Page 72 of Sirens
So immersed was she in her thoughts, she jumped when a heated sluice began dumping down her back.
She glanced over her shoulder, surprised to find McGarvey there, disappointed to note that the even, dispassionate expression on his face hadn’t shifted.
Nor had any other parts of his body, for that matter.
With the shower hose attachment, he began rinsing her off, his movements tender yet calculated.
She shivered as the warm water cascaded over her shoulders and down her back, and she tried to focus on the comforting sensation instead of the storm brewing in the air between them.
“You know, this not-talking thing really doesn’t help either of us,” she pointed out.
Feeling a slight, cool pressure on her scalp, Maggie bunched her shoulders toward her ears before the weight of his hands followed, working through her locks, massaging her scalp with a firm yet gentle efficiency.
Wouldn’t you fucking know it, her body began to respond to his ministrations, her skin tingling with pleasure that hummed through her like a live wire. She fought the urge to let out acontented sigh, not wanting to give him any more ammunition against her.
And the better her body felt, the more volatile her feelings became.
“Look, if you’re going to insist on inflicting your fastidious, clean-freaky shit on me, you could at least tell me what the hell it’s about.”
His hands lifted from her scalp and were replaced with the handheld spray’s tingling touch.
“If you won’t tell me, I’ll just have to guess,” she said, glancing at him over her shoulder. “And if my instincts are correct, I’m going to say…daddy issues.”
In her peripheral vision, Maggie noted the subtle flex of his jaw.
Bingo.
He picked up a loofah and began scrubbing her body. The rough texture tickled her skin, sending goosebumps up her arms and legs. She bit her lip to hold back a moan, determined not to let her body betray her.
Maggie studied the steam drifting lazily toward the ceiling, attempting to fill the silence between them. “You know, my Uncle Conny had a strange habit,” she began, lathering her hands with soap, knowing he could see them slowly playing over her breasts. “Whenever the Celtics were playing, he’d count his jar of toenail clippings. Said if he didn’t, they wouldn’t win. I used to think it was ridiculous until they lost that one game when he forgot.” She chuckled at the memory, making circles over her nipples in the frothy foam before turning around to face him.
Because fuck it. If he was going to keep up this emotionally stunted silent treatment, she could energy-match that shit in a heartbeat.
“People create those rituals for all kinds of reasons,” she said, stepping back to let the water run in rivulets down her breast and belly. “But mostly, it comes down to control. When you’re in an environment where you don’t have much of it, you take it where you can. Sometimes, you take it where it earns you the most social currency. From a parent, say. From a father.”
Noticing the furrow between his brows, Maggie continued.
“Say your father is an especially regimented guy. And nothing you do quite seems to measure up.Exceptwhen it comes to getting straight As. Or maybe…cleaning your room to military precision?”
“Don’t.” The tendons beneath the smooth brown skin of McGarvey’s neck rose like bridge cables.
“You’re always so composed, so in control of everything around you.” She glanced sideways at him, allowing a playful smirk to grace her lips. “It’s kind of…compulsive, almost.”
His fingers flexed against the sloping muscle of his thigh.
“Maybe,” Maggie mused, tracing a soapy finger along the curve of her collarbone, “you just need someone to show you how good it can feel to let go.” She drew the tip of her finger down between her breasts and across her stomach, leaving a trail of suds behind. “Someone who’s not afraid of getting a little dirty in order to make you come…undone.”
Her words hung heavy in the humid air, and she could practically feel the weight of McGarvey’s gaze as it flicked to her—a brief, heated moment before he looked away again. But she’d caught the spark of desire in his eyes, and that was enough.
“Have you ever really let go, Trent?” she asked, her voice low and sultry as the water continued to pour over them. “Or are you too afraid of what you might find when you do?”
The silence stretched on, the only sound the steady roar of the shower.
The moment hung in the air like an electric charge, anticipation building between them amidst the steamy shower. Maggie traced slow circles around her nipple with her fingers, teasing it into a hard peak. She locked eyes with McGarvey, challenging him to break his stoic silence. The rush of power she felt when she noticed the unmistakable bulge growing in his pants was intoxicating.
“Mmm,” she purred, sliding one hand down her body to rest between her legs. Her fingertips danced over her sensitive folds, sending a shudder through her. “Imagine,” she whispered, moving the shower attachment lower, directing the stream of water between her legs. The sensation made her gasp, and her hips bucked forward involuntarily. “Imagine how good it would feel to just take what you wanted right this second.”
McGarvey’s eyes were hooded and dark, his breath coming in short, ragged pants.
