"Very much," she said. "You're beautiful."
"That's my line."
"Too bad. I'm stealing it."
She soaped her hands again, and as she placed them on his chest, his breath hitched. She traced the contours of his muscles, the ridge of his collarbone, the hollow of his throat where his pulse beat rapidly.
When her fingers brushed over his nipples, he sucked in a sharp breath.
"Sensitive?" she asked.
"Yes."
She filed that information away for later.
Her hands moved lower, following the trail of dark hair that led down from his navel. She watched his face as she went, watched the way his eyes darkened, the way his lips parted. When she reached the jut of his hipbones, she paused.
"Is this okay?"
"Yes." The word was barely a whisper. "Bozhe,dah."
Mattie didn't speak Russian, but she didn't need a translation.
As she wrapped her hand around his length, he groaned, a deep, guttural sound that echoed off the tile walls. He was hot and hard in her palm, and when she stroked him experimentally, his whole body jerked.
"Mattie…" His hands came up to grip her shoulders, steadying himself, but his hold on her was gentle.
She stroked him again, watching his face, learning what made him gasp, what made him shudder.
She took her time, exploring him with her hands while the water sluiced over them both. He was so responsive, every touch drawing a reaction, every stroke pulling sounds from his throat that made her body pulse with heat. His hands stayed on her shoulders, fingers digging in when the pleasure crested, relaxing when she eased back, but never bruising, always gentle.
"It's so good," he managed.
"Thank you."
"Mattie—" He broke off with a groan as she twisted her wrist. "I'm going to come if you keep doing that."
"Then come."
"Not alone." He swallowed hard. "Together. Let me touch you, too. Please."
The 'please' undid her.
She released him and stepped back as much as the tiny stall allowed. "I'm all yours." She spread her arms in invitation. "Touch me."
His hands were infinitely gentle on her waist. She could feel the restraint in him, the careful control. He was holding himself back, afraid of scaring her, of pushing too fast.
"I won't break, Dimitri," she said softly. "You don't have to be so careful."
He stroked her hipbones with his thumbs. "You're precious to me. Of course, I have to be careful." His hands slid up her sides, mapping the curve of her waist, the swell of her ribs. When he reached the underside of her breasts, he paused and looked into her eyes as if asking permission.
"Don't stop," she whispered.
As he cupped her breasts, Mattie's head fell back against the tile wall. His hands were warm as he brushed his thumbs over her sensitive nipples in slow circles.
"Good?" he asked when she moaned.
"Yes." The word came out breathless. "More."
