Page 75

I wash the chlorine from her skin slowly, moving my hands over her shoulders, her back, then down the curve of her spine.

She leans into my hands and makes a low, contented sound as I take my time and rub soap across every inch of her gorgeous body.

But the slower pace doesn't cool anything down. It can't, because I'm rubbing a naked woman's body, and that means my cock is still rock fucking hard.

Audrey notices, and her hands keep wandering there with zero shame.

"That's a medical concern," she says, wrapping her fingers around me, her fingertips teasing the tip. "How is this still happening?"

"The effects of what you do to me are long-lasting, sweetheart," I groan, looking down at how she's stroking me.

Then she catches sight of my other hand and the mood shifts. The knuckles have gone purple and swollen where the puck caught them during the game. A scrape is crusted across two fingers and it looks terrible.

"Miles." Audrey gasps and grabs my hand to look closer. "Oh my God. Sit."

"It's fine—"

"Sit. You could have told me you were hurt before I—" She looks at my cock. "You know. Did that."

I sit on the shower bench, an enormous naked hockey player being ordered around by a woman half his size, and she takes my hand in both of hers and examines it under the falling water.

Miles. You should have said something," Audrey says softly.

She cleans the scrape with careful fingers. Then she lifts my hand and presses her lips to each bruised knuckle, one at a time, soft as snowfall.

I just sit there and watch her look after my hand, unable to believe my life right now.

Of course, I have been useful my whole life.

The one who fills gaps, fixes disasters, and carries what's heavy.

But nobody ever tends me.

Letting her do this, sitting still while she cares for the hand I may well have broken, feels more intimate than anything we just did in that pool.

"There. It looks better," she murmurs against my knuckles and kisses them again. She pulls back and looks over my hands, bringing my unhurt one up to hold them close together. "Wow. You have no idea how much I love your hands."

"I mean, I think I'm starting to—"

"Shh. I'm not done."

She takes my uninjured hand, holds my wrist, and guides it down between her legs.

Oh, fuck.

She guides it to her pussy, where she's still slick from me, my release mixed with her own wetness. I swallow and watch as she arranges my fingers exactly where she wants them.

"Like this," she whispers beneath the shower. "Oh… yes…"

She holds me steady, guiding my hand until two fingers are pressed inside her, my palm flat against her clit. She starts to move herself, grinding her pussy over my hand, fucking me however she likes.

"Miles… yes…"

She uses it like an instrument, her hand still holding my own, but using it to control me. She circles her clit against my palm, rubbing our mess everywhere, setting her own pressure, her own speed, her fingers wrapped around my forearm while the rainfall pours over her shoulders and breasts.

I can't look away.

Her eyes drop to where my hand disappears against her, and the look on her face is pure ownership.