“You were outside waiting,” I said quietly, not bothering to lift my cheek from his shoulder.
“I saw the Fastback coming up the road from the window.”
“We should shower,” I said. “I can’t go downstairs with your jizz in my scruff.”
“Are you stalling?” he asked.
Was I? Not really because I knew I’d tell him. I told Trent everything. “No, I’m just not done with you yet.”
He swept me off my feet and walked into the adjoining bathroom. “I’ll wash your back.”
“Is that all?” I complained, looping my arms around his neck. After my accident, T got in the habit of carrying me around and never really stopped. Never thought I’d be the type to like it, but I did. Something about it just made me feel safe.
He laughed. “Now, baby, you know damn well that once I get my hands on you, they’ll be everywhere.”
2
Trent
The shower was much shorterthan I wanted it to be, but with the entire family waiting because of our long-standing pancake Sunday tradition, I couldn’t linger—no matter how tempting it was.
‘Course, with my husband all needy and naked, I didn’t exactly hurry either.
Drew might be allfries before guys,but I was morenudes before foods.
He was in even less of a hurry than me, still standing there dripping wet with a towel gripped loosely in his fist while I was already dried off with a fresh pair of sweats covering my lower half.
“I haven’t had enough coffee yet, frat boy,” Drew grumped, water-logged hair dripping into his eyes.
Holding in a laugh, I took the towel and tossed it over his head. “You are such a procrastinator,” I mused, gently drying off his overly long strands. Drew was permanently in need of a haircut and shave, and I was permanently turned on by both.
I laughed at the strands sticking up all over the place, the new silver looking near white. Lucky for him, he was blond, so the gray didn’t age him, just made him blonder.
Working my way down his body, I dried him thoroughly, going as far as sinking to my knees to get his lower half. He hummed appreciatively, fingers delving into my damp hair, which I’d already combed. Tingles raced across my scalp and down the back of my neck from the touch, and I took a little longer than necessary to dry his calves and feet because the feel of his hands was my addiction.
The second I pulled back, his voice filled the bathroom. “You missed a spot.”
Amused, I raised my eyebrows, silently asking where. He pointed to a rogue waterdrop high on his chest, so I used the corner of the towel to mop it up.
He pointed to another on his collarbone.
One on his neck.
Puckered his lips and pointed there too.
My stomach dropped as if I wasn’t standing on solid ground because this man—my husband—had the innate ability to rock my world with the simplest of gestures.
Playing along, I brushed the soft towel across his lower lip.
His hand flew up, wrapping around my wrist to squeeze. Our eyes met, and the towel fell from my hand as I roped my arm around him and tugged, bringing us chest to chest and mouth to mouth.
He groaned with satisfaction, entwining our fingers as I deepened the kiss. Drew was a wildfire that burned fast and bright through my veins, consuming time and reason, with every brush of our lips feeding the flames. It didn’t matter we’d just had sex and my hands had been all over him. The craving I knew for him was untamed, something that would never be defeated, only survived.
Only when the begging in my lungs turned to lightheadedness did I rip my mouth away for a few greedy breaths before dragging my burning lips across his stubble.
“I fucking love you,” he rasped, dropping his forehead on my shoulder.
“I love you more,” I whispered, kissing his uncombed hair before forcing myself away to gather up his clothes scattered around the gym.
