finger over the deep curve of a chrome faucet. “I have a thing about bathrooms, you know.”
No. He didn’t know. He only knew that he did.
She moved into the shower space and he shut the door behind him. The click of the latch echoed as always in the cavernous room, a sound he associated with solitude and safety. Never before had he chosen to share the ritual of his shower. And he had to push away the sharp clutch of awareness of that fact demanding explanation, why this woman, why here and now.
An easy answer. Sex.
Nothing less than sex. Certainly nothing more than exploring this rabid obsession.
He moved away from the door, through the dressing room and past the vanity counters and into the shower’s main space. A sunken hot tub sat unused in one corner. For Sebastian, this room was all about pulsing jets of hot spray beating down from all sides.
And now it was about Erin Thatcher, to see how far he could take her, to see how far she would go. And, once shed of clothes and inhibitions, to see if they could fuck themselves free of the connection they shared—a hot, biting arc of shocking awareness getting in the way of his life.
ERIN TOOK A DEEP BREATH and, hands clenched, turned to face him. She watched while he pulled off boots and socks, tossing the lot halfway across the room. She watched while he reached for the hem of his navy blue Henley pullover and tugged it off. She watched while he freed the button fly of his jeans and skinned the denim down his legs.
Finally, he stood wearing boxer briefs, black, with a pouch that cupped the soft sac of his balls yet barely held the swollen length of his cock.
She wondered how hard a human heart could actually beat in response to arousal. How fast blood could rush to the parts of her body responding to the gorgeous vision of this near naked man standing not four feet away.
His arms were long, roped with tendons and muscles; the round of his shoulders defined their breadth. His legs were those of a runner, his calves firmly developed, his thighs strong, his feet sporting the barest tufts of dark hair. The same dark hair that grew low in soft swirls on his abdomen.
His stomach and chest were smooth, lightly sculpted and a temptation to touch. She curled her hands into fists and struggled to evenly breathe. And then he moved toward her. That body she’d only seen in head-to-toe dark clothing was now so real and so bare and so incredibly, beautifully hers to explore.
His hands went to the front of her shirt and he pulled the hem from where it had been tucked back into her pants. She let him strip if off, wishing she’d worn lacier underwear, knowing the plain black stretch cups of her bra molded nicely to her curves but weren’t particularly sexy. She decided Sebastian didn’t care, as he took the weight of her breasts in his hands and tugged the peaks to attention.
She reached for the clasp at her back, wanting to feel his skin and his mouth, his lips, his teeth, his tongue, but he shook his head to stop her. She let him, hating that she had to wait, loving that she had to wait.
He reached for the button at her waistband, his fingers warm against the skin of her torso, his breath even hotter when he leaned down to blow a stream of air across her taut nipples. The distraction failed to pull her attention from his hands moving into her pants.
When her zipper went down and the heat of his skin warmed her bared belly, shivers set in. She held on to his shoulder as he leaned toward her to pull off her pants, one hand working its way over her backside, the other teasing her front while sliding down the boring black gabardine.
She wasn’t sure how she was going to survive sex with this man when having him take off her clothes nearly brought her to her knees. And this bathroom. It was as if showering in and of itself was an afterthought. The room was built for sex. She wondered how many women had been here before her. She wondered if she really
No. He didn’t know. He only knew that he did.
She moved into the shower space and he shut the door behind him. The click of the latch echoed as always in the cavernous room, a sound he associated with solitude and safety. Never before had he chosen to share the ritual of his shower. And he had to push away the sharp clutch of awareness of that fact demanding explanation, why this woman, why here and now.
An easy answer. Sex.
Nothing less than sex. Certainly nothing more than exploring this rabid obsession.
He moved away from the door, through the dressing room and past the vanity counters and into the shower’s main space. A sunken hot tub sat unused in one corner. For Sebastian, this room was all about pulsing jets of hot spray beating down from all sides.
And now it was about Erin Thatcher, to see how far he could take her, to see how far she would go. And, once shed of clothes and inhibitions, to see if they could fuck themselves free of the connection they shared—a hot, biting arc of shocking awareness getting in the way of his life.
ERIN TOOK A DEEP BREATH and, hands clenched, turned to face him. She watched while he pulled off boots and socks, tossing the lot halfway across the room. She watched while he reached for the hem of his navy blue Henley pullover and tugged it off. She watched while he freed the button fly of his jeans and skinned the denim down his legs.
Finally, he stood wearing boxer briefs, black, with a pouch that cupped the soft sac of his balls yet barely held the swollen length of his cock.
She wondered how hard a human heart could actually beat in response to arousal. How fast blood could rush to the parts of her body responding to the gorgeous vision of this near naked man standing not four feet away.
His arms were long, roped with tendons and muscles; the round of his shoulders defined their breadth. His legs were those of a runner, his calves firmly developed, his thighs strong, his feet sporting the barest tufts of dark hair. The same dark hair that grew low in soft swirls on his abdomen.
His stomach and chest were smooth, lightly sculpted and a temptation to touch. She curled her hands into fists and struggled to evenly breathe. And then he moved toward her. That body she’d only seen in head-to-toe dark clothing was now so real and so bare and so incredibly, beautifully hers to explore.
His hands went to the front of her shirt and he pulled the hem from where it had been tucked back into her pants. She let him strip if off, wishing she’d worn lacier underwear, knowing the plain black stretch cups of her bra molded nicely to her curves but weren’t particularly sexy. She decided Sebastian didn’t care, as he took the weight of her breasts in his hands and tugged the peaks to attention.
She reached for the clasp at her back, wanting to feel his skin and his mouth, his lips, his teeth, his tongue, but he shook his head to stop her. She let him, hating that she had to wait, loving that she had to wait.
He reached for the button at her waistband, his fingers warm against the skin of her torso, his breath even hotter when he leaned down to blow a stream of air across her taut nipples. The distraction failed to pull her attention from his hands moving into her pants.
When her zipper went down and the heat of his skin warmed her bared belly, shivers set in. She held on to his shoulder as he leaned toward her to pull off her pants, one hand working its way over her backside, the other teasing her front while sliding down the boring black gabardine.
She wasn’t sure how she was going to survive sex with this man when having him take off her clothes nearly brought her to her knees. And this bathroom. It was as if showering in and of itself was an afterthought. The room was built for sex. She wondered how many women had been here before her. She wondered if she really
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