“Hey, Bowen.”
“You came. In my jersey.” He hefted himself off the wall.
“I’m sorry. I wish we could. I want to. I do.” She stopped two feet away from him, the white jersey turning transparent in the water.
He stared because her tight nipples and lack of bra and panties were easily visible now. “I’d fucking die to touch you.”
“You don’t have to. Get on your knees.”
He compiled without question, and she lay her hands on his shoulders, almost in an embrace.
“Roy. Aurora,” Bowen purred. “Our babies will be so cute. Can we name them Axel and Rose?”
His sweet, unguarded words stabbed at her heart—even if his imaginary kids were named after a rock band. The kids should have been lucky not to be named Tom and Hank.
She found the soap and told him thetruth. “I’m here to wash your back.”
CHAPTER8
The steam made a thick haze, blocking parts of his vision, but it didn’t prevent him from feeling.
What was Roy doing to him?
Those nipples he needed to taste were poking his back as she washed his right shoulder with a loofah and soap.
“Is this okay? Does it feel all right?” Her voice was right by his ear, throaty and harsh.
“Yes,” he gasped, a sound reverberating in a way he couldn’t understand. Or was it his breathing? Or his hand on his damn dick?
The loofah moved lower to the slopes of his ass and his crack. “You do have mud everywhere.”
He could die right here. Forget his shoulder. Those hands. The slickness.
“More.”
No clue if it was his voice or hers.
Bowen widened his stance to give her more access and scrambled to grab the base of his cock. It was screaming, aching as the loofah steadily continued its tortuous path to his perineum and his balls.
“Roy. Fuck. God. Yes.” This time he was certain it was him speaking, because he handled his shaft even more roughly. “Going to kill me.”
She chuckled in the back of her throat. “Patience.”
“Let me fuck you, Roy. Please. I’m going to take those pretty tits of your and suck them till they’re good and plump for me. You can bite every tattoo, do anything you want.”
She moved in such a way it made him guess she’d leaned on him. The puckered texture of his jersey scrapped his back, the only barrier between her naked body and his.
The loofah was on his neck, his arms, and he was panting faster than he did making a goal-line stand at fourth and inches in the red zone. “I can bench press four hundred and fifty pounds and run three miles in seventeen minutes. Think of how you can ride me like a bronco as long as you want.”
“Stand up.”
Did her voice tremble? Or was he squeezing his dick to the point he’d be blind and deaf?
He did, able to sense how he towered over her by the rasp of her hair between his shoulder blades.
“Use me. I’ll take anything.”
She didn’t speak... but the loofah moved to the front, over his belly button.
