The water streams down my back, and then his fingers sink into my hair. His fingernails scrape lightly against my scalp, finding tension I didn't know I was carrying. I close my eyes. My chest vibrates with a soft purr.
His fingers tense and his cock hardens in the crease of my ass. “Fuck. Your purr. Espie. Don’t stop.”
His breath has changed. Slower. Deeper. His chest expands hard against my back as if he's trying to pull the sound intohimself, hold it. His scent blooms chamomile-sweet, reaching for mine before his chest begins to vibrate with a purr. It’s a lower register than mine. Nothing like an alpha male’s purr, but no less tempting.
He reaches for the conditioner, works it through the length of my hair, coating each strand. His fingers slide down to my shoulders, pressing into the muscles there, and massaging my tight muscles. I make another sound I can't quite control.
I turn to face him. His eyes meet mine, pale blue gone dark, wanting. “My turn. Let me take care of you too.”
I reach for the shampoo. He bows his head. His scalp under my palms. His hair in my fingers. He's giving me this.
I work the lather through it, mapping the shape of him with my palms. The curve of his skull. The soft hair at the nape of his neck. My hands travel down to the sharp ridge of his collarbones, too pronounced, the skin over them stretched thin. Scars lace his chest. A long white one runs below his ribs. A cluster of round marks across his shoulder looks like old cigarette burns. The faded blur of an old brand sits low on his hip, and I don't look at it closely. His wrists carry the thick ropy scarring of years in restraints. Every bone is too close to the surface.
He shivers under my hands. He drops his shoulders. He slows his breath. His scent shifts. Cedar deepening into something richer, warmer, want bleeding through despite his best efforts to control it. Slick gathers between my thighs, warm where the water is warmer, sliding with the spray down my inner legs. The scent of it opens through the steam. Gardenia sweeter at the honey note. Clover deepening into something plush and ready. He turns to face me.
“Espie. I want you. I want you so much I can’t think straight.”
The same want moves through me. His cock is hard against my belly, throbbing against my skin in time with his pulse. Everybeat of him presses into me. He doesn't step back. He lets me feel him wanting me, lets me watch his breath go ragged, lets his hand curl over my hip like he's barely keeping himself from pulling me closer.
I reach for him, pull his mouth down to mine, and kiss him. The first kiss is soft, testing. He makes a small sound against my mouth, caught between a gasp and a sigh, and it vibrates through my whole body. In my chest. In my belly. In the warm ache building between my thighs. I want more.
I slide my hands up his chest. He breathes harder, grips my waist, pulls me closer until no space is left between our bodies, only heat.
His mouth opens and I taste him deeper. He kisses the way he touches, slow and thorough, learning me with his lips and tongue. His teeth graze my lower lip, the barest edge of them, and my knees go soft under me. He spreads his hand wider at my waist to hold me up. Mapping me. Memorizing me.
He's hard against my hip. Heat rushes through me. More slick spills down my thighs. His scent catches immediately. His pupils blow wider. Black swallows the pale blue. The sight of him wanting me undoes something low in my belly.
“I want this. I want you. Not because of biology. But because I want you.” I fist my fingers in his wet hair. “I'm choosing this. I'm choosing you.”
His gaze burns into mine. “We can stop right here and it would still be the best day of my life, just this, just you letting me wash your hair. I don't need more than you want to give.”
“I want to give you everything. Iwantto choose this. Iwantto choose you.”
He makes a sound against my mouth I'll remember for the rest of my life.
I kiss him again. Deeper this time. Slower.
I spread my hand over his heart, his pulse kicking hard beneath my palm. He locks his arms around me like he can't help it.
His mouth drags down my jaw. My throat. The pulse in my neck. I tip my head back and let him kiss me wherever he wants to.
“Then you shall get what you choose.”
Chapter Twenty
Espie
My back hits the cool tile when he lifts me, and I gasp. Cold wall behind me. Hot water hammering down on my shoulders. I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him closer. He's hard against me, sliding through my cleft. The tip of his cock rubs over my clit and I jolt. My body floods with more slick, my scent spiking with need.
His cock is as beautiful as he is. Long and not too thick, flushed dark at the head where he leaks his own slick. Smooth, without the bulge at the base of an alpha cock. Perfect. He's perfect.
He shifts his hips, and I feel him pressing at my entrance, and gods, the slide of him through my own slick. I'm not embarrassed. I can't remember what embarrassment feels like right now. My body is doing what I asked it to do. He's the one I picked. He's the one I want.
He slides into me slowly. So slowly. Inch by inch, giving me time to adjust. His eyes never leave my face. He's watching for me to tell him no. The stretch is unfamiliar in the best possible way. My hands flex against his shoulders. He fills me deep, deeper, my belly quivering with it, my hips tilting up to take more of him.
The flash comes. Wallace's cold instruments. The exam table. Lights overhead. Hands I couldn't refuse.
“Come back to me Espie. That’s it. Breathe,” Aubrey says.
