Even his legs were things of beauty, sculpted muscle, strong, capable of, well, screwing her against the wall. Capable of shaking her foundation so loose she wasn’t sure she had one anymore.
Seriously. That had happened, and it was better than even the lame fantasies she’d had of it. A pleasure so unyielding even she had to give into it, get swept away by it. And he was so sure, and so strong, big… He’d held her against the wall as though she weighed nothing, filled her as though she’d always been waiting for exactly that.
A man whose touch could make her feel aglow, whose gaze was so intense and focused on her it felt like touch. A man who could fill her with so much excitement and lust and desire, her brain didn’t have room to work.
It would be scary if she dwelled on it, so she did the most unbelievable thing she could think of instead. She flashed a grin, crooked a finger, and stepped inside the shower.
It was small, with a little rust, a lot of hard water stains, but when Dan stepped into the small space with her, none of that mattered. She dipped her head into the warm spray. Her hair would be a tangled mess when it was all said and done, but oh well.
Dan’s hands rested on her hips, each fingertip a pressure point against her skin. Each pressure point the start of a delicious trail of heat that all centered at her core. It had been only minutes, but just the simplest touch had her wanting again. Needing again.
She sighed into the spray, until he pressed her against the shower tile, his mouth covering hers. His body covered hers, so much broader and stronger. Against him she felt like she didn’t have to be strong or capable. She could just accept his kiss, his touch, let it lightning through her, an electricity she didn’t want to fight.
She smiled against his mouth—smiled because this was a moment worth enjoying, worth soaking up without worry or caution or any of the usual things that tightened her into a ball of stress that couldn’t ever let go.
His tongue traced her smile, his hands smoothing up her sides before palming her breasts; every time he touched, grasped, held, the trails of heat centered deeper, wanted more. And somehow in wanting more, she wanted to give more.
“Soap?” she said against his mouth.
He reached behind her and produced a bottle of shower gel, the kind you knew was meant for guys, because of course it was blue and had action written like three times on the label. When she squirted some on her hand, it smelled like him.
She handed the soap back to him, and then met his gaze as she took his length in her hand, squeezing gently as she stroked, feeling him grow harder as she slid her hand back down to the base. His eyes fluttering closed, water cascading down those unbelievable shoulders. Water droplets collected on his dark eyelashes, in the indentation above his collarbone. They trailed down the expanse of his chest, over the dip above his hips.
She wasn’t sure this was real. In fact, she’d go with that. This wasn’t real, so she could do whatever she wanted, however she wanted, and there would be no consequences.
So she knelt in front of him, allowing the spray to hit everywhere she’d just soaped up, wash away the lather. She ran her hands over his thighs, coarse hair, ridiculous muscle. The long length of him at eye level. She’d told him she wanted her mouth on him. She’d initiated this, because she wanted to give him something, because she wanted this thing he did to her to be mutual.
He raked his fingers through her hair, getting tangled there, stuck, tugging a little. Something about that little shock of pain eradicated the nerves enough that she could take him into her mouth. All the way until he hit the back of her throat and she had to pull back.
The rumble of his groan egged her on, even more so when his fingers tightened in her hair. She wanted him to lead her where he needed her to go, and he did. Her need grew with his. She wanted more than his hands in her hair, but even bigger than that was the need to give him what he wanted. To be what he wanted.
No nerves, no discomfort, no fear of doing it wrong causing her to hold back, to decline. This wasn’t complicated. It was elemental. It made everything else from the day fade away into desire, into power, into him. And her. Just this.
She filled her mouth with him again, then pulled back, a delicious, decadent rhythm, but this time he pulled her up to her feet.
His eyes glittered with intensity, and she suddenly realized the water had grown cool, though she’d barely noticed, not with his hands wrapped around her arms, pushing her back.
“Bedroom.”
“But—”
“Now.”
Well, sure, okay. She could do that. If he kept ordering her around with that blazing intensity, she could probably do anything. There was something about him taking over, taking charge that made her want to dissolve and go with the flow. As long as the flow led to him on top of her, inside of her, touching her until those lovely waves of pleasure washed over her and made her weak.