But until she left town, she’d take everything she could from her time with Conn McCormick. “You coming in?” she asked quietly.
The words dissipated into the steam now drifting through the master bathroom, obscuring Conn’s face like thin clouds obscured the sky. He answered with his body, reaching behind his neck to pull his Henley over his head, then set his hands on his belt.
She never, ever got tired of watching a man unfasten his belt. There was something so incredibly sexy about the movements. “Slow down,” she said.
Both of his eyebrows shot up, making his forehead wrinkle in a really interesting, adorable way. Even though she’d been wearing his hat for most of the Christmas tree shopping trip, his hair hung over his forehead, turning his face boyish despite the tough set of his jaw. Some distant, recording part of her mind noted the incongruities. It was the sheer size of him, bigger than anyone she regularly spent time with, but the man inside the muscles didn’t feel like he’d pumped the iron to boost his ego or meet the expectations of an image-conscious public. Based on the flashes of vulnerability she saw in his eyes, the way he looked at her askance, like he expected her to disappear, his muscles were a front, a defensive wall as unforgiving as the walls he liked backing her into. He wasn’t anything as simplistic as “hot.” Instead, he was compelling, made you look twice, then keep on looking in an effort to know more, trying to figure him out, catch his attention, keep his interest.
Cady was now of the opinion that “hot” was what you settled for when you couldn’t get “compelling.” When he was dressed, she forgot about the sheer size of him. He’d mastered the art of not being seen, somehow using his demeanor to hide his bulk, so that when he stripped, it was a shock to her system. He was a walking wall of muscle.
“Keep going,” she said, because Conn was clearly a we-better-both-be-on-the-same-page guy. “Just … slower.”
His face cleared, relaxed into something amused and sexy at the same time. Hands on his hips, he rolled his head on his shoulders as if he was knocking out tension, then focused on her again. “Want to watch a show rather than be a show?”
“Something like that,” she said.
Their voices were barely audible over the running water. Conn tugged the end of his worn brown leather belt free from the loop, waited, then tugged it back to release the prong. Leather glided against leather, and then the belt hung loose.
Without touching herself she felt the little electric shocks of arousal intensify between her legs. Steamy heat gathered, droplets of moisture forming at her temples, slipped down her sternum, gathered in her sex.
“Too fast?”
“Just right,” she said, and waved her hand to indicate he should get on with it.
He took his time with his zipper, letting her see the strength of his erection straining at the gray boxers he wore before popping open the last of the buttons of his fly. The jeans came off first, kicked next to the vanity. He palmed himself through the soft cotton of his boxers, then stuck his thumbs in his waistband and lifted the fabric over his erection to fall to his ankles. Hands back on his hips, his cock bobbed straight out in front of him, lifting ever so slightly with his heartbeat. A flush darkened his skin from his cheeks down to his chest, the dark lines and swirls of the tattoos black on pink skin. Whether this was from the steam or arousal, she didn’t know, or care.
Condoms were in the second drawer. She tore one free from the strip and turned back to the open shower door. “Come here,” she said.
He crowded her through the door, hot skin and hard muscles chivvying her through the zero-entry doorway until he could close the door behind them. Steam enveloped them when the door closed. She turned to face him, lifting one hand to his sternum and holding her ground.
“You’re doing that thing again,” she said. It was hard to think with this muscled expanse at eye level, tattoos swirling under the sheen of steam gathering on his bare skin, and even harder to think when his fingers curled around her hip.
“What thing?”
“That thing were you use your body to herd me where you want me to be,” she said, making shooing gestures with her hands into what little space remained between their bodies. “It’s kind of hot.”
He chuckled, the sound blending into the water, and stopped moving. “Kind of hot and kind of wrong?”
“Maybe a little bit wrong,” she said, and smoothed her hands over his pectorals. In response his cock bobbed against her hip. “That doesn’t mean I want you to stop.”