Page 264 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
“Or we could play rock-paper-scissors.” What am I, ten? “You know, since I did attack you with honey.”
“Alright.”
He takes a slow step closer, forcing me into the shower. The door swings closed behind him, and the space shrinks around us. Every time we’re in close quarters, the space is constantly shrinking. He’s just too damn big—or the perfect big.
I command my eyes not to drop to the front of his briefs.
“I’m game.” His deep, smooth voice is profound in this small space. “Let’s see who gets dibs first.”
“Best of three.” I raise my hand for the first round, and he follows suit. “Ready?”
“Ready.”
“Rock, paper, scissors,” we say together.
He fists a rock, and I flatten my hand for paper.
“Not looking good for you, Wilde.” Why do the words slip out, heavy with desire? “Again?”
His hand opens and hovers over mine. “Or”—his thumb brushes over the back of my hand, holding my gaze for a beat longer—“we could shower together.”
My heart speeds up. “I can think of a few reasons why that might be fun.”
“I can think of a few reasons myself, but I’m guessing yours are much more interesting.”
I raise an eyebrow. “I’m talking about conserving water and sharing soap. Efficiency is key, right?”
“Absolutely.” He doesn’t sound convincing. “Saving the planet one soap bar at a time.”
He grasps the hem of my shirt and, ever so gently, lifts it over my head. His fingers trace up my sides, and I squirm the tiniest bit. He grins, showing how much he loves having this effect on me.
“Ticklish?” His laugh is almost silent.
“Only with the right hands.”
His stare is velvet smooth as he tosses my shirt over the fence. His briefs follow, and I can’t ignore that he’s already hard. I expect him to pin me against the shower wall and slam inside me.
He doesn’t.
The water hisses when he twists the handle and adjusts the perfect temperature. The thick steam wraps around us like a warm embrace. I prefer his embrace, but he doesn’t offer it.
He steps under the stream. The water pours over him, running through his hair. He closes his eyes, tilting his face to the sky as the water runs down his face, making him look relaxed and so exposed. I follow the droplets that glide over the contours of his muscles, making every inch of him look impossibly smooth and enticing.
“Come here.”
I don’t realize my back presses firm against the door until he curls a finger at me, his eyes heavy with intent.
I join him under the shower, closing my eyes as the water cascades over me. It’s refreshing, seeping into every pore, cool and smooth. Not pounding out, but not trickling either. It’s a steady, balanced pressure peeling the honey from my skin.
I step back, tilting my head out of the water, as it rushes over my front.
His hands are on me before I know it, but not in the way I expect. His fingers weave through my hair, massaging shampoo into my scalp.
His touch sends shivers down my spine. Firm, yet tender fingers work the suds into my scalp. My body relaxes into his touch. The scent of coconut and lime fills my nostrils.
“How’s that for efficiency?” I hear the smirk in his tone.
Smirking to myself, I tilt my head back slightly, enjoying the feel of his hands in my hair. “I think I could get used to this.”
