! Get out!” I panic, using my hands to cover myself.
“I’ll call an ambulance.” He stands and runs out of the bathroom.
“What? No, wait, Mase! It’s just my period.”
“What?” He comes back into the room with his face screwed up.
“I’m fine. It’s just my?—”
“I heard you the first time.” He grasps the back of his neck, squeezing his eyes closed. I stand watching him, not wanting to laugh but unable to control it.
“It’s not fucking funny, woman.”
“Imagine if you called an ambulance.” I snort. “‘Excuse me can I get an ambulance my girlfriend got her period’.”
His hands find his hips, his lip tipping up on one side, and it only makes me laugh harder.
Reaching up, he grasps his T-shirt behind the neck and pulls it over his head, rendering me stupid as his solid muscles ripple with the move.
Mother Nature, you are a bitch.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Shower. Now,” he tells me, nodding towards the running water.
“Uh, I don’t think so. Get out.”
He ignores me, stepping into me and lifting me in his arms. He walks us into the shower with me still in my underwear, and him in his jeans.
I’m lowered to the ground, but he keeps me close, my breasts pressed against his solid chest.
“The T-shirt couldn’t get wet but fuck the jeans, right?” I smile, teasing him.
“House rules. No smiling on your period.” I throw my head back and laugh, then he adds, “You know what it gets you.”
“Okay, Bossman. No smiling.” I school my features, leaning in to kiss my beautiful man.
His hands drift over my hips, pulling my thong down my legs. I step out of it, and he bends to pick it up, discarding it to the back of the shower. Picking up the soap, he starts to lather his hands as he rounds me.
Starting at my back, he rubs his hands expertly into my muscles, using the soap suds to glide his hands over my pebbled skin. I moan as he reaches my mid-back, the muscles feeling tender there. He moves lower, spending time to massage each leg, not missing an inch of me.
His front moulds to my back, and I sigh. The feel of his erection against my back makes my body hum with want and need.
“This isn’t fair,” I moan.
His lips fall to my neck as his large hands capture my breasts, brushing over each nipple and pulling them between his skilled fingers. He spends the most time on my breasts, growling each time I involuntarily arch back into him.
“I love you,” he tells me, tenderly kissing my temple.
TWENTY-ONE
