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I set my chest to her back, the cross between us a metaphor I didn’t want to examine, and covered one of her hands on the wall with mine. When our fingers locked together, I stared at our united hands, oddly mesmerized by the sight.
What the hell am I doing? I pulled my hand away and nudged the cloth at her with the other, a silent request to wash her own breasts.
Understanding my request, she silently accepted it and kept her other palm positioned on the wall for support while she cleaned herself up.
It didn’t take me long to determine even that simple task was too much for her. The arch of her back became more pronounced as her spine curved forward, and her hand slid down the wall.
“Diana?” I reached around, my hand resting momentarily at the base of her throat before cupping her chin to prevent her from knocking her face into the shower handle. My forearm was now cushioned between her soft breasts, and I grated out a quick, “You okay?”
“Heart is going fast. A little dizzy.”
Mine, too. I banded my other arm around her midsection and gently nudged her to face me in the cramped space.
I used every ounce of my restraint not to lower my eyes to her tits. I didn’t need to know the color of her nipples, have that image forever burned into my retinas where I’d then download it to memory for permanent safekeeping.
I really needed to get her out of there before she collapsed, or before I lost my mind.
“I hate asking this, but at least, can I”—her head bumped into me when she lowered her focus to her jeans—“wash myself there quick?”
There, huh? I did my best to swallow the fuck no trying to break free, looking everywhere but where she’d mentioned. I spotted the facecloth by our shoes, and I’d been too distracted to notice she’d let it go.
“If you can lower my jeans a bit, that should be good. I’ll be fast. I’m sure you want to get out of your clothes, too.”
She had no idea. I inhaled a deep breath and steeled myself for what I needed to do next. “I have to kneel to get the facecloth and lower your jeans, and it’s a tight space.” I guided her hands to my shoulders. “Hang on to me, okay?”
She nodded, and when I was satisfied she wouldn’t lose consciousness, I moved back as much as the little area afforded my big body, took a knee, and grabbed the cloth by her sneaker.
As efficiently as possible, I worked through the necessary steps to complete the task. I held the facecloth with the edge of my teeth to free up my hands, unbuttoned her jeans, dragged the zipper down, then hooked my thumbs in the waistband in preparation to take them down to her knees. “Still good?” I managed to ask without losing hold of the cloth.
“I’m . . . fine.” Her tone was as shaky as my damn hands.
Remembering we needed to hurry, I shoved down the wet fabric, successfully leaving her pink panties in place. Another deep breath. Pulling on all my resources to keep my mind out of the gutter. My rifle jamming up under heavy fire was a far easier situation to handle than this.
Her wet panties molded to her clit, every bit of her revealed behind the thin fabric, and I mentally scheduled a visit to the confessional. I’d need to drop another bag of cash into a priest’s lap as I asked forgiveness for the erection I was sporting.
I was such an asshole to get a hard-on at a time like this. I repeated my new mantra—calm, comfort, control—hoping it was enough to carry me through.
Diana’s hands were firmly anchored on my shoulders, and as I started to stand, her palms walked along my pecs. I took the facecloth from between my teeth and squeezed my eyes closed as I returned upright.
Securing a hand around her hip while going for the soap, I rasped, “We need to move fast.” For my sake. I offered her the cloth, tensing as my blood continued its downward path, away from my brain and directly to my cock.
As she began washing herself, I lifted my chin toward the ceiling, searching for answers there, unlocking another memory of those lost years behind us. Another connection better left in the past, particularly since it involved my late wife.
I kept my hand at her hip in case she lost her balance and waited for her to finish rubbing her pussy two inches from my dick.
“Done. Thank you.” Her soft voice a siren song, and a reminder of how fucked I was.
I didn’t waste time killing the water, sliding open the shower curtain in one sweeping motion, and stepping out. Putting a safe distance between us, I picked up a towel to use as a protective divider, but then I realized my error. Her jeans were at her knees and her shoes were on. She’d never be able to climb out without face-planting over the side.
“Don’t move,” I hissed while setting aside the towel. I closed my eyes, reached out, and lifted her up and over to me. So much for that safe distance. “Still okay?”
“I think I can hobble to the bedroom from here.”
“Doubtful,” I said gruffly, hoping she didn’t mistake my frustration for annoyance when I was only angry at my body’s response to her. “Wrap yourself up in the towel.” I gave her a few seconds to follow the command, then called out, “Dallas, open,” before lifting her without warning.
She looped her arms over my shoulders, making it easy for me to toss her legs over my other arm to carry her.
I finally parted my lids, thankful to see her covered as I’d asked, and I stepped away from the door as it opened inward.
