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Knowing I love him and showing that I love him are two very different things. No one can stop me from feeling the way I feel, but acting on it can’t happen. It compromises everything, and I almost did it in front of more than a dozen townsfolk.
I’m shaking my head, doing more than just washing the conditioner out when I feel his eyes on me. I’ve lived this fantasy more times than I can count, and it stemmed from that one time I didn’t hear him ring the doorbell, and he called my name from my closed bedroom door.
When it happened, I sputtered and took too long to call out to him. If I think about it long enough, I know it would have the same power to embarrass me the way it did a couple years ago, but I managed to redirect that real life happening into fantasy that has the power to get me off in mere minutes.
I keep my eyes closed as I run conditioner-slick hands through my hair before letting them slide over my collarbone and sweeping the tips of my breasts. Despite the warmth of the water rolling down my skin, a ripple of awareness makes the hairs on my body rise.
I’ve been in a heightened state of arousal nearly every second for the last week, and this evening is no different.
My regular routine would be to wait for him at the bar like I’ve done countless times, but the way my body nearly made all of our secrets come to light yesterday, I knew doing so would only mean trouble. I’m not immune to the pheromones floating around in the air at The Hairy Frog. Most everyone there is looking to find someone to spend the night with, and it makes the atmosphere thick with arousal and desperation.
I don’t hedge the whimper that rushes out at the first brush of my fingers over my clit. Every cell in my body is on alert with need, and in the safety of my own home, I don’t have to pretend to be the prim-and-proper woman everyone expects. I get to be normal. I get to have desires. Being aroused doesn’t come with shame here the way it does out in public.
The rustle of a belt makes me smile, but I keep my eyes closed. My shower curtain is opaque enough to prevent him from really seeing any detail of my body, but I know he can see that I’m touching myself. It feels so naughty to do it without him giving me instructions to do so. I could’ve never done this if we hadn’t spent so much time together the way we have this last week.
I bite my lip, an attempt to hide my smile, when I feel the rush of cool air on my skin as he pulls back the shower curtain.
“You don’t seem alarmed,” he says, his hand covering mine, forcing me to add more pressure to my clit.
“The alarm was set,” I say on a gasp when his fingers slip past mine, one pressing inside of me.
“You weren’t at the bar,” he says, but it doesn’t really sound like a complaint. “I figured I’d use my lunch break to check on you. Imagine my surprise when I find you like this.”
His lips brush my chin before his mouth covers mine.
He doesn’t give me the chance to formulate a response before the kiss grows so intense that my brain goes offline nearly completely.
His fingers continue to explore and tease. Every time I try to sink lower, to get him to push deeper inside of me, he pulls back.
My eyes open at the third chuckle that erupts from his throat.
The hours of fantasizing about this moment doesn’t give the actual situation justice. The man is jaw-dropping delicious naked. Throw in water rushing over his skin, droplets getting lost in the dips and crevices his muscles create before disappearing down his legs, and he’s irresistible.
“I think I know which part inAt His Pleasureyou want to recreate, baby, but there’s still a scene from the other series I can’t seem to pull my focus from.”
When he drops down, his knees hitting the bottom of the tub, I know exactly which scene he’s referencing.
“Cash,” I whimper, the second he wraps his perfect lips around my clit.
Water sluices off my body, but he’s either willing to drown, or he’s somehow adapted to the ability of breathing under water because he doesn’t come up for air as he devours me.
His grip on my hips tighten when my legs threaten to give out, and I swear his growls and moans as he sucks on my clit will live inside of my head for eternity.
His skill level is unmatched, my body tightening in preparation of release only minutes after he begins.
“Cash,” I whimper again, my fingers tangled in his wet hair.
He grunts, and I take it as the permission he’s giving me. It happened a little differently in the book, but that guy was an expert at orgasm denial. Plus, Cash is on his lunch break, so his time is limited.
The tips of his fingers dig into me in the most delicious way that will no doubt leave tiny dots of blue and purple on my skin as my core convulses around his tongue.
He forces one of my legs over his shoulder, licking and nipping at me as my orgasm rages on and on.
I’m a sated mess of nerves and zings of sensation when he stands.
“That was so much better than my fantasies,” I say, my eyes widening when he grins at me.
The man makes it impossible to keep things to myself, but the confession doesn’t seem to irritate him.
