Page 132 of Texting, Trouble & Touchdowns
I run my hand slowly up her spine. Her skin’s damp, flushed, her hair sticking to her forehead. Her eyes are dazed, lips kiss-swollen, and I swear I’ve never seen anything so perfect in my life.
But she needs a reset. A breather.
So, I kiss her jaw and whisper, “Come on, let’s shower.”
She blinks at me. “What?”
“You heard me. You’re shaking and sweaty. We’re getting clean.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.”
“Yes, I am?—”
I slide my hand down her thigh. “You’re trembling.”
She opens her mouth, probably to argue again, but I’m already lifting her higher so we can move. She gasps as I slide out of her, slow and slick. I bite back a groan that doesn’t sound half as composed as I want it to.
“You’re impossible,” she mumbles as I carry her down the hallway.
“Sure,” I say. “But you’re letting me carry your exhausted ass to the bathroom, so maybe you’re just as bad.”
“I should sue you for damages,” she grumbles. “I was walking perfectly fine until you weaponized that cock.”
“So, you’re saying you don’t want my cock anymore?”
She snorts. “No need to spiral. I’m just . . . never mind.”
“See?” I grin. “You love my cock and maybe next time you want it, I’ll make you beg and apologize for calling it an appendage like it doesn’t matter.”
She attempts a glare but it’s pathetic at best—too soft, too undone. When I set her on the shower bench and turn on the water, she just slumps back against the tiles.
“This shower could fit ten people at least,” she mutters. “Why is it so big? Are you planning orgies? I could even shave in here.”
“Do you want help shaving, baby?” I run a finger along her thigh, dangerously close to where she’s still throbbing.
“I meant my legs,” she says, voice cracking with exhaustion. “Though yes, I keep it trimmed.”
“Let’s table the shaving and the orgy for another day,” I say as I strip off my sweats. “Right now is all about recovery.”
She groans as I peel off her tank top and tug her leggings away from her ankles. Next time, I should undress her or just ask her them not to wear clothes while she’s in my house.
Olivia’s limbs feel like jelly, and she doesn’t even fake protest when I guide her under the warm spray. She sighs, and her shoulders drop, releasing some of the tension.
“Better?”
She nods.
I step in behind her, wrap my arms around her waist, press a kiss to her neck, and breathe her in. We just stand like that for a minute—her back to my chest, steam curling around us, the night still clinging to our skin.
I grab the shampoo and lather it into her hair, massaging gentle circles into her scalp. She leans back against me, her head resting on my shoulder.
“You’re spoiling me,” she says, voice soft.
“I know.”
“Don’t.”
