“You read my mind.” Her words curl through the steam as she slides the curtain back.
“Hey, beautiful. You coming in?”
“You think there’s room?”
“Anywhere I am, there’s always room for you.”
She chuckles, pulling her shirt off her body and tossing it to the floor. “Miles Hammond, you are so corny. I guess the Mexican can wait.”
Down to panties and a bra, she stops, her gaze traveling my body, which now hosts a raging boner from watching her undress. Can you blame a man? She’s stunning and all kinds of perfect.
Releasing her mass of wavy hair, she shakes it out and unclasps her bra.
My last breath in gets stuck.
Fuck me.
Before my brain can catch up with my thoughts, I’m stepping out, hands hauling her off her feet. I plant her on the vanity and tug her panties from her. Tossing them over my shoulder, I sink my mouth over hers.
She moans into my mouth, hands crashing through my hair.
I’m dripping all over her.
My cock painfully hard as I devour her mouth.
“Miles, gorgeous man, slow down,” she pants, fingers curled around my jaw, holding my face inches from hers.
“I’m fucking dying, beautiful.”
“I know, but I really need a shower.”
Lifting her from the vanity, I step back into the tub, pulling the curtain back across. The bathmat is soaked from leaving the curtain open, but I couldn’t care less if I tried.
Releasing her to her feet, I spin her around and sweep her hair to one side, letting it fall over her shoulder.
I dust kisses up her neck and back down, nipping her shoulder and wrapping my body around hers.
She fits perfectly in my space. Like one of those Russian dolls set inside the other.
“Shower, babe,” she whispers.
“On it.”
With a squirt of body wash in one hand, I lather it up and rub it over her curves, her lithe limbs, her plump ass, one cheek at a time.
The blood in my body has sunk, leaving a dull thud through my head and veins. The ache that started in my cock with her undressing is now torturous.
But I take my time, and when she’s all lathered up, I hand her the showerhead. “All clean, beautiful.”
She runs the water over one shoulder before the other, then over her back and her chest. I watch with ridiculous envy as droplets roll over her hard nipples. Wishing I was in the water’s place. Wishing my tongue, lips, and mouth were in its place.
When her body is clean, I make work on her hair. Shampoo suds in between my hands, and I weave my fingers through her locks, massaging her scalp as methodically as I can.
London’s shoulders slump, a moan slipping through her lips.
“You like that?” I whisper.
“You have no idea.”
