Page 27 of Taken By the Bounty Hunter

“Turn around,” he says.

I lift my eyebrows as I watch him squirt a healthy amount of shampoo into his palm. “Are you sure? It’s a lot of hair.”

“I’m sure.”

Feeling giddy, I turn around and surrender to the moment.

He smooths the shampoo through every strand with his big hands, wetting all of it through from my scalp down to the ends. I would fall asleep from the sensation if I weren’t standing up.

The scalp massage sends tingles down my spine. I don’t care if he doesn’t wash everything perfectly. I also don’t care that a combo shampoo and conditioner never works on my hair, nor that my hair will end up a frizzy mess in the morning.

It’s the best shower of my life.

Those big hands sluice water through my hair, rinsing it as carefully as he washed it. He carefully wrings the water out, section by section. I can’t get enough of him babying me.

“Thank you, Jefferson,” I say, resting my head against the tile, feeling half-drunk with all of his attentions.

Soft hair tickles my back as his chest covers me. Luscious lips graze over the back of my neck, making me ache.

His hard length pushes into my lower back.

I reach behind me, fumbling around for a moment until I have it.

Jefferson sucks in a breath. “Shit, I wasn’t expecting that,” he rasps.

“Show me what to do.”

He rests his forehead on the tile above my head and plants his hands on either side of us. I am fenced in. The way he towers over me is delightfully protective.

“Baby, you just do whatever you want with it.”

“Really?”

“Really. Just don’t use your nails.”

I move my palm up and down his shaft. He jerks under the pressure as I work my slick hand up the underside, marveling at every ridge. Up and down I stroke, fascinated at the new experience, and gratified at knowing I could ever exert control over this powerful man.

“That’s it. That’s it, Georgie. You’re so fucking perfect.”

Up and down. Squeezing. Tugging. Making him twitch around me. Making him gasp for breath.

Suddenly, his release takes hold. His seed paints my lower back in hot, pulsing streams. His towering body tenses as he thrusts hard into my hand. A low growl echoes off the tile.

I keep on kneading him until he buries his face in my shoulder and groans.

Turning toward him, I search for his mouth in the steamy shower, needing to feel his lips once more.

He pulls me against him and claims my mouth.

The perfect moment is lost when I shriek at the abruptly cold water hitting me in the middle of my back.

Jefferson laughs and lets out a curse, slamming the knobs into the off position.

I barely have time to shiver before I’m wrapped in a towel.

He apologizes for not having a bonus towel for my hair, but I tell him I don’t mind. I blot it dry and twist it up in a bun. I’ll deal with the frizz tomorrow.

“I could look for a hairbrush,” he says, clearly concerned at the amount of tangles in my hair. It is a lot. “I think Joaquin has one around here somewhere.”

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