Page 35 of Tangled With the Wrong Guy
She tried again to stop the thoughts, which were beginning to hurt.
‘Rinse,’ she said, and he put his head back under the shower.
‘Shall I do you?’ he said.
‘Oh, yes please.’ She flashed him a cheeky grin. ‘But could you wash me first?’
‘Down girl. Pass the shampoo.’
Hers took a lot longer than his; when her curls were wet, they reached to her waist.
The sensation of his strong fingers massaging her scalp wasexquisite. ‘That isbliss. Can you blow-dry me too, after?’
‘Totally,’ he said. ‘I’ll lie you down on the bed and blow on every last little bit of you, if you want.’
‘Let me wash you,’ she said, as her knees threatened to let her down again.
She picked up the shower gel, flipped open the bottle with her thumb and upended it, then passed it over and took her flannel from the hook on the wall. ‘Squeeze,’ she said, holding out the flannel.
He did as she asked, then dropped the bottle and moved his hand behind her, gently kneading a buttock. ‘I’m squeezing.’
‘That was low.’ She ran the flannel over his shoulders, chest and arms, appreciating his firm, toned pecs and well-rounded biceps, then reached round to his back and on down past his slim waist to the top of his buttocks. Back to his hard stomach and then lower, washing down one side of the V that pointed to the promise of heaven, and then the other.
‘Does this need a wash?’ she said, skimming the flannel along his erection.
‘Spruce him up; he needs to look his absolute best.’
She giggled. It was already a thing of incredible beauty, she thought, admiring its length and style. She wrapped the cloth around it, moving her hand up and down.
‘My god, Chloe,’ he breathed. ‘That feels …’
He dipped his head and kissed her; she opened her mouth and moaned as warm water poured over them. This was the most erotic thing ever. She dropped the flannel and moved asclose as she could, standing on tiptoes, opening her legs, trying get his erection between her thighs, but he was too tall. ‘Lift me up,’ she begged. All she could think about was getting that beautiful, clean cock deep inside her.
‘No,’ he said. ‘We haven’t washedyouyet.’ His voice was low, and even sexier than a Frenchman’s.
‘You’re a hard man, Joel,’ she breathed.
‘Isn’t that the truth,’ he said. ‘Pass the soap.’
She picked it up and squeezed a big blob onto his palm, and off he went, starting with her shoulders, taking his time on her chest, round and round, paying special attention to her nipples, which hardened to bullets, then moving down, slowly soaping her stomach.
This was like nothing else. At least, she thought it was until he reached the next level down, and began washing between her legs, cupping her with his hand, rubbing her with his thumb … sliding a finger inside, then out again.
‘I missed a bit,’ he said, pushing two fingers in as far as he could.
‘Oh my god,’ she whispered, bearing down on his hand, feeling it all quickly building again.
Then she grabbed that hand with her free one, stopping him. ‘No,’ she said. ‘It’s your turn.’ She flicked her eyes downwards. ‘Your choice – it’s only fair. What would you like to do?’
‘Eat,’ he said.
His reply confused her.
‘Food? Or …’
‘Where’s the cake?’ he said, with a wicked smile. ‘I’ve been a good boy.’
The look in those deep blue eyes saw her teetering on the edge again. Could words do that?
