Page 103 of Roses in Summer

“I think my perfume is apples and lemons, so I guess it’s both.” I furrow my brow, trying to remember what the notes of my perfume are. “I mean, it’s shaped like an apple, so it’s definitely apple in there. But my shampoo is lemon and grapefruit. Here, give it to me.”

“No.” I watch transfixed as Lincoln squeezes an overly generous amount into his palm and rubs it together, emulsifying it. His hands grip my scalp, massaging the shampoo into my head in a way that’s both erotic and cleansing.

“Oh, wow,” I breathe out, closing my eyes as he works to clean my long, thick strands. I normally double cleanse, but with the amount of shampoo Lincoln applied, I’ll be lucky if I’m able to get it all out in one shower. But for now, I’ll keep thoughts of greasy, shampoo-laced hair quiet and let myself be lulled to a sense of calm that contradicts the turmoil outside of this apartment.

“Give me your conditioner, ciern,” Lincoln murmurs, and I blindly reach out, using muscle memory to pick the middle bottle from my designated shelf.

“Just a quarter-sized, and start at my ends,” I instruct.

“You have three feet of hair. What is a quarter-sized dollop going to do?” His voice is skeptical, clearly disbelieving.

“It’s highly concentrated; you’d be surprised.”

“Whatever you say, boss.” I hear the press of the bottle before Lincoln’s hands graze my lower back as he works the conditioner into the strands. It’s not as relaxing as the scalp massage, but it still feels heavenly.

I open my eyes, tilting my head back to meet his gaze. Lincoln’s face is a mask of concentration, and I smile at the look he gives me. “It’s not rocket science, Lincoln.”

“Might as well be. I shave my head and have only bodywash in my shower.”

I roll my eyes at his words. “Have you always kept it this short? It was shaved when I met you too.”

He nods, holding my hair up to the water to rinse it out. “My dad’s always kept his hair in a crew cut, and when I started modeling, I had that at first, until I was sixteen and one of the photographers on a shoot had an idea that I should shave my head, and they should take pictures doing it in some edgy editorial bullshit campaign. Shaving it myself is easier than going to a barber every few weeks, so I’ve kept it up ever since.”

I nod at his explanation, mentally picturing him with hair and unable to see it. “I like it short.”

“That’s good since it is short,” he teases. Picking up the lemon bodywash on my shelf, I hold my hand out, silently indicating he should give me the bottle to wash myself, but he lifts an eyebrow. “Do you honestly think I’m going to let you wash yourself while I’m here? What kind of delusional state are you in?”

“You need to wash yourself, too, and the water gets cold quickly.”

“It’s still warm enough. Face me.”

Shaking my head, I again follow his commands and turn to face him. His smirk is the only warning I receive before his soap-covered hands land on my shoulders, massaging my skin with attention I’ve never received. His hands trail lower, moving to my breasts, kneading the small swells before cupping them. He lifts them, pulling them together as his forefinger rubs over my nipples, making them hard enough to cut glass.

My breath hitches at his ministrations, at the omnipresent smirk on his face. He drops my breasts and moves lower, water and soap sluicing over my rib cage before he gets to my hips. His hands coast over my skin until they’re gripping my ass, parting my cheeks as the tips of his fingers rest between my flesh.

“Just making sure you’re clean, Seraphina,” he offers, rubbing my skin carefully. I look down, not surprised to find his cock hard. Stepping forward, I align his cock with my stomach, wishing that we were more evenly matched in height so that I could feel him between my thighs.

We might have had sex only an hour ago, but already it feels like it’s been too long, like I want more.

“Can you turn around for me, Seraphina? I think you have some dirt on your back.” I nod my head, spinning quickly in the tight shower and nearly slipping from my haste, and Lincoln’s hands steady me. “You need to bend forward, pretty girl. I need to make sure I can see every inch of you.”

Bracing my hands on the lip of the tub, I bend, giving him unfettered access to the most intimate parts of my body. Even though I anticipate his hands, I still jump as they land on my upper thighs, featherlight and almost a tickle.

“It’s right there,” he murmurs, hands trailing from my thighs to the underside of my ass.

“Lincoln.” I shudder, body swaying from the light caresses he’s giving me. I press back into him, lifting up on my toes so that I can feel his hard cock against me.

“Goddamn, ciern. I’m trying to be good. Are you sore?”

“Don’t be good, Lincoln,” I command, my turn to throw out the shots. His hands grip me harder at my statement.

“So fucking sexy with this ass in the air, ciern. I bet your cunt is soaked from more than this shower, isn’t it?” His words are obscene, but his tone is reverent, a heady dichotomy that has me rocking back, trying to gain more friction against him. A sharp smack rings out in the shower, and I belatedly realize that he spanked me. “You’ll get my cock when I say you can have it, Seraphina.”

I don’t like the idea of begging. Honestly, in any other context, I find the whole notion distasteful and demeaning. But with Lincoln, I’m not above whining. “Please.”

His chuckle greets my ears. “Such a fucking slut for my cock, ciern. I wanted to take care of you, but you want me to fuck you in the shower, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I mutter, unphased with how high-pitched my voice sounds right now.

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