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Finally, he turned and shoved me against the cool tile. “Do you want my cock?”
I nodded, blinking, water sluicing over my hair, down my cheeks. I had no words.
“Say my name,” he urged, lifting my leg to wrap around his hip. “Tell me you want me to fuck you.”
That seemed so dramatic, so over-the-top, and yet, here, with him, where nothing mattered but skin and sex and him, I didn’t even hesitate. “Fuck me, Cain. Please.”
With the cold tiles on my back, his strong arms holding me up, and his lips buried in my neck, he pushed inside me. I moaned, my head falling back, eyes drifting shut. So much sensation. So much pleasure.
I wasn’t sure if it was because he had been drinking or if he just thought I could handle it now, but he wasn’t holding back. He was going hard, deep. So much so that each thrust took my breath away. All I could do was hang on and let him take me there.
Our orgasms were so close together, they seemed to feed off of each other. Me tight and hot, him exploding. Our eyes locked on each other. My feelings overwhelming.
It went on until I couldn’t look at him anymore, until I felt there was too much of me exposed. We were doing something different now. Something connected. Something further. It was there in the dark, stormy passion of his eyes and in my soft cry of pleasure and intensity. I had cried in front of him. He had told me about his brother. And now it was all there between us, sex and something. Something and sex. He seemed to feel the same way. He broke his gaze at the same time, turning away, wiping his face free of droplets of water.
We breathed loudly in the sudden silence, the water pelting me and the tile the only noise other than us.
After a few seconds Cain pulled out, rinsed out, and cut the stream of water off. “Now, that was a hot shower.”
Legs shaking a little, I reached up and lifted my damp hair off my shoulders and squeezed the ends. It was soaked on one side, but mostly dry on top. “It was,” I murmured. He did things to me, made me feel things that were unexpected. He had a talent for helping me focus on my body, and not on my thoughts. I just felt with Cain and I loved that.
Even now I was just relaxed, satisfied. The consummate cat in the sun, stretching out, purring lazily. I didn’t even want to put actual clothes back on. Stepping out of the shower, I got a towel and wrapped it around myself, handing a second one to Cain. He started drying his hair first, which I appreciated. The face and hair should be dried before any body parts, in my opinion, for hygiene purposes.
I found myself just watching him, amused. This was real. It was so very real. Yet, it was so far removed from my normal life. I wanted to remember this. To dust it off later on and replay every minute with Cain.
After drying himself off, Cain tossed the towel on the floor and tucked my hair behind my ear. “How did you get to be so cute? Huh? Tell me that.”
I almost gave another literal answer, but then I stopped myself. I just smiled and undid my towel. “Can you help me dry off?” I handed the towel to him.
His eyes darkened. “Sure.”
I expected his move to be sexual. But he surprised me by taking the towel, wrapping it around my shoulders, and rubbing it gently, pulling me close to him in a hug. He kissed the top of my head.
And I knew that we had crossed a line.
We weren’t just hooking up.
At least I wasn’t.
—
I was still a little buzzed, but the water had cut through my fogginess and anger. As had Sophie. She had a way about her, something about that straightforward stare, those matter-of-fact words, that calmed me. I had shown up here angry, thinking fucked-up thoughts about taking that kid and running. About finally making my brother pay.
But then there she was, a sweet little spot of no bullshit. No lies. Nothing but honesty. And now she was looking up at me like she thought I was something. A person worth spending time with.
I rubbed the towel over her, softly, tenderly. She made me a jumbled mix of feelings. I wanted to fuck her. I wanted to spank her. I wanted to love her.
Scary shit. Big shit. Shit I didn’t have any business feeling.
So I tried to keep it sexual. I rubbed the towel between her legs. Blew on her nipple to dry it off. I tossed the towel on the floor beside mine. “Am I going to get in trouble for dirtying up this white bathroom?”
The bathroom was ridiculous. I had never seen so much fucking marble outside of a museum. And this was only one bathroom out of how many? I had only glanced around the downstairs, but had seen wide, expansive rooms, and a killer view of the bay. I could picture Sophie’s sister living here. But Sophie didn’t quite fit. Obviously, I stuck out like a sore thumb. Or a drunken, dirty thumb. Sophie didn’t stick out. She just seemed like she was in the wrong setting for her. Like she was a guest.
I had a feeling she felt that way but I didn’t really know. She didn’t share a lot of her personal feelings with me. I was just her fuck buddy. Not a boyfriend.
That was the way it should be.
If I didn’t like that, so the fuck what?
