“Stubborn ass,” I mutter, but I’m smiling.
I find him in my tiny bathroom, struggling to wash his hair while keeping weight off his injured ankle. Steam fogs the mirror, and through the clear shower curtain, I can see the lean lines of his body, the way water runs down his chest and over the flat plane of his stomach.
“Need help?” I ask.
Reed startles, nearly losing his balance. “I thought you were outside.”
“I was. Animals are fed and watered.” I pull off my clothes. “Scoot over.”
“Eliza, you don’t have to?—”
“Reed, shut up and let me help you.”
He steps aside to make room as I climb into the small shower stall. The space is cramped with both of us in here, but I don’t mind being pressed against his warm, wet body.
“Turn around,” I tell him, reaching for the honey and goat milk soap I made with Eden. “Let me wash your back.”
He obeys, and I work the soap into a rich lather, massaging his shoulders while he leans against me. His skin is smoother than I expected, and I take my time, enjoying the intimacy of the simple act.
“This is nice,” he mumbles.
“Mmm.” I rinse the soap from him, then work on his lower back, kneading the tension and hopefully easing the soreness he mentioned.
When my soapy hands reach around to slide down his chest, Reed’s breathing changes. When they drift lower, to his stomach and then below, he groans and braces against the shower wall.
“Eliza…”
“What?” I wrap my hand around his rapidly hardening cock, stroking slowly. “Problem?”
“The opposite of a problem.” He groans as I tighten my grip, and I love how it feels to give him pleasure. This is all so new to me, enjoying myself with a man. I really like it. And that terrifies me, but it’s hard to dwell on that as I have him here with me, moaning in response to my movements.
I work him with the same attention to detail I gave his muscles, learning what pressure and rhythm make his breath catch, what movements have him pushing into my grip. The soap provides a better glide than the udder ointment, and soon he’s panting my name and thrusting helplessly into my fist as I press my boobs into his back.
I want to see his face when he comes, so I slide around him and gasp at what I see. Reed is a man undone, neck muscles taut, eyes squeezed shut, mouth hanging open. I love knowing I brought him here, disheveled him, found what he likes.
When he comes, it’s with a broken cry that echoes off the bathroom tiles, his release mixing with the warm water on my wrist and washing down the drain.
“Jesus,” he gasps, folding me in his arms. “That was…”
“Thorough hygiene?”
“Fucking amazing hygiene.”
He kisses me hard and grateful, and I can taste the promise of more mornings like this in the press of his lips.
We finish showering without further incident, though Reed insists on returning the favor by washing my hair with the same careful attention I gave his, including a thorough rub down my center and a soaped-up clit that makes me scream. By the time we exhaust the hot water, he’s moving much better on his ankle, and my legs are jelly.
“Roads should be clear enough,” he says, getting dressed in his clothes from yesterday. “I should head to work, let you get back to your routine.”
“Okay.” I try to keep the disappointment out of my voice. I know he has to leave, know we both have responsibilities, but part of me wants to keep him in this snow-globe version of my life where nothing exists except us and the animals.
“I want to see you again,” he adds quickly. “Soon. Maybe tonight? We could grab dinner, talk about the Yule Gala.”
“I’d like that.”
He kisses me goodbye at the front door, a soft, lingering press that makes me want to drag him upstairs. Instead, I watch from the window as he carefully navigates his way to his car, brushing snow off the windshield before climbing inside.
I’m still watching his taillights disappear down the road when my phone buzzes with a text message. Thinking it’s Reed, using voice text to send something cute, I pull my phone out immediately. But it’s not him.
