His hand held firm to the back of my neck and he slammed his mouth down on mine. My words were forgotten. His tongue slid into my mouth, teasing me. His hand cradled my head, holding me out of the water. I gave myself up to it, the demanding press of his lips and the scratch of his stubble. I angled my head, getting closer, going deeper and pulling him into me. If I drowned, it’d be worth it.
There was no finesse. Raw hunger took over.
I didn’t realize he’d started climbing into the tub with me until half the water sloshed over the sides. No more of this splashing nonsense, we made a god damn waterfall. He got in, jeans, T-shirt, Chucks and all, his legs tangling with mine. One strong arm wrapped around my waist, holding me to him, the other he braced on the top of the tub. Someone had to keep us afloat because I was too busy getting my hands beneath his T-shirt. I could’ve kissed him for days, but getting him naked was important.
“Off,” I demanded, dragging the material up.
“Hang on.” He pulled back onto his knees. With one of his hands and two of mine, we got rid of that sucker.
The feel of his hot skin and hard flesh was so fine. My fingers couldn’t travel far enough fast enough. I wanted to learn every inch of him. My mouth found his again and yes. I groaned and he clutched me harder. We were pressed together, skin on skin for the most part. My pebbled nipples rubbed against his chest.
Fuck yeah, friction.
Friction was beautiful, but wet denim sucked. I wiggled a hand under the back of his waistband, grabbing onto his tight ass. His hips flexed, pushing against me, grinding into me. There was every chance the bath wasn’t big enough for this. We’d make do. My elbow clocked the side, vibrating my funny bone. It hurt like a bitch. He must’ve noticed, because the next thing I knew we were rolling. More water cascaded out onto the floor.
“On top,” he grunted.
“’Kay.”
His hands slid over my skin, trying to keep hold. “Fuck, you’re slippery.”
The man knew how to use his body. All I could do was hold on, my hands tangled in his long hair. His mouth traveled over my collarbone, up my neck, finishing with his teeth at my jaw. Every inch of my skin broke out in goose bumps. My tummy tensed. A large hand palmed my ass, squeezing. Wet denim wasn’t so bad after all. Grinding my * against the ridge his hard-on made felt rather nice. Not as nice as he’d feel bare, but still.
“You hear that?” he asked.
“What? No.” The only thing I could hear was my heart pounding. And anyway, who cared? Now wasn’t the time for listening. It was the time to feel and I felt fucking fantastic sitting astride him. Luckily I knew how to prioritize. I fit my lips to his, kissing him deep and wet.
He broke away, turning his head aside. “Wait,” he said, followed shortly by, “shit.”
Distantly, from ever so far away (like the next room), there it was.
“Malcolm? Honey?” It was a woman’s voice, accompanied by several sets of feet. We had company.
What on earth?
“Mom?” he answered, his face skewed with disbelief.
Oh shit, he’d left the front door open.
“We got an earlier flight,” his mom called. And for the record, she sounded like a very nice woman. But shit, I didn’t want to meet her like this. What a wonderful first impression.
“You did?” asked Mal.
“That’s not a problem, is it?”
“Your parents are visiting?” I queried in a furious whisper. “Right now?”
He squeezed his eyes shut and whispered back, “Did I forget to mention that?”
“Mal? Honey?” his Mom called. “Everything okay?”
“No, no. Not a problem at all, Mom. Everything’s good.”
“We were just so excited when you told us about Anne.”
“She is pretty damn exciting.” He gave my breasts a long look. “Got to agree with you there.”
“We really wanted to just get here and meet her. I guess we should have warned you.”
His grin was pure evil. Hell itself would have been jealous. “Oh, you want to meet Anne? Because she’s right–”
I slapped my hand over his mouth. “Don’t you fucking dare,” I hissed.
Crap, the things he thought were amusing might just get one of us killed. In this situation, it was most definitely his life on the line. Despite the laughter in his eyes, he nodded, pressing a kiss to the palm of my hand. Slowly, I removed it, my eyes narrowed on him.
“What was that?” asked his mom.
“I was just saying she’ll be home from work soon, Mom.”
“Wonderful.”
“Sorry,” he mouthed to me, laughing silently.
“Asshole,” I mouthed back.
He grabbed the back of my head, bringing my lips to his. If only I didn’t love kissing him so much.
“Son,” a deep voice said from the other room.
“Hi, Dad.” Mal rested his forehead on my shoulder. “Don’t come in.”
“No, no. We won’t do that.”
“There’s a lot of water on the floor,” his mom said, matter-of-factly. “Aren’t you a bit old to be splashing around like this? What on earth were you doing? Where does Anne keep her mop?”
“Kitchen cabinet,” I whispered.
“Ah, kitchen cabinet, Mom. Thanks. Guess I got carried away.” Mal rested his head against the back of the tub. He rolled his eyes to the side, checking out the floor. “Look what you did, young lady.”
“You’re the one that climbed into my tub,” I replied quietly. Sure enough, the bathroom was pretty much flooded. Water had spread across the floor, a stream of it leading out beneath the door and into the living room. “What a mess. We better clean this up.”
“Sorry, pumpkin. I don’t mind picking up my shit and all, but I’m a rock star. Rock stars don’t mop. It’s just not done.”
“You help make the mess, you help clean it up. Boundaries, Mal.”
“You don’t understand.” He shut his eyes, face tight with fake despair. “These are the hands of an artist. Would you expect Bonham to mop?”
“Who?” I asked in confusion.
“John Bonham.”
“Right. Well … if John Bonham got water on the floor, yes, I would expect him to mop.”
“Well, he can’t. He’s dead.”
I cocked my head. “What … who are we even talking about?”
“You don’t know who John Bonham is?” Mal asked, his voice rising.
“Shh. Your parents are going to hear us.”
“Sorry. But c’mon, pumpkin, you have to know who Bonham is. You’re fucking with me, right?”
“Sorry.”
“Ah, man,” he sighed, shaking his head slowly, mournfully. “I’m not sure I can stick my dick in a woman who doesn’t even know who John Bonham is.”
“‘Stick your dick in’?” I asked, my brows probably touching. “Did you actually just say that?”
“Make love. I meant make love … of course. I would never just stick my dick in you. I would make mad, passionate love to this sweet, sweet body of yours for days, no, weeks. It would be beautiful, pumpkin. There’d be little angels, and birdies, and you know … all just hanging around, watching. Perverts.”
“Right. You are so full of shit.” I smiled, cautiously, climbing to my feet.
“What about Kerslake, you know him? How about Wilk, never heard of Wilk?”
“I know Grohl. He’s great.”