Page 61 of A Cowboy in the Streets

“Oh.” He blinked. “I don’t do that.”

“It doesn’t matter on short hair.” I stretched my arm up and ruffled his hair. It hurt, but it was worth it.

Apparently, Adam didn’t agree. He captured my wrist with a low growl. “Dammit. Don’t hurt yourself touching me.”

Unperturbed, I blew a raspberry at him and rinsed out my hair. “Stop treating me like I’m fragile. I’m fine.”

He grunted. I took that for agreement.

He rubbed the bar of soap between his palms until his hands were covered in a rich, scented lather. Hooking an arm around my waist, he pulled me against him, my ass nestled below his cock. He ran his soapy hands along my shoulders, breasts, and belly, cleaning me. My head fell back against his chest on a gasp.

One hand dipped between my legs, and I widened my thighs for him helpfully. Hopefully. But he refused to give me what I really wanted. I groaned in frustration.

He chuckled in my ear. “Come on, buttercup. You know that’s off limits.”

“Right. You’re my boss.” I moaned as he cleaned me with nowhere near enough pressure to get me off.

“I only care about that because you care about that. I care a lot more that you shouldn’t be doing any heavy breathing for the next few weeks.” His hand was still moving between my legs with soft, leisurely circles, even though we both knew that by now my pussy was cleaner than it had ever been.

My nails dug into his thighs for support. “I hate you so much right now.”

“No, you don’t.”

He pushed me forward by my shoulders. I took a step, putting space between our bodies, and felt something poke me in my lower back. I glanced over my shoulder to see his cock, fully hard and jutting forward.

“Ignore that,” he murmured as he soaped my back. “I’ll handle it later.”

Handle? Hand-le? I snickered because I was a child.

“Liked that one, did you?” he asked, sounding pleased.

“Wait, you punned on purpose? You, Mr. Resting Grump Face.” I shook my head in mock disbelief. “Wait until I tell everyone. No one will believe it.”

“Yeah?” Amusement laced his voice. “You’re gonna tell everyone how I made a pun about jacking off while we showered together?”

I reconsidered. Then I pouted. I couldn’t tell anyone.

“James.” The thick, rough way he said my name licked down my spine, following the same path he trailed with his finger. “When I handle it? I’m going to think about you. The way you are now. Soap running down your back. Down your ass. Imagine it’s my cum.”

I shivered. Ached. “You fucking better.”

After a nice, hot soak in the most wonderful tub to ever exist, I came down the stairs wearing Adam’s clothes and smelling like his shampoo. It was a weird feeling. I wanted to cuddle my arms around myself, a poor substitute for who I really wanted. Sounds of banging pots and laughter led me to the kitchen, where I found Ted manning the stove, Adam doing dishes at the sink, and Ben at the table, poring over what looked like a pile of records.

I hesitated in the doorway, enjoying the scene. There was so much love in this room. Grief could have torn this family apart, but Adam had simply refused to allow it. He was the glue that held them together. I could have spent another hour there, soaking it in, admiring the way the muscles in Adam’s back bunched and moved beneath his gray t-shirt as he scrubbed a pan, but Ben spotted me.

“James! Come see what I found.”

“Sure,” I said, but I stayed rooted to the spot as Adam turned from the sink, his gaze heated as he took me in. He took two steps forward, hands soapy and reaching for me, then froze as my eyes widened. He blinked and scowled at his hands, like he had suddenly come to his senses.

Okay, now I felt awkward. Wearing his clothes, smelling like him, standing in his kitchen with bare feet and wet hair? Totally fine. Adam reaching for me like a quick kiss was how we always greeted each other? The most natural thing in the world. Pretending he was nothing more than my boss? Soooo awkward.

“What’s all this?” I asked Ben as I joined him at the table.

“I found Dad’s old record player.” Ben held up a Def Leppard album with a red triangle and bright mouths screaming. “It’s the music of his youth.”

“Hey, now.” Adam shot Ben a look of affectionate exasperation. “I wasn’t even born yet when those albums came out.”

I flipped through the stack. Most of them I had never heard of. Skid Row, Guns and Roses, Poison, White Snake. Definitely not the country music I had grown up with. Heavy on the hairspray and eyeliner. I quirked an eyebrow at Adam. “Pretty tough names for groups of boys rocking beach waves and shiny pants.”

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