It was the bathroom haven of her dreams. Boasting an oversized soaker tub in the corner, as well as a walk-in shower big enough to hold a rugby team, the entire room was covered in calming neutral tiles. Soft white towels beckoned from a cabinet in the corner. The vanity consisted of one of those cool sinks that sat on the counter, rather than under it. Burnished fixtures shone from the sink and shower. A Roman blind hung over the picture window. The sunset through the window bathed everything in a rosy glow.
All Michael’s talents, all his love and energy went into this room, infusing it with a wonderful energy. She didn’t ever want to leave, especially not when he was standing before her, removing his work clothes with a methodical air.
“You’ve gotten quiet.”
“I’m awestruck at what you’ve done with this place. You have such talent.”
“Thanks.” He removed his outer shirt and peeled his t-shirt off as well. A thin line of grit ran around his neck, where it had collected in his collar, but it didn’t mar the picture in any way. If anything, he looked virile and manly and so sexy he stole her breath. “I want you to feel at home here, Em. It’s important you feel at home with me.”
A pang sliced through Emily’s chest, somewhere near where her heart lay. Had Lacey made herself at home here?
Why was she thinking such things with a glorious half-naked man in front of her? She’d never been the sort to get paralyzed by doubt, but ever since Trent made a mockery of their union, she wondered constantly.
He slid her shirt off her shoulders and eased it down her arms. “I want to take care of you. Let me.”
Emily nodded, too twisted with strange emotion to reply. She couldn’t remember the last time a partner had expressed a desire to take care of her in any way. She’d been doing everything for herself for such a long time and it was hard to relinquish control. In taking charge of their lovemaking, Michael wasn’t trying to overpower her. She knew it. If anything, she could tell how much he wanted to please her.
He moved over to the large shower stall and reached in to turn on the water, taking a moment to find the right temperature. As he did, her mind spiraled through a hundred memories. Michael’s comments about the fixer-upper had hit home. In sleeping with Veronica, Trent had made her feel second-rate, like Cinderella sitting at home in the attic, listening to the belles heading out for the ball. Emily had never been one to take stock in fairy tales. She’d never been the sort of woman to wait and pine for her prince to come. Trent had taught her princes were flawed. He’d taught her to be suspicious.
As Michael stood before her, he presented a very different sort of prince, one whose armor didn’t appear tarnished in any way.
Perhaps she just hadn’t discovered the imperfections yet.
She was sure he was suffering from PTSD. The thought had bothered her all day long. Once or twice, during quiet moments on set, she had tried to talk to him about the issue but he had deflected each question. He’d built up such huge walls as far as the shooting and she couldn’t fault him for it. But surely those walls had to come down in order for him to breathe and sleep easily. Like the interior wall at Nonna’s house, it had to come down to let the light in. Emily wasn’t convinced she could help him demolish his barricade.
Upon regulating the temperature, he turned and smiled. He walked back to her, unzipping his jeans. Her gaze followed the slow descent of the zipper, mesmerized. Confronted by his rock hard chest, her breath seemed to halt. He slipped his fingers under the open flaps of her shirt and removed it for her. He seemed intent on doing the work so she let him continue. He teased her bra away from her skin, one strap at a time. Kneeling before her, he removed her socks, jeans and panties. When he kissed her belly, she sucked it in.
“Don’t. Just don’t.”
Emily released the breath she was holding. As her stomach assumed its normal, fuller contours, Michael kneaded her skin and lapped at her belly button. Overcome, she tangled her fingers in his messy curls and scratched at his back as he worshipped her body.
When he stood, he touched her chin. “I know how Trent made you feel. You never need to feel that way again.”
As she searched for words, he stripped out of his socks, jeans, and boxer briefs. He took her hand and led her into the shower, closing the glass door behind them. Michael urged her under the rain shower head and Emily closed her eyes as hot water coursed over her body. He took her mouth, winding his arms around her, pressing her against his erection. They nipped and nibbled at each other’s lips. Water entered their mouths, but she didn’t care. She drank it down with his passion.
Hungry, needing to see him come, she reached for his cock, but he moved her hand away.
“No, Dimples. You first.”
When he flattened her against the shower wall, she squealed as the cold tiles met with her hot skin. Laughing, he pinned her there and palmed her wet breasts. She squirmed as he toyed with her nipples, rendering them so stiff and sore she wanted to scream. Michael leaned down, sucked one tip into his mouth, and she sighed as his lips and tongue offered her a sweet respite from his marauding fingers.
The ache in her belly coiled and expanded, shooting heat into all her limbs. Every part of her body screamed for release. Her breasts. Her sex. Her jelly knees.
Just as she thought she might collapse, Michael moved a hand between her legs, sliding between swollen lips. Emily rode his hand, determined to come. He thrust two, then three, fingers inside her. As much as he filled her, stretched her, she still felt so empty in her core and prayed he’d impale her with something more substantial. Preferably the rod that currently strained against her hip.
“Please, Michael.”
He grunted in her ear. “Do you need more, sweet thing?”
She nodded.
He circled her clit, torturing her. “Say what’s on your mind, Em.”
“Michael.” Her voice sounded strange, echoing with need in the large shower. “Please fuck me.”
“That’s an interesting request. I’ll be sure to give it some thought.”
Just as she was about to take matters into her own hands, he dropped once more to his knees and spread her legs. Crouched before her, Michael sucked until she came on a cry worthy of a banshee plying her trade at a funeral. Emily dug her fingernails into his shoulders, alternately urging him to stop and begging him to continue.
