When she finally lifted her head, he didn’t say a word, just reached around her and squirted the shampoo in his palm. He turned her and massaged her scalp until there was a good lather. After he rinsed her hair, he did the same with the conditioner.
She faced him again. He gazed down at her for a moment, then cupped the back of her nape and took her lips with his. She searched for the hem of his saturated shirt, but he gently knocked her hands away and peeled it over his head. The wet fabric plopped heavily onto the tile, followed slowly—excruciatingly slowly—by waterlogged boots, jeans, and boxer briefs.
It was just the respite she needed to finish taming her chaotic emotions. As she watched him undress, a different kind of emotion filled her—need. Need and desire for this amazing man who’d put everything on the line today. She shuddered out a final breath, letting go of the pain, her heart swelling instead with love.
When he finally straightened, she looked at his beautiful, powerful body, and the ugliness of the day receded. With him, she felt totally nurtured and safe. And, God, how she wanted to touch him.
“I want to wash you,” she said.
“Yeah, I want you to wash me, too, but I’m not going to let you do it with those hands.” A wicked grin gradually curved his lips. “How about you watch instead?”
She mirrored his smile. “I’m intrigued.”
He grabbed the bar of soap and ran it provocatively over the wet skin of his chest and abs and tossed the bar back down. He then started sliding his hands down both his arms, his chest, and his well-defined six-pack, deliberately tantalizing her. Watching his strong fingers roam over his sudsy body was a huge turn on.
She caught her bottom lip between her teeth as those fingers delved lower. He wrapped one hand around his cock and started stroking. He had her so mesmerized by the action, she didn’t see his other hand reach out and tweak her nipple. She gasped.
“Someone likes watching me.”
She didn’t look away from his working hand, but she did smile wider. “Oh, yeah. I like watching your cock get hard.”
His arm shot out and yanked her to him. “My hard cock would like to be deep inside you.”
He left her for a brief moment to dig protection out of his sopping wet jeans, then his mouth was on hers again as he lifted her up. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she looped her arms around his neck, but kept her hands dangling free. He pressed her into the damp wall and, in one motion, embedded himself inside her. They groaned into each other’s mouths. Bucking into her in a fast, hard rhythm, he massaged one breast while gently rolling her nipple between two fingers. Moaning, she leaned her head back. His lips immediately went to her exposed neck, sucking, biting, and kissing.
“Jesus, Mac,” she stuttered out.
When his mouth closed around her nipple, sucking deeply, and his hand stroked between her legs, she came apart instantly. She expected him to join her. Instead, he slowed the aggressive motion of his finger to just a gentle rub of her clit as he thrust. He buried his face in her neck. “Fuck, woman, I can’t get enough of being inside you.”
Then his fingers resumed their skillful dance. This time her orgasm was stronger, longer, and loud. Mac thrust forward, and his body tensed against hers. “Fuck,” he bit out. “Fuck.”
A massive quake shook his frame, then his muscles slowly relaxed. When he finally lifted his head, a lazy smile curved his mouth. He kissed her gently and put her back on her feet outside the tub, not letting her go until he was sure she had her footing. After he got out, he snatched a white towel off the rack, gently dried her, and wrapped the towel around her body, tucking it closed between her breasts.
“I’m going to dry off. I’ll be out in a minute to treat your hands.” He kissed her again, then sent her out the door with a soft pat on the rump.
Smiling, Gayle padded into the room, grabbed an oversized T-shirt and panties, and slipped them on. There was a lot to be said for having someone special. Someone who understood what you were feeling and didn’t hesitate to give of himself. Someone you could trust.
Her smile faded. Those were dangerous thoughts. She didn’t have Mac. She needed to remember that. He would be gone in a matter of weeks.
“Sit down on the bed,” he said as he strode in from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist.
Perplexed by her thoughts, she did as he asked, watching him pull on a pair of checkered pajama bottoms and grab the first aid kit.
He knelt before her and she studied the top of his head, trying to sort out her feelings. She liked him. A lot. There was no doubt she could very easily fall for the man. And that scared the hell out of her.
Relationships and Gayle Matthews did not work. She’d accepted that three years ago. If it wasn’t death that separated her and the man she’d allowed in, it was her job, or her immaturity, or her seriousness, or her goofiness, or her commitment. Seriously? Could the reasons be any more bipolar?
The end result was always the same…he left.