Every part of her cool, dry skin presses against mine, and I press my lips to the skin just under the ear where her jaw meets her neck. I pull the tender flesh into my mouth. I feel her knees tremble. “Oh God, Jude…”
I hold her to me with one arm around her waist, but I’m so destroyed by this fucking sickness that it’s making my bicep ache. Fucking hell. Once again I wish I were dead. It’d be easier to be dead than to have to deny myself her yet another time. My lips ghost hers. “I want you so bad right now…but…”
Her body tenses against mine. “Are you going to be sick again?”
“No. I’m just wrecked, though,” I confess.
She slips out of my grip, mostly because I have the grasp of a toddler right now. Ugh. I can do nothing but watch as she steps deeper into the shower and the spray coats her, droplets wetting her hair and then descending down her body. My eyes slide over all that pale, supple skin to the white lace thong, which is soaked. I lean against the far wall of the shower, across from the showerhead she’s using, and watch her move. She’s beyond beautiful and sexy in a way I never knew was possible. The base of my cock tingles, and I can’t help but wrap a hand around it.
She grabs my shampoo and squirts some into her hand. Her eyes watch my hand as I give my dick a slow, firm tug. I see stars, and not in a good way. Well, not totally the good way. I know if I do this—anything sexual—I’ll pass out. She steps in front of me, pressing her hips against me, and reaches up and runs her shampoo-covered hands through my hair.
My eyes roll back in my head, following the ripple of pleasure that starts at the base of my skull and rolls down my spine. Oh God, this is amazing. The wet lace from her thong rubs against my thigh. I gently reach out and hook my hands into the sides and begin to push them down her legs. If she notices, she doesn’t care. It’s probably a bad idea. All it will do is further taunt me, when I know I can’t do anything, but, damn, I just want to see her. After all these years and all this time I just want to admire the beauty of her naked body. I push her underwear halfway down her thighs, and then gravity does the rest of the work on the wet fabric. It drops to the gray-and-white mosaic tile floor below.
Her fingers are magic running through my hair, massaging my scalp. It feels amazing, but what feels better is the way my dick keeps rubbing against her stomach. She’s naked, right in front of me, and I am too ill to do a damn thing about it. Depeche Mode was right: God really does have a sick sense of humor.
I manage to reach up and softly push her wet hair back from her cheek. She holds the back of my neck and gently pulls me forward, off the wall I’m leaning on, so that I’m under the water. I tip my head back so the shampoo runs back and not in my eyes. The motion pushes my cock harder into her belly, and the water allows it to slip and glide across her skin in a way that makes me shudder with gratification. I reach down and hold her hips so she can’t move away and break the contact.
“Jude…”
“Just let me touch you,” I breathe raggedly against her neck. “I’ve waited so damn long to touch you.”
The fingers of my left hand trace their way along her hip bone and down, slipping easily in the shampoo lather thatmust have dropped onto her. She’s looking right at me, her eyes delving deep into mine, and I can’t look away; even if I wanted to I couldn’t. But it’s better this way, watching her reaction as my fingers slip between her legs and find their way through a new wetness that isn’t caused by the shampoo or the shower. It’s caused by the way she feels about me.
I know I shouldn’t start something I’m physically unable to finish, but I can’t help myself. I let my fingers part her slick folds and I push up into her. She trembles, it ripples through her from her toes all the way up to her face, and it’s punctuated with a sound that’s some kind of heated mix of a gasp and a pant. Her eyelids flutter, and my mouth parts, and the sound happens again as I move in and out of her and make certain my thumb rubs rhythmically against her clit.
Her fingers grip my shoulders with bruising force, and she moves her hips forward, causing that hard-on of mine to slide against her again in the most incredible way. And then I get light-headed. In that bad way. Fuck. In one slow, steady move I pull back, pressing my back into the wall and groaning as every part of us loses contact.
“It’s okay, there’ll be another time,” she promises in a near-pant as she struggles to regain control. She steps out of the shower, and I reach behind myself and start turning the dials so the water stops. I turn my head so my cheek is against the tile and watch as she grabs a towel and wraps it around her body, tucking it into itself between her boobs like women always do. Then she reaches for another one, unfolds it and hands it to me as I take a wobbly step onto the bath mat.
“Why do we keep barfing the second we decide to have sex?” I ask her. I’m kidding, mostly. I mean, I know why it’s happening—the first time it was because she drank too much and this time it’s because of my questionable raw fish choices. But why do we keep doing this to ourselves when we could be doing each other instead?
She leads me out to the bedroom, tugging me along by the hand because I’m too frail right now to walk at a normal pace. I grab the Pedialyte off the counter where I left it, and when we get to the bedroom I lower myself gently onto the bed and twist it open. I take a small sip. It has a pretty distinct taste, so I can’t pretend it’s just water, but luckily the flavor doesn’t send my stomach rolling again. I take another sip and lean back against the headboard. One of my legs is still on the floor, the other on the bed, and my fading erection is still big enough to tent the front of my towel.
She walks back into the bathroom and retrieves the shirt she left on the floor and her drenched undies. I watch her, riveted. I’ve seen a lot of naked women—in a variety of shapes and sizes—and they’re all sexy. But something about Zoey presses buttons I didn’t even know I had. Just watching her long, bare legs move and the fluffy gray towel rub against her supple thighs makes me feral. Every part of my body twitches and burns with the desire to touch her. Except my stomach. That just aches. Fuck.
“Guess I’m going home commando.” She laughs and the sound makes me warm.
“They’ll be dry by tomorrow,” I reply and motion for her to come to the bed.
She hesitates. “I should probably get going now. I mean…you need rest, and if I’m here I don’t see that happening.”
“What do you see happening?” I find myself saying. I didn’t think this out. The words just came out of my mouth. My eyes slide up her legs and over that damn fluffy towel that blocks far too much and keep moving higher until they lock with hers. “Show me.”
“Show you?” she repeats, her tone soft and dripping in awe.
I shift, lean forward and take the hem of the towel between two fingers and give it a little tug. It doesn’t fall off, unfortunately, but it inches down over the swell of her breast just a little bit. “Take off this towel, crawl up on this bed, and show me what you want me to do to you.”
She’s silent, and I can see the idea rolling about in her head like a bowling ball, crashing into her fear, modesty and insecurity and hopefully knocking them down like pins. She takes a tentative step closer to the bed. “Jude.”
Just my name. Just a ghost of a sound. Oh God, how I want to make her moan that word. I shift again, and this time I don’t take the towel in my fingers, I take it in my fist and pull—hard. It falls from her body, and she doesn’t try to stop it. I smile. “Show me where you want me to touch you.”
She’s got her hands by her sides and she moves them, just the slightest bit, toward her hips. Fingers spread. “You want me to touch your hip.”
She nods. Her hand keeps moving, to the center of her abdomen, just under her belly button and above the promised land. It’s a battle to keep my eyes up, focused on her fingers. Thankfully, they move downward. I am glued to the gentle way they glide, feather light against her skin. Her index finger slips between her legs and my mouth waters. I don’t even realize I’m leaning forward until my stomach starts to ache again.
“You want me to touch your pussy?” I rasp, glancing up. Her eyes are shut, head tilted back just a little. I glance back down; she moves her legs a fraction of an inch farther apart, giving herself better access. I absorb the pace of her hand, the movement of her fingers, learning what she likes so I can replicate it later.
“I want that,” she admits in a throaty whisper, and her hand pulls away slowly, her finger comes out slick, and my cock jerks like it’s being electrocuted under the towel. I swear it’s trying to pull me toward her pussy. She moves another finger down to join the first.
