Page 73 of Eight Seconds to Ride

His shoulder lifts lazily into a shrug. “Yeah, but then I wouldn’t have been able to wash you myself, now would I?”

My brows pinch. “What?”

“You heard me,” he quips. “Now, get your smelly ass in the bathroom right now so we can jump in the shower.”

He slaps my ass, the sound reverberating around us, leaving no room for argument.

Steam quickly fills the small space once we get in here, and he turns on the water. My throat feels thick, and something I refuse to put a name to flutters in my stomach. Memories of the first time we were in a shower together. The first time we had sex. Despite the confusing state of our relationship, he still took his time, washing me, getting me ready for him. It was one of the first times I saw a softer side of Shooter. One of the first times I knew deeply that he was more than what he shows the world. That shower changed everything, and I didn’t even know it atthe time. Something tells me tonight will change things too, but the difference between then and now is this time, I’m welcoming that change. I’m welcoming him. Jittering nerves aside, I climb into the spacious stand-up shower, stepping under the stream and turning just in time to watch him do the same.

His bright blue eyes are darkened as they rake unabashedly over my body. I’ve always had a lot of respect for the way Shooter always goes after what he wants, no matter what. He doesn’t get shy or timid, doesn’t beat around the bush. He’s upfront and unapologetic about his wants and needs, no matter how dickish it can make him look sometimes.

“You’re so sexy,” Shooter says in a hushed tone as he closes the distance between us. He’s hard. So am I. And when he brings our bodies flush, I hiss through gritted teeth at the shock of pleasure that soars through me at his dick brushing against mine. “And so goddamn responsive for me. I have missed you, Addams.” He presses a kiss down on my cheek. “Missed this face.” Another kiss on the other cheek. “Missed this neck of yours.” Sharp teeth nip right there before his hot tongue soothes away the ache. “Missed this body.”Kiss, kiss, kissalong my clavicle, and down my chest, tongue flicking against my hardened nipple before doing the same to the other one. “Missed this beautiful fucking cock, and the way it weeps for me, the way it stands tall and proud for me.” A rough, calloused hand wraps around my length, giving me a few lazy strokes before he lets go, a whimper falling from my lips that I don’t even try to stop.

Shooter turns us so my back is to the spray, and he runs his fingers through my hair, getting it fully wet. My eyelids flutter closed at the feeling, only opening once the sensation leaves my scalp. I watch him grab the shampoo and pour a small amount into his palm, lathering his two hands together before bringing them back to my head. He carefully massages the suds into my strands, making sure to not miss a single spot.

It's quiet while he washes my hair out, only the sound of the water cascading over us. It’s a comfortable type of quiet, though, even with the heavy anticipation thrumming around us like a cloud of undiluted lust.

Once he seems to be sure he’s got all the shampoo rinsed out, he grabs the soap, promptly getting to work on my body. He’s thorough, washing every inch of me, and despite how hard we both are, he keeps to the task at hand, and nothing more. As soon as he rinses me off for a second time, he turns off the faucet, and reaches outside of the stall to grab a towel that he dries me off with before wrapping it around my shoulders. Doing the same with himself, we get out, and he leads me back into the room.

Shooter takes the towel from me before nodding toward the bed. “Lie down.”

Turning his back on me, he unzips his duffle, pulling something out that I can’t make out. Not that I’m really trying to…not with the plump, round view he’s blessed me with. Doing as he asks, I climb onto the bed while never taking my eyes off of him. His body is a work of art; it’s clear to see he takes very good care of it. I mean, we all do to an extent. We have to be in shape to do what we do, but his body… it’s gorgeous. Long, muscular legs, strong thighs, firm globes that sit right below two deep dimples, an impressive abdomen that leads to strong, broad shoulders. Shooter is…breathtaking.

He turns, completely catching me drooling over him, and he smirks devilishly. “Like what you see?”

“Uh…” I point to my very obvious,veryhard erection. “What do you think?”

Laughing, he rounds the corner of the bed, and that’s when I take in what he’s got in his hands. Lotion. I don’t bother asking what he’s doing because I know his stubborn ass won’t tell me. Instead, I watch as he climbs onto the bed, positioning himselfbetween my legs as he uncaps the bottle, squirting some into his hand before rubbing them together.

