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Chapter Twenty-SixThe sound I make when Jake pulls out of me is a long, guttural song best described as a whimper-meow-snort-moan-moo-hiss.
I expect Jake to laugh. Chuckle. Smirk. Moo. Something. Instead he says, “I’ll make it better, baby.”
He sweeps my hair off my neck, fists it and tugs gently to reposition my head so he has better access to my shoulder. Then he trails kisses over the exposed skin all the way to my ear.
“Bath or shower?”
I grunt.
This time, he does chuckle. “My choice then?”
Grunt.
“Bath it is.” He stands and reaches for me, then pulls me from the bed and into his arms. He walks with me wrapped around him like a monkey. I inhale his scent. Soap. Clean. Masculine. Rich. Gah, Penelope. Could you be any more shallow? Probably not. But rich has a smell. And it’s Jake Swagger.
I open my eyes and the side of his strong neck stares back at me. A single, thick vein pulses beneath his skin. Stubble darkens his flawless flesh. I have the urge to stick my tongue out and lick it. When I do, I find my tongue is too short and I’m too lazy to get closer.
I have to pee.
The urge is so sudden and so strong, I clench everything to keep from giving him a golden shower. Jake tightens his hold in response. Which only adds to the pressure on my bladder.
And if he presses any tighter….
Oh dear Lord, please don’t let me pee on this man.
Jake kisses my brow and the tiny hairs on his chin tickle my nose. He’s in a giving mood because he skims his lips over my temple. Those hairs still tickling. Now I want to sneeze.
And if I sneeze….
Oh dear Lord, please don’t let me sneeze and pee on this man.
We’re climbing stairs now. I forgot this suite had a second level. It houses the master suite. And adjoining the master suite is the master bath.
Which is where he’s taking me.
Because I stupidly let him choose a bath over a shower.
And the only bath is upstairs.
And with every step, my bladder feels like it’s being tossed around like a hacky sack.
I think he’s doing this shit on purpose.
And if he doesn’t stop….
Lord. It’s me again. Please teleport us to the closest toilet so I don’t pee on this man.
“What are you praying about?”
Why can’t I do anything right?
My eyes close and I say nothing.
There is no damn way it takes this long to get to a damn bathtub.
Jake slows his stride. “Talk to me, gorgeous.”
“I’m about to pee all over you if you don’t get me to the bathroom.”
He stills for just a split second before picking up his pace. “For fuck’s sake, Penelope. You could’ve just told me that instead of praying about it.”
“Yeah? Well it wasn’t something I wanted to admit.”
“Well a golden shower is something I don’t want.”
“Then I suggest you—”
My words are cut off when he unceremoniously drops me on the toilet. The movement is more than my bladder can handle and I’m peeing the moment my ass cheeks hit the porcelain. When he straightens, I lift my eyes and one of his eyebrows sits halfway up his forehead.
“What? I told you I had to pee.”
Hmm…I wonder if that’s why my orgasm was so intense?
I believe it was Christian Grey who taught us that coming on a full bladder was better than coming on an empty one. Damn if he wasn’t right.
Thank you, E.L. James. I am forever in your debt.
I’m still peeing. Jake has left me alone and shut the door behind him. This bathroom, like the one at his apartment, has a toilet that’s separate from the rest of the bathroom. It even has a magazine rack. And an iPad. Which is fucking nuts because people like me might be tempted to steal it. But even with all its amenities, the small space is a little claustrophobic. And I’m curious about what Jake’s doing.
I stretch my fingers and can just reach the door handle. I pull it open to find him standing with his hands on his hips, naked, looking down at the tub as it fills with water. My eyes zone in on the dark hair that makes a trail down his V.
I want to lick his abs.
His cock.
His fucking kneecaps if that’s what turns him on.
“You don’t think it’s weird to pee with the door open?” he asks, a smirk on his chiseled, handsome, wonderfully fuckable face.
“Do you?”
“No. But women usually do. Then again, you’re pretty unusual.”
“I am that.”
“How are you still peeing?”
I shrug. “Must have an enlarged bladder.”
He groans. “Don’t say enlarged bladder, Penelope.”
“It’s the appropriate medical term, Jake.”
He levels me with a look. Miraculously, I stop peeing.
“What if I have a kidney stone?” No sooner does the thought cross my mind and I’m pulling the iPad out of the little magazine rack next to the toilet and typing my symptoms into the search engine.
