Page 79 of Filthy Rich

“So am I,” I say, tipping my head back as he runs his lips along my neck.

“I’d do anything for you. You know that, don’t you?”

Part of me doesn’t want to believe him. Most of me does. “Yes. You know what I really need?”

“What, angel?”

“To come.”

“Consider it done,” he says, nipping my ear.

The steam rises, mixing with my exhaustion after the long day of travel and with the emotion of the last few days to create a dreamlike atmosphere. I can’t surrender to it quickly enough.

He helps himself to shampoo from the dispenser, then lathers it through my hair, massaging my scalp until I coo with pleasure. When I’m lathered, rinsed and conditioned, he turns to the body wash and gives me the cleaning of my life, running his slick hands over me from behind, stroking up and down… My arms and shoulders… My breasts, his flat palms circling my nipples until I writhe against him… My hips and belly… The sweet spot between my thighs that makes me cry out for him.

I turn inside the circle of his arms, and his mouth is there, waiting. Our kisses are hot and deep, with languid strokes of his tongue as I strain on my tiptoes to reach him. To get close enough. His erection is rigid and insistent between us as I pump it the way he likes.

His gathering rumble of pleasure is almost enough to make me come on the spot.

I planned to wash and shampoo him as well, but he seems to have other plans. He backs up to the bench and sits, reaching for me.

“But I wanted to lather you up,” I say, trailing my fingers across his slick chest and down his biceps. “What about you?”

“I’ll live,” he says, taking me by the hips as I straddle him. “I’m glad we’re done with condoms. I don’t want anything between us.”

“Neither do I,” I say, easing onto him. “Ah, God, neither do I.”

I’m not going to lie—the narrow bench is not a thrill for my knees. Luckily, it doesn’t take either of us long to get where we’re going. I circle my hips against him, my thighs flexing and straining. He runs his slick hands down my back and cups my ass. The water splashes our faces and runs into our mouths as our kiss deepens.

It’s all too much.

His murmurs and strokes are so gentle and effective. So much more tender than they’ve ever been before.

And I never knew I had so many orgasms inside me, but he finds them.

He always finds them all.

I let out a single, high-pitched cry as the pleasure spirals inward before mushrooming out. My jackknifing hips would send me tumbling backward if it weren’t for his arms holding me upright and keeping me safe. I let my eyes roll closed and my head fall back as I arch against him. And the waves of ecstasy keep coming and coming and coming.

His grip tightens. He stiffens against me and murmurs my name, his voice quiet and astonished this time. Maybe he can’t believe this thing we do to each other.

Neither can I.

We finish up our shower, silent and sated now. He uses one of the warmed towels on me with great care before producing fluffy white robes for us both. There’s even a pair of pink flip-flops for me.

“Who’s hungry?” he asks, our gazes connecting in the semi-fogged mirror as I’m blotting my hair.

“Me, for sure.”

“I’ll go down to the kitchen and see what Chef left us. You finish up.”

“Good idea,” I say. “I’ll just be a minute.”

We smile at each other as he heads off, but he pauses at the doorway. “Tamsyn.”

“Yes?” I say, glancing over my shoulder at him.

He hesitates, color rising to his cheeks. “I just…”

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