“We need to get cleaned up.” His voice was muffled as he bent down to undo the laces on his boots, pulling them off to land with a soft thud. He tucked the laces neatly inside and placed them, side-by-side, at the end of the bed.
Her lips twitched as she looked from his neatly lined-up boots to her folded shirts.
She went to stand up, but he tsked and she stayed sitting. He went to his knees in front of her and undid the laces on her sneakers, repeating the ritual, then placed them next to his boots. She was a pretty normal-sized woman, or so she’d always thought, but her shoes looked the size of a toddler’s footwear in comparison to his boots.
He offered her a hand, and she took it, letting him tug her into the tiny bathroom. She stood in the doorway as he shucked his socks and pants, answering the question of whether he wore underwear—he did not—and turned the water on.
“You’re staring.”
She jerked, her eyes darting up to his. “Well, that’s a lot of meat you’re packing there, buddy.” He had a very nice dick, which was saying something, since most dicks just looked weird. His was… pretty. She snorted at the direction her thoughts had gone, but it really was pretty.
Nice and thick, long enough to make a girl think twice, but not so long that she was in fear for her cervix. Mostly. Nobody liked a dick thrust to the cervix.
He frowned. “Meat?” He looked down at his crotch.
“Yeah. Your cock. It’s pretty.”
He snorted, looking up at her with laughing eyes. “Pretty?”
“Yeah,” she said, tilting her head to one side as she regarded the rapidly hardening length currently under discussion. “It’s not half bad.”
“Ah, I did find you with a full cock.”
What on Earth was he talking about?
Aletta shook her head. “What? You know what? Never mind.” She tugged her leggings and underwear off, tossing them out the door. Gark took his own clothes and picked hers up, folding them over the back of the chair.
She pulled the shirt off and dangled it from one finger. He turned from where he was placing the now-folded dirty clothes on the chair, and froze. His nostrils flared, and his eyes pulsed dark purple—wait, what?—before going back to their usual lilac.
She grinned and let the shirt drop from her finger onto the floor. He stepped forward, barely glancing at the discarded item of clothing as he stalked her. If he’d had a tail, she was certain it would have flicked impatiently behind him.
She took a step backward into the bathroom and into the water, closing her eyes as she tilted her head back under the spray of the shower. A smile danced on her lips as she heard the bathroom door slide shut, and then his hands were on her.
“Little minx.” He growled the words against her ear, and she giggled.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d giggled. The weight of providing for Dylan and herself had been heavy, and it had been her responsibility since she was a teenager. She wondered what her life would be like if she could just enjoy something for herself. To not worry about where the next meal was coming from or how they would pay rent.
She opened her eyes to see his intense gaze on her, and every thought other than this moment fled when his lips touched hers. His hands traced her curves reverently as if she were the most precious of gifts.
“Aletta,” he groaned, cupping her hips and slowly lifting her onto her toes. The water washed over them, drumming against the tiled floor in a beat that sounded like rain.
Her hands gripped his arms, fingers sliding between the corded muscles of his biceps as if they belonged there. “I’m here.”
He reached for the shampoo, strong fingers massaging her scalp in soothing strokes that had her eyes closing. She groaned, and he pulled her head toward his chest to rinse the soap away. Then he took his time, ignoring his hard dick and focusing on Aletta.
She could get used to this, she thought as he kneeled in front of her to take one of her feet in his hands. She steadied herself on his shoulders, his head almost reaching her breasts. He was so much bigger than her, and yet not once had she felt in danger with him. Not like?—
No. She would not think about anything else but Gark and this moment. Everything else could wait.
For once, she was going to have her cake and eat it too. Or whatever that saying meant. If Gark were a cake, he would be one of those rainbow surprise cakes that looked like a regular cake on the outside, but when you cut into it, it was full of chocolate chips, cream, and rainbow-colored layers of sponge.
He put her foot down and reached for the other one, thick fingers pressing into the aching arch of her foot. All thoughts of cake comparisons disappeared.
“Oh my fucking god.”
He smirked, the fucker actually smirked.
“Up,” she demanded, waving her hand. “My turn.”
