“Need a shower?” she asks when I’m done. Her voice drops a register, getting all Scarlet Johansson-ish. “I could use one.”
It’s a tonic to my dick, and I feel it pulse, despite how exhausted it has to be. But I’m not exhausted. I also have no intention of going home right away if I can help it. It’s still so early, the dogs should be sleeping. They’ll be okay for a little bit before I return. I don’t know how many more minutes of Kayla Moore I get in my lifetime.
“Sure,” I tell her. She takes my hand in hers and pulls me off the bed. Now that I’m looming over her, she looks so willowy, tiny, and dare I say, helpless, even though I know she’s anything but.
She glances down, sees the stirrings of another erection.
“The hell,” she says. “How is that even possible?”
I stand there proudly before her. “Anything is possible with me.”
“You really are a beast,” she comments.
“Funny,” I tell her, “that’s my nickname on the field.”
“And in the bedroom, I guess.”
“No,” I tell her, putting my hands on the soft small of her waist and pulling her in. “Only with you.”
I can tell she’s grinning at me. She steps out of my grasp and does a sexy walk, her hips swaying back and forth, all the way to the washroom. She flicks on the light then throws her hand in front of her face, blinking hard.
“It’s a bit bright,” she says.
“All the better to see you,” I tell her, following her in.
Her bathroom is about the size of a shoe box, with a sink, toilet, and glass-encased shower. A large mirror extends along the entire wall, adding depth. I stare at our reflections. I look so giant next to her, the scars, my messy hair, the scores of tattoos. I look like a bruiser, a fighter, a reject. She looks like a princess compared to me, so delicate and soft and pale. I really am the beast here.
Thank god she likes it. She’s meeting my eyes in the reflection, and her lips part just enough for me to get a glimpse of her tongue.
“Get in the shower,” I tell her. “Lather up.”
She frowns, walking over to it and turning it on. “What are you going to do?”
“It’s barely big enough for the both of us,” I tell her. “I’m going to watch you clean yourself. Then I’m going to bend you over and fuck you silly.”
She tilts her head, appraising me with a look of wonder on her sweet face. “Who are you again? The insatiable man?”
“Perfectly paired with the insatiable girl.” I give her a half-smile and jerk my head at the shower. “Go.”
“All right,” she says slowly with a raise of her brows. She steps in the shower and lets the water run over her. Her neck goes back, her back arches, the water streams over her perky breasts, her tight little arse, over every soft and curvy part of her body. It’s like watching fucking porn but it’s live and in front of me, and for now, for these last hours of morning, she’s all mine.
I lean back against the sink, and in no time my cock is rock hard again and hot between my hands. I watch as she squirts body wash on a sponge and runs it all over her body, the white lather dripping between her tits and down the curve of her hips and pelvis.
“Play with yourself,” I tell her, my voice coarse with lust.
She smirks at me. “You’re really bossy.”
“Again, so are you.”
Kayla gives me a triumphant look then keeps her eyes locked with mine as her hands and the sponge dip between her legs. At this point, most girls would look away, feeling like they are display, exposed. But she has no problems baring all to me. She stares deep into my eyes until her own pleasure makes her break. Her head goes back, her eyes pinch shut, that gorgeous, fuckable mouth opens as she moans.
Yeah. I can’t handle much more.
I walk over to the shower and she shrinks up against the wall to give me room.
“Keep the door open,” I tell her. “Brace your hands on the edge.”
“The floor will get soaked,” she says, but still complies.
“You have towels.”