Except the moment I walk in, she’s dropping her towel directly in my line of sight, and I can’t help but gawk.
This woman… I almost whimper as I watch the water run over her skin. When she moves, I can see the crease in the skin on her back, and it makes me swallow. I love that fucking crease. I love staring at it while I’m licking from behind. It’s such a beautiful, natural thing on anyone, yet I know so many who hate it on their bodies, and it’s my favorite thing ever.
I’m drowning at the sight of the curve of her back and shoulder blades, the swoop of her ass…Shit.
Move your fucking feet.
The shower room is small—only three open stalls. Still, I choose the furthest one from her because otherwise I’ll be locking the door and pushing her against the wall.
I’m fully aware of her motions as I place my towel on the barrier and turn the water to a scorching degree.
“Do your tattoos have personal meanings or are they just… for decoration?” Gemma asks, gaze licking over me.
My brow lifts when I glance her way. “Checking me out? Isn’t that against yourclient code?” I tease about our text messages from yesterday.
She scoffs, head tilting back so that water runs in her mouth and down her neck. “I only asked about your tattoos,” she says. “If I was checking you out, I wouldn’t waste my time putting this stall between us.”
There’s a smug glint in her hazel eyes that makes my muscles tense. It feels like a challenge, and I don’t think she realizes just yet how much challenges are my weakness.
Watching her, I turn my water off and step into the stall beside her, then turn on the tap again. Her lips coil upward as if I played perfectly into her desires, and it almost makes me laugh.
“How about now?” I ask.
I’ve really missed flirting.
Gemma chuckles. “I believe, now, you’re the one checking me out,” she says.
My eyes follow the stream of water moving down her neck to between her full breasts, and my chest falls when she pivots enough that her front is in full view. The tattoo curling around the underside of her tit catches my eye, and I force my gaze away from her nakedness.
“I have a few tattoos with meaning,” I finally answer her question. “One for the band. The drumsticks. One for my mom. Some Zeb drew. Still, most of them are just from us celebrating a milestone or just because.”
“What about the spider web on your throat?” she asks.
“Ah…” I laugh. “That was aI need a tattoo on my neck that’s creepy and hot all at oncesplit-second decision,” I answer.
“It was a good decision,” she says.
“What about your tattoos?” I ask, my gaze locking on the ivy vine tattoo along the side of her neck and face.
“We’re not talking about me,” she says.
“I would very much like to talk about you,” I counter.
“Why?”
I shrug. “I think I’d enjoy getting to know the woman making my brain all fuzzy.”
Another laugh leaves her. “Fuzzy?”
“Yeah, like… you know when you were younger, and you’d leave the television on when you went to sleep, then when you woke up, the VHS you were playing had finished so the TV was making thatschhhhhhnoise?”
“Specific, but yes,” she replies.
“That’s what my mind does when you flirt with me. That’s why I keep stammering,” I say, and I don’t really know why I’m admitting this. Maybe I’m making excuses. Maybe I’m desperate. Maybe it’s the stall barrier making me brave because if she comes into this area with me—
Fuck me, she’s coming closer.
Gemma steps up to the barrier and lays her forearms on it, her cheek resting atop her hands. Her eyes somehow darken, pupils blowing as she looks at me with those bedroom eyes.
