I shriek and run.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Max
Lila is already in the shower when I skid to a stop in the bathroom. Water sluices down her back, plastering her golden blond hair to her shoulders. Sprinkles cling to her skin like rainbow confetti, and there’s a streak of frosting down the column of her throat.
She looks like dessert.
She looks like everything I’ve ever wanted.
How did I get so lucky?
“Stop staring and get in here before the water gets cold,” she says.
I open the glass door and step into the spray. The moment the water hits my chest, thoughts start to swirl
I’ve been here before.
Well, notliterallyhere in Lila’s bathroom. But I’ve been in this exact position—shower spray on my chest, cock hard and aching, Lila’s name on my lips—more times than I care to admit over the past two weeks.
The memory of those moments hits me like a freight train. Standing in my own shower, forehead pressed to the tile, stroking myself to the thought of her.
And now she’s here. She’s real and warm and naked and wet and covered in sprinkles and frosting, the evidence of what we just did in her kitchen dripping down her legs.
My dick twitches.
I reach for the body wash in the niche and the loofah hanging from a hook next to it and squeeze out a generous amount.
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” I say, my voice coming out rougher than I intend.
With a sigh, she leans back against my chest.
My hands settle on her shoulders, and I work the lather into her skin in slow strokes.
“That feels so good,” she murmurs, her head dropping forward.
I work my way down her arms, one at a time. Her wrists. Her hands. I take my time with each finger, lacing mine through hers, cleaning the sprinkles from beneath her nails. They’re stubborn, those little rainbow flecks. They cling to her like they never want to let go.
I get the feeling.
“What are you thinking about?” Lila asks.
“You want to know the truth?”
“No, Max, lie to me.” She huffs out a laugh.
I turn her around to face me, and the sight of her stops the breath in my lungs.
Water droplets cling to her lashes like tiny crystals. Her cheeks are flushed pink from the heat of the shower and the aftermath of her orgasms, and there’s a look in her eyes as she stares up at me that I don’t quite recognize but desperately want to understand.
She’s the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.
“I think about you in my shower.” The words tumble out before I can stop them. “And I’m so sorry. I can’t stop. Over the past two weeks, every time I’ve touched myself, it’s been tothe thought of you.” I step closer, crowding her against the tile, my hands settling on her waist. “And now you’re here, and I’m trying very hard to be gentle right because you deserve gentle, but my fox…”
“Your fox,” she prompts when I trail off.
She is mine.