“I remember my first pro rodeo season,” he starts, lifting my leg, and kind of letting it rest on the top of his thigh. “My muscles ached like a motherfucker after every rodeo. Almost nothing helped, and I swear to God, after the first dozen or so, I walked bow-legged from how sore they were.”

Hands lathered in lotion, he gently massages my calf, the pads of his fingertips applying just the right amount of pressure in the right places to feel soothing, and so good. He’s focused, eyes tracking the area on my leg that his hands are working.

“My Uncle Mike told me how he used to get massages from his wife after rodeos,” Shooter continues. “It became a routine he did. A wind-down. And it helped with the sore, tired muscles.” His hands move a little higher on my leg, wrapping around and rubbing the back of my knee. Gentle, but firm. I feel his touch everywhere. “So, I gave it a try. I didn’t have a spouse, of course, so I hired a masseuse where I could find them. It worked.”

Shooter’s index and middle finger apply a little bit more pressure, and I grit down on my molars as I exhale a moan. It feels so good. His baby blues lift to meet mine, the hint of a smirk playing around the corners of his lips, eyes alight with not quite humor, but… he knows what he’s doing, that’s for sure. My dick thickens the more his hands work me over, the higher up my leg he gets. A throbbing ache settles deep in my core, and I desperately want him to put me out of my misery, but I know he won’t. Not yet, at least.

Pausing to pour some more lotion onto his hands, he rubs them together again before returning them to my thigh. “I tried to find someone for you, but as I’m sure you can imagine, the options for mobile masseuses in this bumfuck town were pretty slim.” Shooter flashes me a mouthwatering grin before he adds,“And besides, I’ll take any reason to have my hands on you and make you feel good, especially after going six weeks without it.”

I suck in a breath as his fingers inch higher, settling into the fleshy part of my thigh that nearly connects to my groin. He applies the perfect amount of pressure, rubbing the area with precision, working out aches I didn’t even realize I had, while completely ignoring the standing soldier not even two inches from the back of his hand. On the one hand, I’m in heaven with this massage. My body is relaxing, my limbs feeling loose. But on the other hand, I’m freakingdying. I feel like I could explode at any given moment, like my dick is a hair-trigger, and even a heavy breeze could have me tipping over the edge. And we’ve barely gotten started. He hasn’t even moved on to my other leg yet.

After he finishes with my thigh, he moves back down my leg, surprising me when he turns his focus to the sole of my foot. Same with the back of my knee; when he presses down just right on the arch, it sends a bolt of pleasure through my body, landing in my groin. I can’t help but squirm in place, a groan vibrating in my throat at the feeling.

We easily fall into a comfortable silence as he focuses on his task, moving to my other leg and doing the same thing. My breathing picks up, cock hard and leaking onto my stomach. I’m not the only one affected, though. Shooter’s still just as naked as I am, and he’s rocking a pretty impressive hard-on himself. Once he’s finished with my leg, he moves on to my arms. Working his way from my fingers up to my shoulders. He’s thorough, and he’s clearly got magic hands.

Nudging my hip, he says, “Turn over.”

I swallow thickly, doing what he says, hissing as my oversensitive dick rubs against the bedding as I settle in place. Shooter takes his time, working both of my ass cheeks in his hands, massaging firm circles, kneading into the flesh.

Once he’s seemingly satisfied with his work there, he climbs up my body a little before I hear the lotion cap open again. His fingers find my shoulders, and I let out a groan—partially from how good his hands feel massaging my shoulders, but also because in this position, I can feel his erection drag along my lower back. How easy it would be for him to sink right into me, and take me just like this. My body is relaxed and pliant, it would take next to nothing to work me open enough to take his length.

I consider begging him, but I somehow manage to keep my mouth closed. I know my patience will be rewarded in spades. I just hope I don’t bust before that happens.

37

Shooter Graham

Sterling is putty in my hands right now, and I fucking love it. Everything I’ve told him is true. The massages really do help after a rodeo, especially if you aren’t used to doing so many back to back to back. It also happens to be a major plus that my hands on his body are turning him on so much.

---