Free By Appointment Only by Janice Maynard Page B

of us are still waiting.”
    He lifted an eyebrow. “For what?”
    “You know what.”
    He sniffed his armpit. “I need a shower. I’ll be with you in a minute.”
    Her mouth fell open. “I don’t care if you’re all man smelly. I need to get laid. Now.” Her body was humming with arousal. Making Morgan come had seriously revved her engine, not to mention having him toy with her so intimately before that.
    He had already turned his back on her. “You could join me.”
    Sadly, her shower had been built for utility and not foreplay. One adult was a tight squeeze. Two was physically impossible. Morgan disappeared and she heard him turn on the water.
    But there was more than one way to skin a cat, as her Grammy used to say. Hannah stripped off what clothing she had left and walked into the bathroom. The shower stall had a clear glass door, so Morgan saw her the moment she walked in. But she ignored him.
    She pinned up her hair and then went to the sink, took a washcloth, wet it, and rubbed it with soap. Slowly, she washed her arms from wrist to shoulder. Then she rubbed her breasts one at a time. The coarse washcloth rasped her sensitive nipples, and she shivered.
    Still, the water in the shower continued to run. She leaned her butt against the counter and lifted one leg to rest it on the small vanity stool. Carefully, she washed each leg from ankle to thigh, and then she rubbed between her legs. The double stimulation of her own caress and the knowledge that Morgan was watching almost made her come.
    She moved the rag back and forth, pausing to separate the folds of her sex and rub into every crevice. Her breathing was jerky now, her hands unsteady.
    At last, thank God, Morgan turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. His erection reared against his abdomen, thick and long, as though he hadn’t come only minutes before.
    He didn’t bother with drying off. He crossed the small distance between them, put his hands on her waist, and lifted her onto his cock. He turned them so that his ass was now braced on the counter. Then he thrust upward in one powerful stroke that pushed him as far as she could take him in this position. Despite the fact that she had been wet and ready, her body strained to accept his girth.
    She put her hands on his shoulders, her voice lost. She rested her forehead on his collarbone as he pumped in slow, shallow movements that must have strained the muscles in his arms to the breaking point.
    She wanted to say something. Maybe to beg . . . to cajole. But it was all she could do to stave off the coming tidal wave. She wanted to make it last. To savor the delicious sensation of being stretched and filled.
    His hands were clenched on her ass, supporting her, moving her to suit his whims. Her hands were linked behind his neck, her breasts flattened on his chest. She squeezed his penis with a deliberate flexing of her vaginal muscles. Morgan groaned and staggered sideways.
    Then with a muffled gasp, he hitched her up in his arms enough to get his balance and strode into the bedroom. He tumbled them both onto the mattress, never allowing their bodies to separate.
    The force of him coming down of top of her drove him even deeper into her aching passage, and she whimpered as splinters of fiery-hot pleasure spread from her womb throughout her abdomen in endless ripples of heat.
    In the aftermath, she could hear her heart beating in her ears. She swallowed against a dry throat. “Nicely done, Mr. Webber.”
    He wheezed and coughed as he rolled to his back. His cheekbones were ruddy with color, and his hair was standing in little spiky clumps where she had grabbed handfuls of it at a critical moment. His broad chest rose and fell as he tried to get his breath.
    He turned his head to look at her, his blue eyes slumberous and dark. “I won’t ever get tired of making love to you, Hannah. I’ve never experienced with anyone else what I feel when I’m with you.”
    She’d been expecting one of his