Then his hands tugged on my shirt, and we broke the kiss long enough for him to drag my shirt over my head, then do the same with his. He walked me backward until I had my back against the wall, pinning me there, and I had never felt this wanted, this sexy. It was as if I could see myself through his eyes, see how much he ached for me, and it meant everything to me.
Hands roved, exploring rough patches and smooth planes, powerful muscles and silky hair, and when my hand slipped into his underwear, steel wrapped in velvet. His moan was the most beautiful symphony, encouraging me to continue, and so I did until he kicked off his trousers and underwear, then quickly yanked off his socks as well.
He gestured at me. “Your turn.”
I was confident there had to be a sexy way to do this, but that was not something I would even attempt at this moment. If I was right about where this was leading, I didn’t want to waste time doing a striptease. The mood was already set. I didn’t need enhancing.
It did, however, need fewer clothes, and so I undressed in record time.
When I looked up, Bash was watching me through heavy-lidded eyes, and he literally licked his lips. “You’re so goddamn sexy,” he drawled, and I could have sworn my cock leaked just a little from that.
“You’re rather magnificent yourself,” I said, wishing with all my might I was better at this. Perhaps with more practice, I would be. But for now, I would accept my awkwardness and muddle through.
He cupped my cheeks and pressed a soft, wet kiss on my lips. “I’d love to shower together. Would that be okay?”
Shower? That was not what I had expected. But when I thought about it, it hit me that I wanted that too. I needed a little time to reconnect with him before doing more. I wanted more, no doubt about it, but even after his apology, a little friction remained, like sand rubbing in places you didn’t want it. To get rid of that, we’d have to rebuild that intimacy, and showering together sounded like a perfect plan.
Not to mention that it would also help me get ready in other ways.
“That sounds lovely,” I said softly.
Bash grinned with this wonderful, slightly crooked grin, and took my hand, weaving our fingers. As he led me to the bathroom, it occurred to me how completely at ease he was being naked. Every inch of him was confident, nonchalant, and real in a way that made the air between us feel charged.
In the tight space of the somewhat dingy bathroom, we stood face to face at the mirror. I tried my very best not to stare at his cock, which was beautiful, but standing straight up like a monument to our mutual desire. I failed, but so did he, as his eyes traveled lower too.
“Shower,” I said firmly, and we both laughed.
It was an incredibly tight fit in that bathtub with the two of us, but the water pressure was surprisingly good and the temperature perfect. We kissed, the water sluicing down our bodies, eyes closed to protect them.
Our legs tangled under the warm cascade and I was surprised how quickly everything that had happened earlier—the weirdness, the insecurity, those sharp edges—washed away. Water beaded his eyelashes and traced lines over his shoulders, slicked his hair to his scalp. In the harsh yellow overhead light, Bash’s body looked like a study in shadows, all ridges and unexpected beauty marks and the ghostly paleness of his thighs. I pressed my chest to his and the contrast of his skin against mine was one more reminder that this was real and not a daydream.
Sparks danced wherever our skin touched, the angles and planes of our bodies slipping and bumping in the slippery confines of the tub. Bash’s arms bracketed my head for a moment, pinning me lightly to the cool tile, his kisses urgent but never bruising. Every time he nipped my lower lip, my knees nearly buckled.
His hands slid up my ribs, mapping them one by one, thumbs circling in the hollows. When he pressed our chests together, the sensation was electricity and steam. I wanted more of him, as much as I could get, but its intensity overwhelmed me. It was almost like wanting to breathe underwater.
He pulled back, slicked my hair away from my eyes with frank adoration, then grabbed the bottle of body wash. “Turn around.”
Bash poured a palmful of body wash into his hand and began to scrub my shoulders, working it in with slow, circular motions. Just the act of being touched helped me unwind muscles I hadn’t known were tight. My eyes fluttered closed as he drew soapy lines down my spine, gliding over the curve of my ass, not shying away from the awkward or intimate spots. He washed me not to seduce, but just to be with me, as if learning all my skin’s textures was part of reconnecting—and maybe it was.
As his hands moved over my skin with such careful attention, something inside me loosened. The distance from earlier, that awful formality that had crept between us, was washing away with the soap suds. This was what I’d been craving without knowing how to ask for it: not just physical intimacy, but this complete acceptance. The way he touched me like I was something precious, something worth cherishing rather than merely tolerating.
I turned again, facing him. His palms glided across my chest, over my shoulders, slow and careful. It was both nurturing and very, very not. The friction was gentle, but each time his fingers brushed over my nipple, I felt it pulse all the way into my cock. He didn’t say much; he just looked at me and touched me, like he was memorizing the landscape.
Not to be outdone, I took the bottle from him and squeezed a mountain of gel into my own hands. I started with his pecs, soaping each one with reverence and a touch of awe. His body was perfect in the way that statues in museums are perfect, except this one was alive, warm, and quivering slightly under my touch. The slippery suds made it even easier to slide my hands down, over the ridges of his abs, following the wet thin trail of hair down.
He let his head fall back, bracing himself with two hands against the tiles, and a low, contented groan rumbled up his throat. I circled his navel with my thumb, let my hand dip lower, then stopped, waited, let the moment hang in the steam. Bash blinked at me, eyes wide and dark, and the corner of his mouth crooked up in a hungry, nervous grin. I felt a bolt of pleasure at the fact that I could make him look like that—like nothing in the world mattered more than the thing poised between us.
It was the most erotic thing I could’ve ever imagined. There was something about being so utterly naked in that unforgiving yellow light, the honesty of it, the vulnerability, the hunger written across both our faces. We didn’t need to say anything; it was all there, unspoken, in the tremor in our hands and the way our mouths kept finding each other, again and again, unable to stay apart.
I was in such a trance that I startled when the water shut off, having missed Bash even reaching for the knob. “If we continue this, we’re gonna end up with a broken limb from slipping in this damn bathtub, and wouldn’t that be a hell of a thing to explain to the ER staff…”
He wasn’t wrong.
The motel’s towels were rough and thin, a far cry from the thick, fluffy ones I was used to, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Bash and me, that was all that was important, and our eyes never left each other as we toweled off, me still in the bathtub and he on the mat.
He helped me out, and then we both dropped our wet towels to the floor.
“I really want to carry you to bed, but I don’t think it would work out well,” Bash said with a small smile. “I’d probably smack some part of you against the doorframe or drop you halfway.”
