Page 69 of Cougar Chronicles

“Yeah, baby, that’s it,” he said again. “God, baby, I’m going to come!”

His thrusts quickened, and he let out a groan as he plunged even farther into her. His contractions pounded against her sensitive walls, and her heart sped with the knowledge that he was feeling what she was feeling—wild, free, and sexual.

His chin poked into her shoulder, and his breath blew the droplets from her neck. Still the water pelted them, and still their bodies were joined. They stood for a few timeless moments, and peace—pure peace—blanketed Stacy’s body and mind.

“That was wonderful.” Michael’s voice brought reality.

“Yes, it was,” she agreed.

Michael withdrew and turned Stacy to face him. He threaded his fingers through her sopping hair. “I love your hair,” he said. “Could I wash it?”

Wash her hair? What a turn on. She wasn’t sure why, but the thought of those strong hands on her scalp enthralled her. “Sure. If I can wash yours.”

“Deal.” He smiled and picked up the small bottle of hotel shampoo in the corner of the shower. He lathered some in his palm and spread it over Stacy’s head.

Since when had shampooing become such an erotic art? Michael’s fingers worked magic on her head. She closed her eyes and enjoyed. When he thought he got soap in her eye, he apologized profusely. She laughed and told him not to worry, that she was fine. He continued his massage, and when he finished, he tilted her head back and rinsed her, threading the soap through the ends of her hair until it all disappeared down the drain.

She traded places with him and squirted a quarter-size puddle of shampoo into her palm. His hair hung in dark waves and clung to his cheeks and neck. Gorgeous thick Italian hair, and she couldn’t wait to work her fingers into it. It was as soft and silky as she’d imagined, and she gently scrubbed his tresses and worked the soap through the ends.

Like her, he shut his eyes and leaned back. He was so tall she had to reach to get the top of his scalp, but she stretched gladly, wanting to give him the same attention he’d given her.

“Okay, you can rinse now,” she said.

He turned into the water, and she helped him work the lather out of his hair. When they were both soap free, he took her into his arms and stared into her eyes, his own smoldering.

She caressed the corded muscle of his neck, the sinew of his bulging biceps, and the strong lines of his back. His mouth lowered, as if in slow motion, until his lips touched hers.

Though it lacked the fervency and possessiveness of their earlier kisses, it was beautiful. It was timeless.

Emotion as thick as the steam surrounded her.

God!

She pulled away.

What had she done? Emotion had no place here. This was an affair. No, not even an affair. A fuck. A one-night stand.

“What’s wrong?” Michael’s hazel eyes widened.

Good lord, he was gorgeous, his now-clean hair slicked back on his head, his perfect face dripping with water.

Stacy turned off the faucet. “Time to get out. I’m wrinkled as a prune.”

“A beautiful prune.”

Without responding, she stepped out of the shower, wrapped herself in a towel, and threw one to him.

“Thanks.” He wrapped the towel around his waist.

Why did he have to look like a Greek god? Or an Italian god? The stark white of the towel contrasted with his olive skin. So beautiful.

He grabbed another towel and started rubbing his hair. “Why so quick to get out?”

Stacy cleared her throat. “No reason. Other than I have a conference to attend today. I’m sure I’ve already missed the first few workshops. I have no idea what time it is.”

“I don’t either.” He grinned. “And I don’t care.”

“Well, I do. This is my business.”

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