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“It’s a good thing I don’t suffer from low self-esteem.” Johnny stroked her arm lightly and reveled in her smile. This felt good. “Maybe you like me for my stellar penis.”
“It is adequate.”
That was a ringing endorsement from Lizette. He’d take it. This felt amazing, all of it. The sex, the teasing, the comfortableness of lying next to her.
If it had been like this last night, no wonder he had handcuffed himself to her.
She was the bomb in bed. Or in this case, on the floor.
“Do you want to take a shower?” he asked, because they both looked like a crime scene. There was drying blood smeared all over.
“That would be wonderful.”
Johnny sat up and waited for her to follow, then he stood. It was then she seemed to remember that they were handcuffed, which meant they would be showering together, because she said, “I would prefer to shower alone.”
“Why?” he asked, genuinely puzzled. “I’ve already seen you naked. In fact, you happen to be naked right now.” He put his free hand on her smooth ass to further prove his point.
“I know, but sometimes a woman requires privacy.”
He had no idea what she was talking about. “It’s not like you’re taking a crap, you’re in the shower. With soap and water and a sponge. That is sexy. What’s the big deal?”
Her tongue clucked. When her tongue clucked, Johnny was starting to realize there was no point in arguing with Lizette. She had made her mind up about some moral piece of whatever and she wasn’t going to back down. But she didn’t say anything. Maybe because she was realizing that it was a fortunate thing they were vampires, because neither one of them was ever going to need to use the toilet like a mortal would. Even he had to admit that would have been awkward.
And now he had officially killed the mood. Johnny mentally kicked himself. They’d been on such a sex high and he had f**ked it up by pushing the point and mentioning crap. He was L’Asshole. So he lightly kissed her. “Never mind. Of course you can shower by yourself if you want. I’ll just sit outside the shower curtain, okay? We can take turns.”
“Really?”
“Of course.” Even if it was completely stupid, in his opinion. But he was willing to do it for her.
Which was how he found himself sitting on the cold porcelain tub, freezing his ass off, chin in hand. While his other arm dangled behind him getting hit by the warm spray and flopping around at Lizette’s will as she jerked him to and fro, washing her body. Washing her body. Damn. He really wanted to be a party to that process. He wanted to squeeze gel soap into his hands and slide them all over her, from head to toe. He wanted to lick between her thighs and listen to that catch in her breath she gave.
Now he was sitting naked on the edge of the cold tub with a boner.
Lame. That’s what this was. And honestly, he was pretty damn sure he would have just ignored her protestations and jumped in anyway with any other woman because they had already had sex. That entitled him to shower sharing. But for whatever stupid reason he just perched like a naked bird feeling bitter while his arm went numb from hanging there in the cuffs.
“Finished. May I have a towel?” She popped her head out from behind the curtain.
Damn it, she was beautiful. It was making him grouchy. But he stood up without hesitation and grabbed her a towel. “Need help drying off?”
“No, thank you.”
Of course she didn’t. Because that would be fun for him. “I’m coming in,” he told her, the dried blood on his shoulder and neck starting to pull at his skin. He was just about out of patience.
But she was quick, emerging from the shower wrapped in the towel. “It’s all yours.”
They traded positions, and she managed to avoid any contact with him whatsoever in the transition.
Funny how when he was the one standing in there, his arm was still stretched to capacity and he was hunched over. She had half of his arm out of the shower as she toweled her hair dry, while he felt like a chimpanzee trying to learn to use tools. He was all bent over and bouncing around on the balls of his feet trying to get some shampoo onto his head one-handed.
What the f**k.
Her French pu**y had clearly whipped him.
Because he wasn’t complaining. He was just one-handed washing while his arm went completely numb and water slapped him in the face.
Lizette didn’t offer to dry him off. Not that he expected her to, but it would have been a nice gesture.
“Our clothes are in the kitchen,” she told him, still burrito-wrapped in her towel, her damp hair falling over her shoulders in waves.
“Your clothes are trashed. How about I find something of mine for you to wear.” Not bothering with a towel, because well, he liked to be naked, and she couldn’t stop him, he went over to his dresser.
Rifling through his T-shirt drawer, he found a Union Jack shirt. “Oh, look, here’s one for you.”
“Ha-ha. Aside from the subject matter, I cannot wear a T-shirt with these handcuffs.”
She was right. She would need a sweatshirt or something, which was ridiculous because it was ten million degrees outside. “You’re going to have to wear a T-shirt. It’s too hot for anything else.” He found one that was loose, and just a plain gray cotton. “Here, try this.”
Lizette turned her back slightly, which was ridiculous, but she did, and edged her towel to her waist to put the shirt on. Of course, her left arm fit in normally but the right one couldn’t, so her flank was completely exposed. But Johnny could fix that. He rifled through his dresser and found a stapler.
“What are you doing?” she asked, sounding alarmed.
“Trust me.” He stapled the shirt together, closing the gap from waist to arm pit. It looked weird, but she was in, and it was clean, even though the shoulder was bunching.
“But . . .”
“What?”
“I don’t have my bra on.”
He hated to tell her that no one would ever notice. She wasn’t exactly a busty chick. But he just told her quite honestly, “You can’t tell. I swear.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. The shirt’s really baggy, there is no way you can tell.”
“I feel ridiculous. I wish I had panties.”
He wasn’t sure what the one statement had to do with the other, but he could at least fix the second problem. “Do you want to borrow a pair of my underwear?”
“No! Of course not. That would be . . .”
