“Morning,” I answer, and for once, the word feels right. I stretch, every muscle humming with the ache of what we did last night. The sheets are twisted between my legs.
He traces a line from my collarbone to my chest, then lower, his hand big and heavy and possessive. “You have any idea how fucking beautiful you are first thing in themorning?” he says, voice low. “You should see yourself. All soft and sleepy. I want to keep you like this.”
My face flushes, but I can’t stop grinning like a moron. “You’re such a liar,” I mumble, but I don’t mean it.
He kisses my jaw, then my throat, then bites my earlobe just hard enough to make me gasp. “I wouldn’t lie about that, Lila.” His hand slides down over my stomach, then up under the edge of the blanket. “You want a shower?”
“Yes,” I say, and I do, but I don’t want to leave this bed. “But you’re coming with me. You’re the reason I need one.”
He laughs and throws off the covers, rolling out of bed naked, not even pretending to be shy. He stretches, arms over his head, and I stare at his back. Broad, scarred, and cut like something out of a movie. He catches me looking, turns, and grins. “Like what you see?”
“Not bad,” I say, and make a show of rolling my eyes, even though I want to devour him.
He crosses the room and scoops me up bridal-style, like I weigh nothing. “Anthony!” I yelp, half-laughing, “Put me down, you psycho.”
“Not a chance,” he says, carrying me into the bathroom.
His shower is stupidly huge, with a bench built in. A glass wall on one side and tile on the other. Everything fogs up the second he turns on the water. He sets me down on my feet inside, then steps in after me, reaching up to adjust the rain shower head so it pounds down over both of us.
The first hit of hot water is almost too much after the cold air, but then it’s perfect, washing away sweat and sleep and everything else.
Anthony leans into the spray, water streaming down his face and chest, and sighs like he’s in heaven. I just watch him, memorizing every detail. The curve of his shoulders,the way the water beads on his eyelashes, the light scar running from his right pec down to his ribs. He’s the kind of beautiful that makes you want to do something stupid. Like fall in love.
He notices me staring and comes over, trapping me against the warm tile. “What are you thinking about?” he asks, forehead pressed to mine.
I slide my hands up his chest, feeling his heartbeat under my palm. “That I could get used to this,” I admit.
“Yeah?” He kisses my temple. “Me too.”
We stand there for a minute, just letting the water run over us. Then he turns me around so my back’s to him and starts soaping my shoulders, slow and careful. His hands are rough, but gentle, kneading out every knot of tension I have left. He works down my spine, then around to my stomach, not hurrying, just exploring.
He slides his arms around my waist and pulls me against him, his cock hardening between us. He bends down and kisses my neck, biting just enough to leave a mark. I shiver, pressing back into him.
“You know what I used to think about, when all I could do was watch you?” he says, voice low in my ear.
I shake my head, not trusting myself to speak.
He runs his hand up to my throat, holding it just tight enough to make my breath catch. “I used to jerk off thinking about you on your knees,” he whispers. “Right here in my shower. Mouth open, taking me all the way down, gagging on it. I had to stop myself from coming over to your house and making it real.”
The words hit me like a punch. I’m so wet already, I don’t know how I can possibly want him more, but I do.
He lets go of my neck and turns me around to face him. “You don’t have to,” he says, thumb brushing my cheek. “I don’t expect anything from you. Ever. But fuck, I want it.”
I drop to my knees on the tile, the steam swirling around us. His cock is right in front of my face, thick and leaking and perfect. I wrap my hand around the base and stroke him once, twice, watching his eyes go half-lidded.
I look up at him. “Tell me what you want,” I say, voice steady even though my heart’s racing.
He threads his fingers through my hair, not pushing, just holding. “Open up, baby. Show me how pretty you look with my cock in your mouth.”
I do. I run my tongue over the head, then take him in as far as I can. He groans, low and guttural, and tightens his grip on my hair.
“Fuck, Lila,” he says, voice rough. “You’re fucking perfect.”
I hollow my cheeks, loving the way his whole body tenses. I use my hand for what I can’t fit in my mouth, twisting and stroking in time with my lips. He looks down at me, eyes wild, and I feel powerful for the first time in forever.
“God, you’re gonna make me come,” he says, and I don’t stop. “Uuhh-yes” he breathes out. Then sucks air in through his teeth. “That’s it. Good girl,” he says, breathing out again.
I love it, I want to make him lose control. He groans my name, and comes hard, hot on my tongue. I swallow every pulse of it, looking up at him while I do it.
