“Even if that were to be true, there are one hundred more things we can do besides P in V.”
That gets me the reaction I want as I feel him harden against me again. As if to reward him, I rock my hips into him before I push out of his arms and start running up the hill again.
“Race you!” I call out.
“Oh, come on, that's hardly fair. Have you ever ran with a massive boner?”
“Oh, come on, Marty, it's not that big!” I call back but keep running.
Chapter Seventeen
Jenna
“Can I shower first?” he asks once he’s in the villa. I hear the door click closed behind me as I walk straight for the bedroom.
“You didn't run that fast.”
“No, but I did fall asleep in my sweaty boxers after three hours of being director, stylist and sound tech for my sister in the blistering sun.”
“Should I ask?” I turn at the entrance to my room.
“Please don't.” Marty steps up to me and slides his hands around my waist. “You could join me? In the shower, I mean.”
I nod but don’t speak. Suddenly the thought of being naked with this man terrifies me. Robert cherished my curves from the start, which I loved, but a small part of me always wondered if he was a fluke. That part of me is currently growing in size and volume as I think about shedding my clothes in front of this younger, taller and more physically sculpted man.
“Of course, you can shower.” I head towards the en-suite bathroom. Through double doors, it opens up into a space that's almost as big as the bedroom itself. The walk-in double shower is on one side of the room, there's a free-standing bath close to the far wall and then a double sink on the side opposite the shower. The toilet is a separate small room just at the bathroom's entrance, opposite a small walk-in closet. I watch Marty take it all in, nodding at the bath as if to say hello.
I step into the shower and turn one of the heads on, waiting with my hand under the spray until it feels warm. I have every intention of leaving the room, letting him have his shower, but he's standing near the sinks pulling his T-shirt off and I know there's no way I'm missing this. I lean against the shower's glass walland watch the waves of muscles rise and fall in his back and torso. It's undeniable that he's probably leaner than he should be, what with his broad structure and height, and the way his ribs stretch his skin, but there's also no denying how badly I want to trace every single dip and swell of his muscles and bone with my tongue. As if to tease me more, he turns so he's directly facing me as his hands go to the fly on his shorts, then they stop moving and that forces my eyes up to his.
“You look...” he begins. “Hungry.”
I close my eyes, mildly embarrassed but too turned on to care. I keep my eyes on his for long enough to say, “Keep going.”
He pauses, then obeys, and I swallow a smile when I realise he's going slowly as he pulls the zip down and then lowers the shorts. His tight grey boxers are filled out by his hard-on and I almost curse at the low light in the bathroom for not giving me a more detailed look, but there's no waiting, because just when I think he's going to wait until he's right at the shower's entrance to get rid of his underwear, they're off, yanked down and he's kicking them away.
I can’t help it. My eyes study his cock; it’s really long, plenty thick enough and curved, amusingly, just like his thumb. My eyes linger on the round head and its defined edge. As he walks towards me and the shower, I watch his dick, jutting out at an angle. It’s a beautiful cock and that curve is like a promise and a pledge.
I have to swallow before I speak.
“Can I watch?” I ask stepping to the side.
“I think you already are.” He walks past me, his penis bobbing and his thigh muscles flexing. He kisses the top of my head as he passes me and then he's under the water, the curves of his butt in my line of sight. They're all muscle, just enough to grab and hold on to. I want to tell him how lovely he is. How much his body pleases me. How I could look at it for hours - not touching, just looking - and I'd not get bored.
However, I stay silent as I sit on the tiled seat built into the wall behind me, directly opposite Marty. I sit there, feeling a gentle drizzle and the occasional splash of warm water land on my skin, and I watch him as he uses my shower gel to create a lather all over his body. He startles a little when he turns and sees mesitting there, breathing heavily. My back is pressed back against the shower wall and the coolness of the tiles is a refreshing contrast to the heat in my core.
“Do you mind?” I ask again, dragging my eyes up to his. His hair is now being flattened by the water and it looks so different, darkening his features. It makes him look a little older and I savour that.
“Not at all,” he says, and he runs his eyes over my body, although it's completely covered compared to his. “I wish you were wearing less, but you still look fucking class.”
His quaint, youthful choice of words makes me smile and I temporarily forget just how turned on I am. But I don't want to forget. I want to be consumed by this feeling. It's been so long since I felt this way.
I watch him wash his face, his chest, and under his arms. Then he turns away from me and squeezes more shower gel down his body and foams it up between his legs, his butt tight as his hands work for some time, and all I can do is imagine. And I do. Then he bends slightly and rubs more bubbles at his thighs and his knees. Finally, he does a figure-4 stretch to bring up his feet and washes them too, the soles noticeably dark. Recalling why they are so dirty melts something inside of me.
He raced barefoot to come and see me.
After he's washed his other foot, he turns around to face me and tilts his head up to the shower head, the water running down his shoulders and back. Then he's rubbing between his butt cheeks and giving me this playful smile that makes our eye contact a little too intense, so I look away. Just as well, I now have the perfect thing to stare at again. His cock. It's a little less erect now but still full, noticeably taut. I can see a vein on one side, a zig-zag that I want to trace with my tongue. The more I stare, the more it grows as he angles himself under the spray. My own body is responding in exactly the same way. I've long been aware of the pull in my nipples, the quick belly-breathing I'm doing and the way I can feel my wetness through my knickers.
“Jesus,” he says to himself as he turns to the side, his dick undeniably closer to a full erection now as it sticks straight out. Shaking his head slightly, he turns all the way back around and I see him using my shampoo to wash his hair and Ifeel my insides tighten at the idea of him smelling like me. “You make me blush,” he says.
