Page 80 of The Plus Ones
“I’m growing rather fond of yours too,” she says as her hands reach for my chest.
“I always knew you would.”
“I will do whatever you want me to do to it in this shower for the next ten minutes, but then we have to turn off the water because it’s a limited resource, even on an island.”
Fucking hell, Shower Roxy is just as hot and wonderful as I’d imagined she would be and twice as eco-friendly.
I grit my teeth as those very confident hands slowly slide down the front of me. “That is a very generous offer.” I grab on to her wrists. “But you can do whatever you want to my body for the rest of my life, as far as I’m concerned.” I place her hands, crossed, behind the small of her back so I can see the gentle slope of her waist to her hips and the way her belly is somehow flat but soft and so inviting. “And for the next ten minutes, I’m going to do whatyourbody wants me to do to it.”
Her response is something between a sigh and a moan and a grunt, and it’s better and more meaningful than any word in any language.
I do what any man would do for this woman: I kneel before her, and I will be the only man who does this for the rest of her life.
I grip her hips and turn her to face the tiled wall so she can hold on to it for support, because she’ll need it. But she does what no woman has ever done for me before—she slowly bends forward at the waist, to hold on to her ankles…and fuuuuuck me,thisis the best thing that has ever happened to me or possibly to anyone ever.
I am the luckiest man alive, but the planet just got lucky too because this shower sex is going to be dirtier and over a lot quicker than I had anticipated. I groan and squeeze her ass and drive my tongue into her, and I fuck her with my tongue, relentlessly, and I don’t let up until after she’s done screaming, “Keaton! Oh God, Keaton!” and crying out like she’s in pain, but she’s not in pain. I am. When she’s gone silent and limp, I slowly stand and help her up, turning her to face me again and kissing her until she’s got the fire back in her.
I press her up against the wall and press myself up against her, and I am the king of the world when she lifts one leg and wraps it around me, and I press my impatient cock up inside her, and my name on her lips becomes a gasp and then exuberant panting with my vigorous thrusts and then back to some breathless hint of my name over and over again.
Everything is wet and warm and hard and soft and delirious but also completely in focus.
I keep going for as long as I can, but when I come, it’s intense and blinding.
When we’ve both caught our breath, she kisses me on the mouth and reaches out to pump shower gel into her hand and she washes me clean. It’s beautiful and humbling and empowering, and it’s all over so quickly, but we’re both so eager to collapse back onto the bed and lie there in each other’s arms.
We drift in and out of consciousness for hours, exhausted in the way that you are when you’re becoming something new. I am fully aware of how confused and hesitant she is sometimes when we wake up to move our arms and legs around and she looks at me, all heavy-lidded and bleary-eyed. But I can also see her trying to push through whatever fear is left.
It’s almost noon when we finally get up and decide to head down to the restaurant, and I’m ready to give her the other Valentine’s Day gift I’ve been dying to give her.
Roxy is alternately shy and her usual sasshole self over lunch. We both comment how we feel like everyone is eyeing us like they heard us sex-screaming earlier. Even if they had, it can’t be anything they haven’t heard before around here, and surely we would have gotten texts from our friends—who have been notably quiet text-wise so far today and are definitely absent from the common areas of the resort.
“Why do you keep grinning at me?”
“I have something for you.”
“Again? That’s not fair. I didn’t get you anything.”
“Oh, but you gave me something that I will treasure forever.”
She blushes and covers her face. “All right, all right. What is it?”
“A nickname.”
She peeks through her fingers. “It better not have anything to do with what we did this morning.”
“Everything has something to do with what we did this morning.”
She tosses half a dinner roll at me. I catch it and return it to the basket.
“This is just my personal nickname for you—it’s not going to catch on like Franzia or Foxy Roxy. It’s kind of a thinker.”
“Oh my God, just tell me already.”
“It’s Ute. It’s short for the Norwegian wordUtepils. It means sitting outside on a sunny day, enjoying a beer, but more specifically it’s the first beer you drink outside on a sunny day after a long harsh winter. That’s how I feel about you. How I’ve been feeling about you. Or more like, I’ll always look forward to having that feeling with you. There are these moments, when it’s like once the snow finally melts and there’s just nothing more satisfying than having a nice cold beer outside in the sun. I’ve never felt that with anyone else. I like it.”
In the long silence that follows, a less confident man would probably expect her to roll her eyes and walk away. But I know better. I know I’m waiting for that ray of sunshine.
She finally blinks, takes a sip of water, slams the glass back down, and says, “I like it. The nickname. Ute. And I like you.”
