A purring sound rises from her throat and reaches down inside me. There’s a new openness between us now.
“Is that pussy aching for me, Blue?”
“Always.”
I smile at that. Demure and understated on the outside, but hot and lusty beneath the surface. Not needing a second invitation, I slide my hand between her legs. Lexie’s breath picks up, her lips parting ever so slightly. Her eyes flutter closed as she squeezes her creamy thighs around my hand. I separate her plump lips and ease my fingers inside her.
“Oh yes,” Her hips jerk upward, sloshing water over the rim. It releases her thigh-grip, and her legs part wide, giving me greater ease to fuck my fingers in and out of her.
I watch her getting off, moans catching in her throat. I find that little button of hard flesh and, before long, her satisfied cries echo off the bathroom walls. My self-control is almost in tatters as she comes, her nails biting into my wrist, breathing my name, and riding my fingers.
Damn. The only thing better than feeling an orgasm move through her, is watching her when it does. The way her body arcs and tenses, her beautiful face ravaged in the moment before it claims her, leaving her like putty in my arms.
I help her from the tub, dry her off, and lead her to the bed.
“Let me grab a shower, and I’ll give you a massage.”
“You’re spoiling me,” she mumbles into the pillow.”
“That’s the plan,” I say, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.
The bed sheets are soft beneath me. I’m stretched out on my stomach, a towel draped over my hips as a matter of modesty. My cheek rests on the pillow with my arms tucked beneath. Zonked from the bath and my orgasm, I’m on the edge of drifting off when I hear Chaz enter the room.
“Still awake, baby?”
“Barely,” I murmur. “My body feels like a noodle.”
“Just wait until I get done with you.”
“You’ve already wrecked me.”
Chuckling, he dims the lights a little more. “I’ll be gentle.”
The way he says it, in a deep, sensual voice, only adds to the carnality of his promise. A shiver of arousal slides through me as if I hadn’t just climaxed ten minutes ago.
Through drowsy, squinted eyes, I watch him set my lotion on the side table. A towel is tucked around his waist, his inked upper body bare with beads of moisture clinging to his chest.
I never tire of looking at him. His body is just like he is—strong and solid, cushioned with softness. A big body that houses a huge heart.
Am I in love with him? I’ve never been in love before. Is it all this nervous, excited energy bundled in comfort and safety? Is it this constant and relentless tug of emotion where he’s always there in every corner of my mind? Is it having a picture in your head, even if the details are fuzzy, of a future that wouldn’t be complete without him in it?
The sound of the drawer opening pulls me from my musings. He gets out a black bullet-shaped gadget that’s about six inches long.
I swallow a gulp. “Is that . . . a vibrator?”
“Hm-hm. Have you used one before?”
“Not like that. I researched several types. It was all too much, really, but the one I tried didn’t do it for me. I didn’t like the vibration.”
“We don’t have to, Lex.”
“But you like it?”
“I like the way the stimulation feels on me.”
“Wait.” My jaw drops. “You use it on yourself?”
“Men use vibrators too.”
