Page 108 of Falling Too Late

Once home, I headed straight to the bathroom without a word, stripping out of my clothes. I smelled like a campfire and wanted to wash it all away. As soon as I stepped inside the shower, thunder boomed around me. The bathroom light flickered and then cut out.

I stood under the cascading water, turning the temperature up as hot as I could stand it. This wasn’t the first time a summer storm took out my power.

I heard the click of the bathroom door opening. Alex was there, lighting a candle and setting it on the small table next to the bathtub. Even in the soft glow, I caught his gaze. I didn’t want him to go. I reached for the door and opened it slightly in silent invitation.

I implored him with my eyes, hoping to convey that I wanted this. I wanted him. I wanted him closer. There was six years of distance between us, and I wanted to get rid of it.

He scrubbed a hand down his face, and I knew I’d won. I heard the bathroom door shut. I watched as he pulled his shirt off, letting it fall to the floor. He kicked his shoes off, and then pulled off his socks. I wondered if he was waiting for me to change my mind.

I would never change my mind when it came to him.

He reached for his belt, and even though the room was slowly fogging up with steam, I didn’t miss the way he grabbed his belt buckle, so it didn’t jingle.

He still remembered.

I went to turn toward him, but he stopped me with both hands on my shoulders.

“Alex. . .”

“Shh, just let me have this, give me the satisfaction of taking care of you.”

I relented.

He lathered up my loofah and washed me slowly, methodically. Pushing my hair over my shoulder, he washed my back, lifted my arms and washed from the tips of my fingers to my shoulders. His strong hands rubbed my palms, working between each finger.

His palms skirted around my breasts before moving down my body. I placed my hands on the wall to support myself, my head hung. I was already panting.

“Alex. . .”

He didn’t say anything. Just moved lower, washing down my stomach till he got to my hips. His thumb grazed across the top of my mound.

I moaned in frustration. I couldn’t tell if he was doing this on purpose to get a rise out of me, or if he didn’t realize what he was doing to me.

That’s when I felt his length graze my backside before it pulled away.

Tempted, I reach for the body wash, pumping some into my own hand before I lathered it, turning in his arms.

“Wren,” he warned.

If he thought he was the only one who got to do some touching, he had another thing coming to him.

I started with his shoulders, mimicking his own movements, only I worked the lather in with just my hands. My thumb found the hard muscles of his shoulders and massaged them. I worked my hands across his shoulders and down his arms, stopping them from working his own magic into me. I repeated his actions, massaging between each of his fingers before I moved back to his chest.

I turned and traced over the lines of his tattoo, admiring them. One of these days I would ask him about them, but for now I traced them down his chest, over the hard lines of his abdomen.

While he was working his way up my back, I reached behind. Boldly, I gripped him at his base, stroking his length.

“Fuck.”He shuddered, his head dropping to my shoulder, his hand clamping around my wrist.

“Alex, please. . .” I panted, frustrated.

“Spread your legs.” The loofah disappeared and his arm pulled me, my back flush against his chest. He angled us so the water hit him, only the overspray catching me.

I parted my legs and stroked him again while his hand dipped between my thighs. His finger found the ball of nerves.

“Oh!” I moaned, leaning my head back against his shoulder. He was the one supporting my weight now. His fingers swirled over the bud before dipping lower to my opening, coaxing my need out.

I wanted to touch him. Feel him. I pushed off him and went to turn. He ripped his hand away from my center, leaving me bereft.

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