Mm hmm. Total temptress.
“Rain check.” I dropped another kiss on her mouth. “Right now I want you to stay put.”
Her fingers skimming lower, she brushed against my raging boner. “Doesn’t feel like that’s all you want.”
“Naughty woman.” I broke away from her intensely arousing caress.
My shower was fast—I spared only a glance at my erect-to-the-point-of-pain cock, hoping the thick-stick would get its big head around the fact it wasn’t getting off tonight.
I had my shaft minimally under control when I returned to the living room, a towel slung around my waist, my hair damp, and water droplets trickling down my chest.
Shy drowsily opened her eyes, then her gaze turned an intense shade of dark silver.
I laughed uneasily, because the fucking towel was beginning to tent due to her steamy perusal of my body. “Gonna have to bring a few things over.”
“Maybe I just want to keep you naked.” She reached out and skimmed her palm up the inside of my thigh beneath the towel.
“Naughty woman.” Pulling her up in my arms, I crushed her to me with an even longer more luscious kiss that drove nearly all coherent thought from my brain. “Hmm. We shouldn’t start something we’re not finishing tonight.”
“I’m not that sick.”
“And I just want to hold you.”
Shy laughed. Because my rigid cock pressed against her belly was sending a totally different message.
I started carrying her to the bedroom.
“I can walk if you just get me my crutches.” Her warm breath moistened my neck, making concentrating on my footsteps difficult.
“I know you can. And I want to carry you.”
When I placed her on the bed, she reached for her crutches and got right back up again. “I just . . .” she nodded toward the bathroom.
“You don’t need to tell me anything. And just to be clear, I’m not only here because I want to help you. I’m here because I want to be with you.” I kept the towel on and hoisted up onto the bed.
I checked my phone for calls and messages. My voicemail was a whole bunch of the MC dudes dialing in the concern for Shy and telling me to let them know if she needed anything.
Those fucking guys.
Then a bunch more texts about baby Roxanna with tons of photos attached. The dudes had apparently spent the past hour and a half playing paparazzo with the newest Steele.
Shy came back out—fresh-faced and delicious-smelling.
I swaggered toward her.
A smile slowly curled across her gorgeous lips.
As soon as I closed an arm around her waist, her mouth hungered for mine, tugging a chest-deep groan from me. Our mouths joined—wetly, greedily—over and over as I maneuvered us to the bed.
With Shy settled on top, I raised her shirt up and off, immediately burying my face between her unbound tits.
She hissed and arched up, her hands twisting into my hair.
I licked one nipple before sealing my lips around the other, listening to her smoky moans.
When my hands fell to her hips, she raised her bottom, and breathed out, “To be clear, this isn’t you helping me because I’m sick.”
Once I got her free of all clothing, I whipped the towel from around my hips. “That’s right. Maybe I just want to keep you naked.”
Her gurgle of laughter was stolen away as soon as I angled my lips to hers again.
We weren’t gonna fuck. There’d be no release from the sweet and sexy torture we inflicted on one another—our mouths devouring, our hands exploring, our bodies rubbing together.
Shy needed rest, and I just needed to be with her.
I put half an inch of space between us when the hunger grew too hot.
“Want me to go home?” I whispered against her hair.
“Nope.”
“Good, because I wasn’t going to anyway.”
“Gonna bring some stuff over, huh?” she asked.
“Yep.” I grasped her ass in a firm grip, smiling smugly.
“First you tell me we’re exclusive and now you’re moving in? You sure do move fast, Handsome.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Shop Girl
“YOU SURE YOU’RE OKAY wearing this for a few hours?” I watched Shy as she put on one of the prosthetics she’d had refitted.
She’d gotten a clean bill of health from her oncologist two days ago with the added prescription to take it easy.
Taking it easy clearly was not a phrase Shy was familiar with. While she’d been on bed rest she’d gone for a walk every morning along the waterfront outside her building using the crutches she hated but for once accepted.
As well as my help.
Because I was completely, one hundred percent involved.
That meant I’d drafted the dudes to complete the final kitting out of her store, which was opening tonight.
Shy had ordered us around, bullied us, and downright laid down the law until the shop was fully stocked with clothing she’d sourced from sought-after vintage duds to hipster-chic shit—or as Shy called it, her inventory.