Page 57 of Eyes in the Shadows

I’m pleased she got there so fast. “I did. I noticed that you don’t wear perfume so I thought you might also be sensitive to smells.”

She tilts her head back, allowing it to fall against my collarbone. The spray hits her chest and I watch as the water droplets forge a path down, wanting to follow them with my tongue. I bring the sudsy pouf around, running it gently across her belly. She squirms a little at the attention somewhere she’s insecure about. But she’ll learn—I’ll show her there isn’t an inch of her I don’t want to worship with my mouth.

“It’s not like I don’t want to smell nice,” she says, laying her hands on my forearms as I slide down towards the soft curls between her legs. “It’s just kind of a faux pas in the kitchen. You don’t want to throw off anyone’s taste buds. And then even on my day off I don’t because I’m worried it’ll stick to my clothes.”

“You do smell nice.”

“What?” Her voice becomes breathy, distracted, as I inch lower with my soapy, slick fingers. “But, like you just said, I… um, I don’t wear perfume.”

“If I thought it was perfume, I’d say ‘your perfume smells nice.’ But I saidyousmell nice, darlin’.”

“Oh.” She gasps as I find her swollen clit. Her fingernails dig into my arm, and her back arches against me, but she’s got nowhere to go and I’m not loosening my grip. “Mac, I can’t—not again—”

“Yes again.” I stroke the little nub, relishing in every broken inhale, every squirm and tightening of her limbs, every shudder. My dick stirs, interested for another round but still a bit oversensitive and numb at the same time. I’ll be ready again soon. In the meantime, I want her to be loose, soft, satiated, and sleepy yet energized, the way only an orgasm can do.

“Come for me, baby,” I whisper into her ear. “You can do it. You can be my good girl.”

She whimpers, moving her hips in small circles counter to my touch. The whimpers become moans and her breath starts picking up. I keep my steady, even pace, though the urge to speed up as her body prepares for its climax is hard to fight—I want to get her there faster, but I know it doesn’t work that way with women.

I drop my lips onto her shoulder, running them over the smoothness I find. I taste her, nip at the skin, fill my free hand with her breast and give the sensitive tip a little tweak. Every movement, every sound, every sensation of her skin against me… it’s all mine.

Her legs start to shake and I know she’s close, so I brace myself in case she loses control of her knees. After a few more strokes, she does, and I’m right there for her. She slumps a little in my arms, slow to get her legs back under her, and makes satisfied little humming noises. When she recovers, she turns around in my arms, hooks an arm around my neck and pulls me towards her.

I love the feel of her stretching against me, breasts pressing into my chest and belly pressing into my cock, and her kiss is equal parts hunger and gratitude. The feel of her desire, knowing she’s trying to keep up—match it with mine—makes me want to head straight back to that bed. We have a lot of surfaces to christen.

But her stomach growls as we step out of the shower and I hand her the towel from the hanger. “You’re hungry,” I observe. “Go put something on and we’ll getsome food.”

She looks down, winding the towel around herself. “Oh, that’s okay. I can just go get something for myself and bring it back up. You already ate—”

“Darlin’, I need 4000 calories a day to maintain mass. I could always eat.”

“Show off,” she mutters.

“Either we both go or I bring something up for you. You choose.”

Her lips twitch. “You’re going to spoil me.”

“That’s the plan.”

“I’ll get dressed.” She starts to sort through her clothing in the open suitcase.

I grab the other one and bring it into the closet with me. There’s plenty of room for her stuff in this cavernous walk-in. “You can unpack in here tomorrow,” I tell her as I grab a clean pair of sweats from one of the drawers. A quick check of my watch tells me it’s past 10, meaning Dimitri is in his room for the night and Wes’s night is just beginning, so I doubt we’ll see him.

I decide to forgo a shirt. I like my girl’s eyes on me.

She’s sliding the same oversized shirt she’s been wearing over her head when I walk back in. I remember those sleep shorts, and I really remember how they look with no panties underneath… like now.

“No.”

Her face is surprised as it appears through the hole in her shirt, her hair wild with static, pointing in all directions. She smooths it out of her eyes. “No?”

“I don’t want to see those shorts anywhere but in here with the door closed. That view is only for me, now. Put on pants.”

She looks pointedly at my bare chest, raises an eyebrow and cocks her head.

“I don’t know what kind of point you think you’re making with that look, but it doesn’t matter. Pants, Eleanor.”

She presses her lips together against the smile curving at the corners. With a little shake of her head, she crosses the room, bends back down over the suitcase at the waist—on fucking purpose, most likely—and pulls out a pair of sweatpants. With quick, jerking movements, she pulls them on over her shorts and turns back around to me. “Happy?”

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