“Do you mind if I come in?” He inched closer and set the plate down on the side of the tub and passed her one of the flutes, its contents bubbling along with the Jacuzzi. His gaze lowered to the water, or rather to her under the water. She knew modesty was a moot point when you had agreed to sleep with someone, but this moot point had always been an issue for her. Only child syndrome, she supposed. She pulled her knees a little closer.
Brit ran a finger over her cheek. Picking up a strawberry, he held it to her lips. She chuckled nervously and that caused him to smile. As she sank her teeth into the sweet fruit, Brit sank to the floor and leaned over the tub’s edge to press his lips to hers. The kiss tasted of strawberries, champagne and of Brit. Modesty became less of an issue.
Holding the glass in one hand, she curled her other arm around his neck, threading her wet fingers through his hair, dripping water over the back of his shirt. When the kiss ended, he smiled, his gaze putting off more steam than the tub.
“May I join you?” He placed his flute down on the edge of the tub and started unbuttoning his shirt. Okay, she saw a trend here. He asked for permission, but didn’t wait for an answer.
Or did he see the answer in her eyes?
She wouldn’t have said no. Still, her heart started to race. Not because she didn’t want this, but because she wanted it too much—because suddenly she didn’t know if she could meet his standards. Something told her that Brit had sex down to an art—that he was a master of seduction.
Sure, she’d almost mastered art. She could stroke color on canvas, sculpt and mold clay, but she was sort of a paint-by-number kind of student when it came to sex. She had read books about it, digested magazine articles about it, hoping to improve her performance and her pleasure. However, the short, unsatisfying fling with Stan told her she needed to buy some more books.
Her gaze refocused on Brit. Maybe what she needed was hands-on experience.
He draped the long sleeve denim shirt over the counter. Catching his white T-shirt by the bottom with his thumbs, he pulled it up, exposing his naked chest. Muscles rippled down his stomach as he slipped the shirt over his head. The T-shirt fluttered to the floor. He kicked his shoes off. His hands eased over his hard abdomen, only to stop at his waist. The top of his snugly fitting jeans snapped open. Slowly, he unzipped, exposing the elastic band of a pair of navy boxers. His gaze told her that each of his moves were intentional and for her pleasure.
To watch.
To enjoy.
Her private show.
And she was turning redder than an over-ripe tomato.
His jeans slipped down his hips. His boxer underwear inched down his thighs. His sex, freed from his shorts, came out to play and made a grand appearance. Hard and heavy, it bounced up and almost touched the treasure trail of hair moving down from his navel. Her heart hit one big thud and stopped. She jerked her gaze back to the flute in her hand.
It was a nice piece of …crystal, a tad larger than the average flute. Not that she was an expert on crystals. Or flutes. Or . . .
She heard him chuckle and figured he laughed at her blush.
His foot slipped between her and the back of the tub. He lowered himself in the tub behind her. The water level rose. She scooted forward. Way forward. He curled his arm around her waist and pulled her closer. Close against him. His wet, naked body pressed against her back. She felt his chest, dusted with soft hair, then his abdomen, flat and solid. His legs extended on each side of her, and then she felt his sex, heavy and silky hard, against her lower back.
“You okay with this?” he asked. “Comfortable enough?”
“Yeah.” She lifted the glass and sucked in champagne courage. The tingling bubbles fizzed on her tongue.
“Good.” He kissed her neck. “You feel wonderful.” His palm moved over her bare stomach.
She gulped another sip of champagne, feeling the bubbles race down her throat.
He unclasped her banana clip and her hair fell, tickling her shoulders. Dropping the clip on the floor, he gently turned her face to the side so he could meet her gaze. “Still okay?”
“A little nervous.” She nipped at her lower lip.
He grinned and ran a finger down her cheek. “Me, too.”
“You don’t feel nervous.” She shifted slightly where his hardness pressed against her lower back.
He chuckled. “I’m not that nervous.” Reaching over, he picked up another strawberry and held it to her lips. “Eat. Drink. Relax. We’re not in any hurry.”
She bit into the fruit, savoring the burst of flavor—a little tart, a little sweet. “Umm.” Her breath caught when she felt his hand glide up to her breasts. His fingers passed over her wet nipples that were tight and so sensitive.
She leaned against him as his touch sent erotic messages to other parts of her body.
Clutching the flute in one hand, she let her other hand fall to his leg. She ran her fingers over his kneecap and followed his leg back under the water to mid-thigh.