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Because I really did want my hair cleaned.
I narrowed my eyes at him, but then turned my back to him, and tipped my head.
What I hadn’t expected, because I’d frankly never experienced it before, was the way his fingers rubbing the shampoo into my scalp only managed to turn me on more, leaving me pressing my thighs together and taking slow, deep breaths, trying to bring some calm to the chaos in my mind and body.
By the time he finished with the conditioner, I felt like I was vibrating with my need.
I turned to face him, seeing the heat still in his gaze as well. Then watching it grow hotter as I reached down between us, closing my hand around his hardness, and stroking him once to the hilt.
A low rumble moved through him as I shifted my hand back up, then down again, twisting my hand a bit as I went, then stroking my thumb across the head of him.
“Two can play that game,” I said as I moved inward, my chest brushing his as I leaned my head in, lips pressing into his neck.
“You’re playing dirtier than I did,” he said, voice rough with his own desire.
“I guess I play to win,” I said, angling my head back, giving him a satisfied little smirk that fell when he suddenly grabbed me, turning me, and pressing me back against the wall.
Before I could even draw in a breath, he was bending down to grab my knee, hauling my leg up, and pinning it to the wall, spreading me for him.
His molten gaze was on mine as he traced a single finger up my cleft, making a shiver rack my whole body before he even made it to my clit.
“Think I’m gonna win here, Mills,” he said, smirk devilish as he started to work my clit with quick, soft, relentless circles.
My entire body felt pulled too tight, like I could snap at any second.
My soft whimpers became moans that ricocheted off the tile walls as he drove me closer and closer.
“No!” I cried when, suddenly, just as I was sure the orgasm was going to scream through my system, his hand moved away.
A little chuckle moved through him as he stepped back, his gaze on me as he reached for his own body wash, and started soaping himself up.
“I hate you,” I grumbled, narrowing my eyes at him.
“No,” he said, voice surprisingly soft, “you don’t.”
And, no.
I didn’t.
It was the exact opposite, in fact.
I wondered if he knew that.
At that moment, I could swear it was written all over my face.
Worried he would think it was too soon for that, I lowered my gaze before, ultimately, grabbing for a towel, and stepping out of the shower as a whole.
By the time I squeezed the water out of my hair and made it to the sink vanity, the water was cutting out.
I reached for the lotion, knowing how much he claimed he liked the scent, and with my one good hand, started to rub some over my chest, trying not to look at him in the mirror.
But then he was plucking the lotion out of my hand, and going to work with it himself, rubbing it into the skin of my shoulders, back, butt, legs, then turning me, so he could finish the task. Chest, breasts, stomach, hips.
The fire he’d been poking before rekindled, burning hotter.
Just when I seemed like I couldn’t take the heat any longer, though, Silvano was dropping down in front of me, spreading me, and sucking my aching clit into his mouth.
I damn near came right then and there, my thighs shaking, my breath caught in my chest.
