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The bathroom was even stocked with my favorite shampoo and conditioner, and not a tiny bottle of it, either. It was a massive bottle, one I’d buy at home and use over a month-long period.
The soap was also my brand, and a niggling feeling started to work its way into my brain before I cast it aside when I saw the instrument panel.
Another click on the control panel and all the showerheads started to pulse, even the one aimed at my pussy, causing my eyes to cross.
After twenty minutes of just standing there, I finally came to my senses and got to work cleaning my various body parts, saving my hair for last.
I’d just worked up a good lather of shampoo in my hair when I heard it.
“I had a feeling you would get here before me,” the sound of a male voice broke into my shower.
I squealed and turned, soap running into my eyes as I opened them in the middle of my shampooing.
“What the hell, Hancock?” I cried, covering my breasts.
Or I tried to, at least.
My breasts were much too large to cover with just my hands.
I managed to shield my nipples from view and that was about it.
My pussy, luckily, got fully covered, but even that didn’t feel like enough.
I was totally and completely naked in front of the hottest man in the world.
And he was the hottest man in the world. He’d won Hour Magazine’s—one of the top celebrity magazines in the world—2017’s Most Handsome Man Award.
Also, as a thank you to their readers, they’d printed a large poster in each magazine that featured Hancock’s glowering face and nothing else.
I’d hung it on my bedroom wall next to my Fathead. There was no doubt in my mind that he’d seen that, too. The man missed nothing. I was sure, at this point, he was just being nice about my infatuation with him.
So yes, needless to say, I felt more than a little self-conscious standing there naked in front of him.
And then he started stripping.
“What are you doing?” I squeaked fearfully.
Hancock’s beautiful eyes met mine as he stripped off his shirt.
“Joining you,” he answered, not stopping his strip down.
When he got to his pants I turned around, closing my eyes and letting the water wash the shampoo away.
The moment I felt him behind me, my knees started to shake.
“You want to know why I want you so badly?” he asked conversationally.
“I don’t know…” I cleared my throat. “Why?”
“You’re beautiful.” He let his finger trail up my right shoulder and then straight down my spine until it he came to a stop right above the top of my ass.
Goosebumps traced his path, and my nipples hardened.
“You take my breath away clothed,” he murmured. “But without clothes?”
He pressed forward, and I nearly jumped two feet in the air when I felt his erection poke me in the ass.
“I’m a grown-ass man of thirty-two years, and if I wasn’t sure it’d offend you, I’d come all over your ass right now with two strokes of my cock,” he growled, pressing his lips against the back of my neck.
I licked my lips nervously.
“Who’s to say that I’d be offended?”
The words came out of my mouth before I could stop them, and the breath left my lungs when he started to chuckle.
“I’m not saying that I don’t want that—eventually—but right now? Right now, I want to slide my cock into that pussy of yours and ride you until we both can’t see straight,” he admitted. “Badly.”
I couldn’t help but press back against him, and the resounding growl that left his lips had me clenching my thighs.
His hands went to my hips to still my jerky movements, and then left shortly after, one going up while the other went down.
Inadvertently, I sucked in as his hand trailed over my belly to the apex of my thighs, and he stopped only long enough to pinch my tummy.
“I love every fucking thing about you,” he informed me. “Your stomach is perfect. Your hips are this beautiful hourglass shape that every woman in the world would kill for.”
I’d never thought much about my actual shape.
In fact, I went out of my way not to think about it.
Sure, I was confident in my body. I knew that it’d never change unless I really did a drastic lifestyle change that included eating healthy, working out, and being smarter about my life decisions. So, I’d come to terms with who I was because one thing was for certain: I hated working out.
In fact, hate wasn’t a strong enough word for it.
Loathe was more like it.
“You’re thinking too hard,” he punctuated that statement with a pinch of one nipple, and I gasped.
“So. We have two options here,” he murmured, letting his lips trail against the curve of my neck.
“Yeah?” I asked.
