He shrugged like he wasn’t affected, but I could still see that burning look in his eyes. “Your stuff smells better.”
“Um, okay.”
He grabbed my body soap and squirted way too much into his hand before lathering it up—no washcloth or loofa, just straight on his hands.
I watched spellbound as he moved his sudsy hands all over his body, but more perfunctory than seductive.
This wasn’t what I thought showering together was going to be like.
Maybe the dream version was better.
Sighing, I turned so I could get my hair wet since I now had most of the spray.
“Fuck me,” Mal muttered.
“Everything okay?” I asked as I reached down for the shampoo bottle on the small bench in the corner.
Mal’s hand caressed my bottom.
I squealed and snapped to attention. “Mal!”
“I think you mean Daddy.” His lips quirked like he was fighting a smile.
“I think you mean excuse me!” I snapped.
His eyes flared. “Fuck, I love that fire.” He swooped down and kissed me, his lips hungry and urgent.
I’d wrapped my arms around his shoulders and was kissing him back before I could even form a thought. And then I didn’t want to let go. His cock jutted out, pressing into my tummy, and his hands were slippery on my back. The soap perfumed the steamy air between us with a mango citrus freshness. And my thighs were slippery against each other for a whole different reason.
I broke our kiss with a gasp because I needed air. “Definitely better than my dream.”
Mal grinned down at me. “You dream about me last night, baby girl?”
“Maybe,” I replied coyly.
His rumbled laughter echoed off the stone walls around us. “Hand me the shampoo, baby.”
I turned in his arms and gulped as I realized what that meant. It was the whole reason I’d ended up in his arms. If I reached out for the bottle then…yup, he grasped my hips in his hands, and I was perfectly lined up for him to—
I waited a beat, but he didn’t move anymore.
Disappointed—and amazed that I felt that way—I grabbed the bottle and passed it to him, straightening up.
He took the bottle and squeezed some into his hand. Then both of his hands came down on my head and awkwardly spread the shampoo on my hair. Something about the way he did it, his movements, the concentration on his face, spelled out to me that this wasn’t a practiced move for him. He genuinely wanted to wash my hair.
My breath caught and tears burned my eyes for a second—and the soap wasn’t anywhere near my eyes.
I couldn’t remember the last time someone touched me like this—all gentle and accepting. And for it to come from Mal…gah, it got me all emotional.
“Tip your head back.” He’d grabbed the shower wand off the wall and held it aloft.
I obeyed and warm water ran down the back of my head. He carefully kept the suds from washing over my face. My heart thudded unevenly as he continued to gently rinse the shampoo out of my hair, turning me carefully this way and that.
This was so different from what I’d imagined we’d be doing that I was confused but felt taken care of at the same time. It was a weird juxtaposition. I was used to doing everything for myself and taking care of the people around me. This felt so weird.
Weird, but awesome.
Once he’d rinsed away the last of the shampoo, I grabbed the conditioner bottle and squeezed some into my hand. “I’m weird about conditioner. I only like it in certain parts of my hair.”
