Was Dean imagining this right now? Was he thinking about me rubbing soap over my body? Was he picturing me playing with myself, sliding my forefinger over the folds of my sex, pressing my hand against my clit?
I could see him standing there, all hot and aroused while he watched me. I could see the burn in his eyes, the flush of his cheekbones, the heaviness of his cock against his trousers.
I pressed one hand to the tiled wall and lowered my head against the spray. I worked my fingers faster, harder, my blood swelling with urgency. His fingers would be adept, expert, his touch precise.
He would know when to slide a finger into me, when to roll his thumb around my clit. He would suck my nipples at the same time, intensifying my arousal, his breath hot.
Oh, I wanted it, wanted to know what it was like, wanted his hands and mouth on me. I saw him clutching my hips, lifting me, pushing his cock between my legs, his eyes filled with desire. I saw myself, pink-flushed and panting, writhing against him, water beading on my breasts, my hair plastered in wet tendrils to my skin.
I imagined what it would feel like, him filling me with one deep thrust as I gripped his shoulders and begged for more. My nerves flared with sparks. I would tighten my inner flesh around his thick shaft, feel his groan rumble against my neck as he pushed inside me again and again, driving us both to the edge of bliss.
He’d talk dirty too, his voice rough in my ear, his fingers digging into my hips. “Open your * for me, Liv… I want to fuck you deep… so deep you’ll still feel it tomorrow… make you come until you scream… ah, you’re tight… so damn good…”
He would thrust slowly at first, then harder, an intense, thorough fucking that would shake my body and wrench his name from my throat as I arched my hips and creamed all over his cock…
A gasp escaped me as I came, clenching my thighs around my rapid fingers, vibrations rolling through me. I shuddered and inhaled a gulp of hot, steam-laced air as the sensations peaked and ebbed. Breathing hard, I absorbed the final quivers as the water began to cool.
I turned the faucet off and stepped out, pressing a towel against my face as my heartbeat slowed. I had no idea how long I’d been in the shower, but likely it was far too long for a “quick shower.” I dried off, shrugged into my robe, and darted back into the bedroom.
Soon, I silently promised myself as I dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt. Soon I would close the distance between us again. I knew it would be so much better than anything I could imagine.
And I could imagine quite a bit.
After brushing my hair, I went back into the living room. Dean was still sitting on the sofa, working a loop of string into patterns between his palms.
“Sorry,” I said, my voice breathless. “Uh, the shower felt too… good, I guess.”
“No problem. Game doesn’t start until six.” He unlaced the string from his fingers and looked at me.
I knew my face was still flushed from my little erotic interlude, and I had the sudden fear he knew exactly what I’d been doing.
Not fear. Hope.
The realization struck me.
I hoped he knew what I’d been doing. The idea that he’d been sitting here, imagining me in the shower the way I’d imagined him watching me… my breath caught.
Dean’s cell phone rang, breaking apart my thoughts. He sighed as he pulled it from his pocket. “Sorry, Liv.”
“Go ahead.”
His expression tensed as he looked at the caller ID. “Paige? What… no, I didn’t tell her I’d do anything… if he doesn’t get his shit together…”
My stomach knotted. I suspected he was talking about his brother. Paige must be his sister.
“You’re damn right he won’t,” Dean snapped into the phone.
Uneasy at overhearing a private conversation, I went into the kitchen and turned the water faucet on full blast to drown out Dean’s voice. After a few minutes, he came in, his expression set with frustration. I tightened my hands on a dishtowel.
“Is everything okay?” I asked.
“Depends on what you mean by okay.” He tossed his phone on the counter. “My brother has been a troublemaker his whole life. I wouldn’t give a shit if it didn’t cause problems for everyone else.” His mouth twisted. “It’s kind of fucked-up.”
Oh, Dean. I know all about fucked-up.
It should have made me wary, this revelation of a bitter family relationship in which he was tangled. Instead I wanted only to erase that pained look on his face, ease the furrows lining his forehead.
I stepped closer to him. I pressed my forefinger between his eyes, smoothing away the deep crease. His breath hitched, his gaze searching mine.
I was becoming accustomed to seeing Dean look at me with affection and heat. I was not accustomed to this look of aggravation, the sense that he needed something from me.
What? What could I give him?
I certainly wasn’t the kind of woman who could comfort a man with her body. Or with her cooking. Or even with any good suggestions on how to deal with his family.
I tilted my head to the kitchen table. “Sit down.”
“Shouldn’t we get going?”
“In a minute. First sit down.”