Free LIKE (Social Media #2) by J.A. Huss Page B

barely big enough for me, let alone the both of us together. So I jump in before the water is even hot and begin to wash myself, taking care not to get my hair wet so I don’t have to worry about it.
    He finishes taking off his clothes and steps to the shower, ready to get in. But I put a hand up. “I’ll be done in a minute and then you can get in alone.”
    “You must be joking.”
    “No,” I say with chattering teeth since the water is not quite hot yet, “there’s really no room—”
    He physically moves me backwards until I’m pressed up against the cold tile wall, and steps in. He sucks in a breath at the water temperature and then adjusts it, standing over me to shield me from the cold. A few seconds later the hot water steams up the tiny stall, and he turns to me with a bar of soap and a wicked grin.
    “I made a mess. It’s my job to clean you up.” He lifts up my arm and rubs the soap up and down the length of it, paying close attention to the crevice of my elbow and my ticklish armpit. He chastises me with a simple, “Shhh,” when I giggle and pull away. And I bite my lip and let him continue. He does this for every limb, his deft fingers slipping between my legs and into my folds to massage my clit with the sweet-smelling suds. I groan, I can’t help it.
    “One more fuck before we call it a night? I don’t know when I’ll be able to come back again.”
    I look up at him and imagine him as Vaughn the man and not Vaughn the movie star. What would it be like to have a relationship with him? Like a real relationship? Is he this attentive all the time? Or does he just want something from me?
    I shake my head no to his offer.
    He grins. Not a big, wolfish one, but a slight, sympathetic one that tells me he knows. He can see right through me. He knows I’m having some kind of… emotional experience.
    “Grace,” he says softly as his fingers slip between my folds. “Relax, let me do this for you. It gives me pleasure.”
    I close my eyes and shake my head again, grabbing his hand and taking the soap from him. I lather myself up after that, quickly, as he watches with a keen and still hungry eye. And then I slip under his arm and rinse off in the water. When I open my eyes, he’s staring at me with a smile.
    “What?”
    “Why do you have such trouble accepting kindness?”
    “Is that what you’re calling this? An act of kindness?”
    “What do you call it?”
    I just stare at him, because even though it’s an obvious response to my question, I’m at a loss for words. “I’m finished,” I say instead.
    “As am I,” he says back.
    I shut the water off and step out onto the ragged blue bath mat. We both reach for the towel at the same time. There’s only one, I always leave my hair towel in my bedroom after, and he gets there first.
    “Shall we fight over the towel too? Do you enjoy this battle? Or is this true insecurity?”
    “Oh, God. Just give me the towel.”
    “Why do you insist on making me repeat myself? I told you, I made a mess, so it’s my job to clean you up. I’m not done yet.” And then he brings the towel to my chest and gently presses it against my body, like I’m a fragile piece of art and rubbing me too hard might break me.
    This from a man who was dragging me around by my hair and stuffing his cock down my throat not ten minutes ago.
    And as I’m still thinking this, he dips his head and his mouth is on mine. Not a kiss so much as a caress, like the towel against my breasts. His tongue slips in and tangles up in mine, the water from his face drips into my mouth, making the kiss wetter than normal.
    I close my eyes.
    He moans, “Yes, that’s my girl,” into my ear.
    I swallow hard and lean into him.
    “You’re mine now, Grace. Can you feel it?”
    I want to say no, but his lips caress me into submission. I want so, so badly to say no. But I can’t. Because I’m a yes-girl. Because a wave of heat rushes through my body and I’m rendered speechless and weak.