His tactic to neglect the third-party works for the most part. Scott stands outside of his shower stall, just watching us in curiosity, as though he’s considering grabbing a video camera. If he does, I will snip his fucking…
My thoughts trail off as soon as Connor nears me. His eyes drop, climbing from my bare legs and rising higher and higher. His gaze momentarily pauses on the spot between my thighs, and I swear he smiles ever so slightly. Places that no man has ever touched ache for hard pressure. All because of his stupid smile. And those eyes, I suppose.
They heat me as much as the shower steam, his blue irises ascending once more from my feet to my breasts where he lingers. I check the state of my nipples. Erect. Of course. My pulse speeds crazily, and each bead of water scorches my skin.
And yet, I don’t want to move. I want to stand right here and burn with this fire.
Connor closes in, and his hardness brushes against my belly. I feel so short without high heels on. I look up. The water rains down on his body, where his muscles curve in hard, defined lines, leading to his cock. Just seeing that stirs something deep inside of me, the heat and his body numbing my brain.
A strong need heightens, the kind that would like a real dick and not a rubber one—the kind that I’ve snubbed for a long, long time. This is something I would have fantasized about at sixteen in my bedroom. Connor Cobalt entering my shower like a dominant god, his intelligence trouncing mine for a long, stimulating moment.
He reaches over me, grabbing his expensive shampoo, and his arm rubs against my shoulder. My chest collapses. Just like that.
I don’t breathe.
I can’t move.
I’m surprised my brain hasn’t completely shut off. But then I would really be pissed. My brain has never ditched me before, and like hell the first time would be because of a penis.
Fearless nudity. Right. I suck in a breath and command my confidence to return.
“Your project,” I whisper to Connor. He needs this time to work, not guard me from the sleazy producer. Normally I would protest against the backup, but I wish, more than anything, he’d stay right here.
“I finished it,” he says, his face naturally unreadable. It could very well be a lie, but I’d rather not reignite that argument.
The other shower turns on, and I hear the water splash against the tiles. Scott decided to make this situation more awkward. I’m about to look over and shoot him one of my signature death glares. But Connor rests a hand on my bare hip and maintains my position here in front of him. He stands between me and Scott, the chest-high wall also adding a bit of a barrier between us and the producer. I pull a wet strand of hair off my lip. Despite being shielded by a six-foot-four muscular man, my fury ejects. “Nice of you to wait ten minutes, Scott. If my shower ends up being cold, I’m going to—”
“What? What are you going to do?” Scott says in amusement, most likely smirking. “Assault me with your nails? Claw me? Please do. And be sure to forget the towel when you come into my shower.”
Uh…fuck. I suddenly realize that giving Scott attention is the equivalent of kicking Connor to the ground.
My boyfriend can be the bigger person in most situations. I tend to take the low road.
Connor lets his annoyance pass through his features. His jaw sets tight and his eyes flash hot at me. Just when I wonder if he’s going to punish me, as he once said he’d do, he returns to his shampoo, actually washing his hair.
Disappointment floods me. Is it bad that I wished he punished me somehow? I guess I should go back to my routine then… I bite my gums, trying not to be distracted as I grab my razor. But he’s much larger than anything I’ve put inside me, and he’s only semi-hard.
“So what’s your job title at Cobalt Inc.?” Scott asks Connor.
“Interim CEO,” he replies civilly. I think Scott’s just trying to provoke Connor.
“So it’s temporary?”
“Provisional, momentary, brief,” Connor lists with a casual tone. “More synonyms for interim in case you need them.”
Scott snorts but has nothing to fling back in my boyfriend’s face.
I concentrate on bathing. I still have to shave my leg. And that means bending over in front of Connor. He continues to hide me from Scott, so I have no clear view of him—thankfully. I don’t want Scott to see my ass. He can look at Connor’s all day—you know, since it’s his best feature.
Maybe I can skip shaving.
I shudder.
Fuck it. I’ve come this far. I’m naked in a shower with a naked man. I can bend over a little. I lather soap on my leg, and then I lean over to finish shaving. My bottom rubs against his dick, and I go to stand up and scoot forward, away from him, but Connor puts a hand on my back, forcing me to stay down.
His other palm caresses the soft flesh of my ass. And then he squeezes me hard, and I hear the warning in his grip don’t give Scott anything of yours.
I wince and can’t help but smile, loving that he cares. He alternates between a forceful grip and a soft one, rubbing and clenching, nearing the spot between my legs. Not yet entering. My arms shake as I attempt to shave, especially when he massages my bottom and then slaps it. Ahh…fuck me…
Why does that feel so good?
He releases his hand on my back, allowing me the option to stand, but his fingers perilously dip to the crease of my ass.
He lowers them. And I yelp, a sound that has never left my mouth before. I’ve just been startled out of my fucking mind. Holy… I knick my kneecap, drawing blood, and stand up straight, causing Connor’s hands to fall from me.
Scott laughs. He’s fucking laughing, which only pummels me with more guilt and shock. I just rejected Connor right in front of Scott—is that what it looks like? I slowly turn around and meet Connor’s complacent, composed and most importantly unreadable expression. I channel so many apologies through my face. I’m using facial muscles that have been static for the past twenty-three years.
Scott’s chortles still scald my eardrums. Out of haste, I try to turn on the producer and curse him out, to ineloquently explain how it wasn’t just Connor. If any man tried to do that with me, they would have been met with the same alarmed response.
But Connor pinches my chin and forces my gaze on him. Our eyes connect on a different level. The world becomes small.
No Scott.
No shower.
No rush of water or nakedness.
Just me. Just him. Just us.
Together again.
Desire blankets and pulses and shrouds me in its heady web. Wants and urges bubble, feelings that have been caged since we moved to the townhouse. It all springs to life, and I see the longing swim in his deep blues.
We haven’t gotten off in a while. I haven’t masturbated in our bed, fearful of the noises catching on microphones outside the walls. And Connor used to masturbate in our shower, which has become complicated with the communal style here.
We’re both horny as hell. Especially after arousing each other downstairs.
And then his thumb brushes my jaw, my lower lip, and slides into my mouth.
An audible noise of consent, of yearning and delight escapes.