Page 33 of Marrying Mr. Majestic

“I’m not scared of you, Silas,” he said, sounding a little annoyed. “Just because I haven’t done things with a guy before doesn’t mean I’m freaking out.”

I stepped closer to him. “Good. Then I’m going to assume you’ll stop me if you need to.”

He rolled his eyes at me, but his lips turned up in a grin. “I don’t need a safe word. Just fucking kiss me already, will you?”

My mouth was on his before he got the whole sentence out. He grabbed my head and moved close enough for our dicks to brush against each other.

We both let out a groan and pressed even closer. Hot water pounded down on our backs and shoulders as the golden sun dropped behind the mountain peaks, shooting pinks and oranges across the sky. I kissed that cowboy for so long I lost track of where I was, who I was.

All I wanted was his mouth on mine, my hands on his strong body, and the deep, masculine sounds of a partner in need. After a while, I dropped down to my knees and glanced up at him in question. His eyes were hot on mine, his lips deep red and wet, and his hair in a wet tangle from my possessing hands. He gave me a slight nod, and that was all I needed to begin toying with him. Teasing and licking and sucking until his fingers gripped my hair and his voice shouted angrily into the confined space.

“Make me come, dammit.”

I pulled off and caressed his balls, staring up at him with a thundering heart and most likely a giddy expression. “You wish,” I said, cockily repeating his words from earlier.

His gaze turned molten before his grip in my hair got tighter and yanked my head forward into his hard cock. The bossy move was so unexpected, so fucking hot, I couldn’t help but suck him down again. I grabbed his ass and yanked him closer, giving him permission to fuck my face.

As Way’s hands held the back of my head and his dick choked me, I wondered exactly where my nervous cowboy had gone.

The feel of his cock in my throat, his fingers in my hair, and his tight ass in my hands set me off, and I came a few moments after the first hit of his salty release registered.

I glanced up at him, desperate to see his face as he came. He was fucking glorious. Head thrown back, tendons in stark relief on his neck, and water dripping down his skin. His chest heaved, nipples tight and rosy against his golden skin. I ran a hand up his abs to tweak one of them.

He nearly doubled over in surprise. “Shit, stop,” he said with a gasping laugh. “Too sensitive.”

I grabbed one of his hands to help stand up since my knees were sore and half-numb from the hard tile. “You ticklish?”

Way stepped closer to me and pressed his face into the side of my neck. My arms wrapped around him automatically, and I held him, surprised by his move.

“Not ticklish,” he admitted into my skin. “Just overwhelmed.”

I ran my hands up and down his broad back before leaning over to reach for the soap. I lathered up my hands and continued washing his back. “Overwhelmed good or overwhelmed unsure?”

He pulled back and gazed at me. His expression was relaxed rather than embarrassed or anxious. I let out a breath.

“Good,” he said before leaning in to kiss me. “Very good.”

We kissed lazily for a little while longer while I continued to soap him up. It had been a long time since I’d shared a shower with a man. The last time would have been with Justin, and he and I had been broken up for a long fucking while.

But even before I’d found out just how much of an asshole my ex was, showers with him had never been relaxed or fun. He’d been—still was, as far as I knew—too obsessed with work, with competition, with making a name for himself, which meant our showers had been quick and utilitarian, even if they’d included a shared orgasm. That should have been a red flag from the very beginning.

“You must have unlimited hot water,” I said, nudging Way under the spray more fully so he could rinse off.

“Yeah. Tankless heater. One of my splurges. Hate to admit it, but I’m not an environmentalist when it comes to a long, hot shower on a cold winter night. Sometimes it’s the only way I can warm up.”

We slid into silence as each of us finished washing. When we finally turned off the water, I felt like a giant prune, but I had zero regrets.

Way handed me a towel and reached for another for himself. We dried ourselves before Way wandered out of the bathroom, presumably in search of clean clothes. I threw on the joggers and tee I’d brought inside. When I stepped out into the main room, my eyes went straight to the shirtless cowboy wearing nothing but an old pair of cotton pajama bottoms low on his hips.

He was still rubbing water out of his hair with a towel in one hand while grabbing a pizza out of the fridge with another. My hands itched to touch him again—which was crazy because even the briefest thought of Justin was usually enough to stamp out any flicker of desire I might feel—but I resisted. Way and I acting like we were in a relationship in front of the town was one thing; acting like it when there was no one to fool but ourselves was another.

We didn’t need things to get more complicated than they already were.

“Need help?” I offered, hoping like hell I didn’t sound as awkward as I suddenly felt.

“Nah. But you can grab the beer or whatever you want to drink.”

I moved beside him as he reached over to turn on the oven. Soft guitar music played from a speaker on the kitchen windowsill, and it took me a minute to recognize it. “Old country classics?” I teased.

---