I jump when Logan steps into the bath with me. His body envelopes mine, completely naked. “Logan!” I screech.
A warm chuckle makes his chest move against my back. “I don’t want to be away from you,” he says, pushing my wet hair to the side so he can press his lips to my naked shoulder.
He’s hard against my bottom, the rigid length of him teasing me. He takes my washcloth from my hands and gets it soapy. Then he drags it down my spine, slowly, ever so slowly. My breath catches in my throat when he abandons the washcloth and runs his soapy hands over my bottom, squeezing my butt cheeks in his gentle grip. He doesn’t leave a spot unwashed, his hands finding every crevice and dip, all the way down the backs of my legs, across the backs of my knees, which I had no idea were so ticklish, and over the heels of my feet. I stand there with my eyes closed, unable to look at him. He stands back up and lathers the soap in his palms again. This time, he doesn’t take the washcloth at all. He uses his fingers to skim my body. His fingers tickle all the way down my left arm, all the way to my fingertips. Strong fingers lace with mine and he gives me a squeeze before he turns me to face him.
I keep my eyes closed. I am overwhelmed by what he’s doing to me. If I look into his eyes, I don’t know what will happen right now. I might combust. I might shatter. I might break. I might just come from the sheer pleasure of his touch. I can feel his smile against my shoulder as he presses his lips there. His hands circle my breasts, and gentle thumbs stroke across my nipples, which are straining for his touch. I arch my back, pressing my breasts into his hands and I hear him chuckle. My eyes fly open.
His hair is wet and he’s dripping with water. I lean forward and lick his chest. He groans, freezing. His fingers pluck at my nipples, elongating them with his gentle tugs. “Logan,” I cry. He looks up at me and stills.
“Did you say something?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I say. Laughter breaks from my throat. “I can’t even think. You want me to repeat myself?”
“I felt you say something,” he says. He grins. “I just wanted to be sure you’re all right.”
I lay my head back against the wall. I’ll never be all right again. He rubs his soapy hands over my belly, and then his fingers dip into the cleft between my legs. I reach for his shoulders.
He picks up the wash cloth again, and gets it sudsy. “Open your legs for me,” he orders, tapping my inner thigh.
This is more intimate than anything I ever dared dream of. He uses the wash cloth to gently clean between my legs. He spreads me open with his fingertips, growls low in his throat, and washes me clean. The cloth drags across my clit, and my knees almost buckle. He throws the cloth to the side and uses his soapy hands to slide across my folds, front and back, front and back, front and back. “Logan!” I cry. This time, I tap on his shoulder. He looks up and grins. “Something wrong?” he asks. He strokes across my clit again, and then opens me to the spray of the shower. His fingers rub back and forth until I’m no longer slippery. Or at least not slippery from the soap.
“I think I’m clean,” I say. I can’t take much more.
Logan stands up and kisses me. “I want to be inside you so bad,” he says. He pushes me under the spray to get my hair wet, and then washes my hair, rinsing it gently. “Your hair is growing out,” he says. “Is it blond?”
I nod. “Not platinum. But a dark blond color.”
“I’d like to see you like that,” he says. “Maybe someday.” He smiles and kisses me. He moves me to the side and starts to wash his own body, his movements quick and efficient.
“Let me help you,” I say, reaching to take the soap from him.
“If you touch me right now, I’ll come,” he warns. “And I really want to do that while I’m inside you.”
My belly flips. “Oh.”
He chuckles. “Just stand there and watch,” he says.
He washes and rinses his hair, and I let my gaze drag down his body. He told me he had a piercing down there. But he didn’t tell me he had a bar through the skin at the base of his penis. “That’s the piercing you were telling me about?” I ask.
He nods, blowing water from his lips. He’s hard. So hard. And long. And thick. And I have no idea how he’s going to get that inside me. But one thing is certain. He’s going to be inside me tonight. I opened that door when I told him my name.
“Emily Madison,” I say. “My name. It’s Emily Madison.”
He stills. “Where are you from?” he asks. He turns the water off, but never looks away from me.
“California.”
“The opposite coast,” he breathes. He takes my face in his hands. “Emily,” he says again. “It suits you.”
I grin. “I’m glad.”
Logan steps out of the tub, and comes back with two towels. He dries me off and wraps me in one towel. The other he uses on himself, and then wraps it around his hips.