But I hesitate. We agreed that this was all part of the seclusion of the weekend, but my uncertainty about wanting to go back to our boundaries, our agreement, ties my tongue and leaves me second-guessing everything. Since when has Jess Lexington been afraid to ask for what she wants?
Since Lucas Carmichael made her care about the answer, a treacherous voice in my head replies.
I turn on the shower and, as steam fills the room, undress, mentally kicking myself for my cowardice. I step under the hot spray, letting water cascade over travel-weary muscles, trying to wash away my frustration with myself. The heat relaxes my body even as my mind continues its debate. I’m so lost in thought that I don’t hear the door open.
“Room for one more?”
I turn to find Lucas standing there, already shirtless, his eyes traveling over me with undisguised appreciation. Relief and excitement surge through me so powerfully that I almost laugh. Of course he would know exactly what I want without me having to say it.
“I don’t know,” I say, pretending to consider it while my pulse races with joy. “Water conservation is important, but I was enjoying having the bathroom all to myself.”
He laughs, stepping out of his remaining clothes with an efficiency that makes me wonder if he planned this all along. When he joins me under the spray, the shower suddenly feels much smaller, with his broad shoulders taking up space in the best possible way.
“Hi,” he says softly, pushing wet hair from my face. The gentle gesture stands in stark contrast to the hunger in his eyes.
“Hi yourself.” As water cascades between us, I step closer to him. My nerve endings vibrate with anticipation. “What happened to dinner?”
“It can wait.” His hands find my waist, and they feel warm against my wet skin. “This can’t.”
The kiss is slow at first, exploratory, but it quickly deepens into something urgent. His hands slide lower, lifting me with surprising ease until my back meets the cool tile wall, and my legs wrap around his waist instinctively. I can feel him, already hard and pressing against my center. The contrast of temperatures heightens every sensation: the cool tile against my back and his hot skin against my front.
“Ambitious,” I murmur against his mouth as water runs between us.
“Impatient,” he corrects, his voice rough with want. “I’ve been thinking about this since we left Sacramento.”
My laugh turns into a gasp as he presses closer, his hard length making his intentions clear. “In the shower? That’s risky, Carmichael.” But it’s obvious that I’m just as eager when my hips flex back into him, chasing the friction I know will feel so good.
“I’m a careful man.” His mouth trails down my neck, finding the sensitive spot just below my ear that makes me shudder with pleasure. I never told him about that spot. He discovered it all on his own, cataloging my reactions with the same attention to detail that he brings to everything. “Usually.”
“And now?” I challenge, wrapping my arms around his shoulders for balance, loving the feel of muscles shifting beneath my fingertips.
His eyes meet mine, dark with desire. “Now I’m tired of being careful with you.”
What follows is nothing like our previous encounters. There’s no teasing banter, no battle for control. This is pure need, raw and unfiltered. He pushes inside with an urgency that pulls a gasp of pleasure from me, and his hands grip my hips with bruising intensity that I know I’ll feel tomorrow. The thought of carrying his marks on my skin sends an unexpected thrill through me.
Water beats down on us, slicking our skin and heightening every sensation. His mouth covers my breast, and his tongue swirls around my nipple until he brings his lips downin a tight pinch, sucking and licking in a way that sends electric currents straight to my core.
My hands move restlessly in his hair, then around his neck, then gripping his arms, seeking an anchor in the storm of sensation. I tug gently at his hair, remembering how that made him groan the first night we were together. It works again, and the sound vibrates through his chest against mine. The knowledge that I can affect him this way is its own kind of intoxication.
The rhythm he sets is relentless, with each thrust driving me higher. I’m not typically vocal during sex, always too in my head, too concerned with performance, but with Lucas, sounds escape unbidden, moans, gasps, his name like a prayer. It’s as though he’s stripped away all my careful control, leaving me raw and honest in a way that should terrify me but somehow doesn’t.
“Lucas,” I breathe against his ear, feeling the tension building inside me. “I’m close.”
“I know,” he murmurs, and of course he does. He’s learning my body with the same thorough attention he brings to everything that matters to him. The realization that I’m in that category sends me spiraling over the edge, and pleasure crashes through me in waves that leave me clinging to him, trembling and breathless.
He follows moments later, his face buried in my neck, his breath hot against my skin as he pulses inside me. The intimacy of it and of him letting go so completely in my arms makes my chest ache with emotions.
For long moments afterward, we stay locked together, and as the shower washes away evidence of our passion, ourbreathing gradually slows. I feel strangely vulnerable, not physically but emotionally. Sex has always been straightforward for me, enjoyable but uncomplicated. This feels like more.
Finally, he lowers me gently to my feet, and his hands steady me when my legs threaten to give out. His touch is tender now, almost reverent as he brushes wet hair from my face.
Concern replaces desire in his eyes. “You ok?”
“Better than ok,” I assure him, reaching for the shampoo, “though I’m not sure that counted as water conservation.”
Laughing, he takes the bottle from my hands. “Turn around. Let me.”
The intimacy of having him wash my hair is somehow more overwhelming than what we just shared. His fingers work through the strands with gentle thoroughness, massaging my scalp until I’m practically purring with contentment.
