Page 80 of Knotted Laces

“I know you would have.” I turn back to the counter, reach for a towel. “Which is whyIdid them.”

Silence…then a swat to my ass.

I squeak.

“And now you’re going to pay the price for your insolence.”

“With orgasms?” I ask eagerly, glancing over my shoulder.

He narrows his eyes, but humor is dancing in the hazel depths. “I’m not sure you deserve them now.”

Them.

Mischief wells up in my belly and even though my fingers are on the towel, I let it go…

And grab the nozzle to the faucet instead.

One flick with my other hand has the water on full blast. One pull has the nozzle free, the stream spraying over my hands.

And one…spinhas that water shooting in Cam’s direction.

It splatters against his chest—and ho, mama—the effect that has on the skintight white fabric of his tee nearly sends me to my knees. I resist the urge, not wanting to miss a moment, especially when it’s turning see-through, when the water is spreading down his abdomen, along the waistband of his sweats.

Oh sweet baby Jesus, that’s even better.

Plastering the material against his groin, outlining the rigid edge of his erection, sticking the material to his strong thighs?—

“What the fuck, cupcake?” he asks, and I manage to tear my gaze away from his face, from the shock in his expression. He grabs the nozzle and starts to reach past me, but I don’t let him have it. In fact, I point it back at him, get another glimpse of slick, skintight fabric.

His mouth drops open. “What the hell are you doing?”

I grin, sweep my free hand over his stomach.

Nowthat’sa sight.

He cups a hand under my chin, tilts my face up. “What the fuck?”

Instead of answering, I point it in his direction again?—

And I see the moment he processes the chaos I’ve created, that I’ve embraced, that I’m enjoying?—

Or rather Ifeelit.

He rips the nozzle out of my grip…

And points it inmydirection.

Warm water splatters across my chest, and I gasp in surprise. I shouldn’t be taken aback. I created this. Iwantthis, but the sudden sensation of warm liquid and taut fabric and?—

“Oh God,” I moan slipping slightly as I lean back against the counter, gripping the edge tightly as Cam bends and takes one of my nipples in his mouth, the heat and wet and layers of fabric the most acute of sensations.

He sucks as he allows the water to pour down my torso, soaking into my tank top, into my pajama bottoms, my underwear.

He groans and suddenly I’m on the counter next to the sink—water and a hard body on my front, the soft damp material of the towel and a counter that’s slick enough for our bodies to slide together, that he has to clamp an arm around me so I don’t fall beneath me.

Heat and cool. Hard and soft. Fingers and lips and?—

My pants are yanked down.

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