The wildfire rages, consuming every last coherent thought, every inhibition.Matthew groans, a primal sound against my lips.His hands rove with an urgent heat, learning…
Every curve…
Every dip…
Every newly exposed inch of my skin.
My body is alive.Every nerve ending singing…
More.
He lifts his head, his eyes nearly black with passion, mirroring the inferno in my own veins.His chest heaves against mine.A slow, wicked grin spreads across his face.Then, with a grunt of effort that’s half exertion, half suppressed laughter, he lifts me from the bed.
“Matt!”I yelp as he throws me over his shoulder.
Nudging the door open with his foot, he carries me into the ensuite.Still breathless and giddy, I find my footing on the cool tiles as he sets me down inside the large, glass-enclosed shower.He turns the chrome knob.Warm water hisses from the oversized showerhead.In seconds, steam curls around us, veiling the glass, creating a private world just for us.
Matthew reaches for a dark bottle of body wash.“No flowery soaps in here, I’m afraid,” he says, that wicked smile still playing on his lips.“Hope you don’t mind smelling like me.”
A genuine laugh bubbles from me.“You’re growing on me,” I tease, playfully snatching the bottle from his hand.
“Am I now?”he drawls, biting his lower lip.That sexy smile widens as his hands find my hips, pulling me flush against the hard heat of his body.
The sudden, firm contact sends a fresh jolt of unadulterated want shooting through me.My eyes fly to his.Just as his head starts to dip, his gaze fixed on my lips, a spark of mischief ignites.I hold up the bottle like a playful shield between us.I slowly flip the cap open, my smile mirroring his.He recoils with a soft, surprised chuckle, his eyes alight with amusement.
My pulse hammers, but I hold his gaze.I lift the bottle to inhale deeply, eyes fluttering closed.The intoxicating blend of rich cedarwood and dark amber, pure Matthew, invades my senses, coiling low in my belly.
Defiantly, I squeeze the clear gel across his chest.A sharp hiss escapes him at the sudden coolness, his muscles clenching.My palm presses against his skin, fingers spreading wide.I smooth the liquid soap across the hard planes of his front, working it into a rich lather.The masculine scent blooms in the steamy air.
Intoxicating.
My gaze deliberately lifts to his through my lashes.A guttural groan rips from deep in Matthew’s chest.His fingers dig into my hips, thumbs pressing rhythmically, pulling me a fraction closer.
His head tips back, eyes squeezed shut.“Amy…” he rasps, his breath hot and uneven.
“Turn around,” I whisper.A sultry challenge.
He straightens, lowering his head, his eyes blazing into mine.“Amy,” he repeats.A clear warning.
“Patience,” I murmur, my lips brushing his ear.
He groans, a mix of exquisite agony and reluctant obedience.
Shaking his head, he turns, giving me his magnificent back.
I take a moment to admire the view.
The broad sweep of his shoulders.The powerful muscles that flank his spine.The way water sluices over his skin, making it gleam.
A potent tremor zaps through me, but I will myself to focus.
I dispense more gel into my hand, applying it to his upper back before setting the bottle back on the shelf.My lathered hands glide over the breadth of his shoulders, then down his back to his sculpted sides in feather-light caresses meant to torment.
A deep shudder runs through him.
I let my hands slide around his front, tracing the lean indentation of his waist, smoothing up and over the hard ridges of his abdomen.
The playful teasing gives way to a simmering heat.Just as my hands trail lower, one of his closes firmly over mine, stilling my exploration.He spins to face me, backing me up against the wet tiles with a speed that leaves me breathless.
