Page 91 of With A Little Luck
“Would you prefer I lie to you in the future to offset any distress that an honest answer may produce?” He pushes on the top of his boxer briefs, and they slide down his legs with his pants.
“No,” I say, desperately trying to keep my eyes on his.
It doesn’t work.
Trigg is tall and lean, with sculpted muscles. I follow his dark happy trail down to a small tuft of clipped pubic hair, and my face heats. I’m not sure how long it’s been since I’ve seen my vagina without a mirror, but it’s been a while…
Like over a month.
Maybe two.
Each of his abs and obliques flex as he moves to dispose of his last bit of laundry in the basket. He stands to his full height, towering over me.
His hands land on my hips again, and he brushes his thumbs over my stomach. “Ready to clean up?”
It’s warm in here with the heat of the shower radiating around the room as steam fills the air. Still, I’m not sure why I’m sweating…
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Trigg
Being a gentleman has always come naturally to me. It’s easy not to objectify the opposite sex when I rarely, if ever, experience sexual desire. That is not the case when Quincy’s delicate scent is within reach.
And my cock is starting to piss me off.
I normally have excellent self-control…
I still need to feed Quincy dinner, but my body isn’t cooperating with my wishes. It has other things on its mind. This is why men become idiots… Rationally speaking, there is only one head to think with.
The omega leans back into the shower spray, allowing me to cradle her skull as my free hand runs through her long dark hair in an attempt to rinse away any lingering soap.
Some dark part of me likes that she so easily trusts me to look after her.
I have honorable intentions, but she’s taken me at my word, while Ridge and Hartley have done nothing but try to discredit me. I wouldn’t be shocked if the soul match bond was responsible for at least part of our connection. But with the world working against me, I’ll take any leg up that I can get.
My cock brushes her stomach, and I bite back a groan. Quincy’s nails dig into my biceps as I help her out of the spray of water, waiting until she seems confident standing vertically.
“Thank you. The scalp massage was an especially nice touch.” She smiles. “You’re a natural caregiver.”
I nearly scoff.
No, I’m not.
I’m making an effort for her, but this type of contact doesn’t come naturally to me.
“I’ve been hogging all the hot water.” She slides by me, using her grip on my arms to guide me into the shower spray. “It’s time we switched.”
Quincy’s wet hair falls over my forearm as she stretches to reach for a pump of body wash. I clear my throat awkwardly and give my body a stern pep talk about not responding inappropriately when her hands slide over my skin.
It’s useless.
She starts at the tops of my shoulders, caressing my pecs on her descent. I’ve done my best to keep my eyes on hers, but I do have peripheral vision. Her nipples are tight, and her heavy tits jiggle with every movement she makes.
It’s entrancing.
Not to mention, her swollen stomach draws my attention back to it, even as I attempt to find something else to focus on. Her skin is mottled with small bright-pink stretch marks that prove exactly how taxing it is to grow a baby. Even her belly button, which I think used to dip in, is now flat with the rest of her stomach.
It’s fascinating, but not enough of a distraction from the way Quincy’s hands skate lower down my sides.
