Page 23 of Need Him Like Oxygen

“What are you doing?” I asked when he reached to yank off his shirt.

Because him being all close and shirtless with his hands on me was totally not going to help this situation.

“The water will run up my arms and soak me,” he explained. “Besides, now we’re more equal,” he said, waving down at himself.

Did my gaze follow?

Yes, yes it did.

What can I say? Dav took care of himself. I didn’t know what other workouts he fit into his busy schedule of bedroom cardio, but it was all working to his benefit.

I mean you could sink a finger in those abdominal muscles. Run your tongue…

Nope.

Not going there.

“What?” I asked at his raised brow look, wondering if I’d been caught eye-banging him.

“Unless you want water and soap in your eyes, you’re gonna need to tilt your head back for me,” he explained.

Right.

Duh.

Being naked with a half-clothed Dav was doing something to my brain.

Or maybe I had sustained some sort of head injury after all.

Because I’d never struggled this hard to stop thinking about getting hot and sweaty with the man before.

I tilted my head back, letting him soak it through again before placing the wand back in the cradle, positioning it so it sprayed across my back, keeping me from catching a chill as he lathered up the shampoo and reached for my scalp.

The second his fingers started to rub at my scalp, a shiver racked its way through my system, making his hands freeze.

“Cold?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” I insisted, even as my belly did somersaults and my heartbeat kicked into overdrive.

What the hell was going on?

I’d been fully naked, getting hot and heavy with men before, and never felt anywhere near as attuned to my body as I was right then, so overwhelmed with sensations.

My skin felt flushed and overly sensitive. My breasts heavy and nipples tensing into points.

Then, well, all the aching and heat in my core. That primal part of me wishing he would run his hand down my stomach, slip it between my thighs, and sink his fingers inside of me.

“Feel good?” he asked, making my eyes snap open as I realized with no small amount of mortification that I’d let out a little moan.

“What? No,” I said, attempting an eye roll for emphasis. “I think you hit a bruise,” I was quick to add. To lie.

“A bruise,” he repeated. “Right. Maybe I should be gentler,” he said. And, damn him, those gentler fingers felt even better.

Desire was a live wire through my body right then, little sparks threatening to set off an entire wildfire.

Then the man had to go and cup his hand over my forehead to keep soap from getting in my eyes when he rinsed.

“What am I, a toddler?” I grumbled to hide the way my chest felt all gooey at the gesture.

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