Page 63 of Always Salty

I’d never thought that a bathtub could be beat, but that was before I’d stepped into this oasis…

“I see you figured out how to use the shower,” Dima mused as he moved in behind me and pulled me into his painfully hard body.

I’d seen the man naked, of course.

But seeing him naked in glimpses, and seeing him naked in an unencumbered view were two very different things.

Dima was…built.

He wasn’t bulky. He wasn’t small.

He was just the right size, and all muscle.

There wasn’t a single ounce of fat on him, not even at his armpits or his chin.

I’d never thought to consider armpits muscular before, but Dima’s were.

I allowed my eyes to trail down the length of his body, taking everything in as I let the rest of the suds wash free of my hair.

I was to his lower region, particularly his cock, when it started to swell at my obvious attention.

“Are you done looking yet?” he asked. “I’m ready to hold you.”

I smiled and nodded, thinking I’d get the lay of the land of his lower half later when I wasn’t in desperate need of feeling his arms around me.

He came toward me, his hands going down to scoop me right up into his arms.

I gasped when he took a seat on the shower bench with me on top of him.

“How much did you hear?” he asked.

I bit my lip. “How much was I supposed to hear?”

His lips twitched, but he quickly sobered. “I’d like to say that I’m a good man.”

I blinked at him, and he reached for the bar of soap that I’d left on the ledge, ready to use later.

Proving that he’d been watching me for a while, he slowly started to work the bar of soap into the places that I’d yet to reach.

He started with my hand, then my arm. My neck, then down the other arm to my right hand.

My chest.

My breasts.

My belly.

My thighs and knees.

“I let you listen because I don’t want to hide who I am from you,” he said, his earnest brown eyes taking me in from the soul forward. “I don’t want to pretend that I’m this normal guy with you when I’m not. I want to be me, and sometimes, I’m not that great of a person.”

I smoothed my fingers over a couple of stray locks of his hair and voiced softly, “Would you ever hurt someone innocent?”

“No.” He paused. “But I have in the past. I think.”

“Was that you wanting to go after them, or someone sending you after them?” I asked.

I only knew what I’d heard from Dima’s family members when I’d met them the few times that I had.

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