What now?
Did I make us a snack? Were things going to get awkward? There was no curfew. No running off to sleep in our own beds. Cuddling?
He pressed a kiss to the curve of my jaw. “I’m going to fuck you all night long.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Rhys
Warm water pounded against my chest. It could be a thousand degrees and I wouldn’t notice. June was on her knees in the shower and my dick was in her mouth. Her lips were stretched from my cock, andfuuuuck. What a sight.
I wanted to fuck her again, but we’d decided on a shower before we went to bed and did things that would ensure we needed a shower again.
“June, I’m going to fucking explode.” I pressed a hand against the shower wall.
She increased the suction and my eyes rolled back in my head.
“You’re a wicked girl, you know that?”
She didn’t answer. Instead, she hummed, goddamnhummed,when I didn’t think I could take it anymore.
My climax crashed into me. Lightning raced downmy spine, drew my balls up tight, and then shot out into her willing mouth. She didn’t flinch or pull away.
A shower experience so much different than the ones I’d given myself in the last few years. She didn’t let up, sucking and licking. I shook until I thought my knees might give out.
I cupped her face. “You’re going to kill me.”
She released me with a pop. I slumped against the wall but helped her to her feet. I planted my lips on hers.
She raked her fingertips down my chest. “I didn’t kill you,” she murmured against my mouth.
“It’s a miracle I’m standing.” I rinsed us both and shut the water off. She retrieved towels from the other side of the curtain, her rounded ass on display.
I traced my hand over a hip, scattering water droplets from her warm, wet skin. My girls were safe, I wasn’t keeping June a secret from my ex, and I had the whole night with June.
She handed me a towel. Her gaze dropped down to my half-hard erection, and she arched a brow.
“It doesn’t seem to know the meaning of tired around you,” I explained. It’d always been that way with her.
She grinned as she dried off. I did the same, then we hung our towels up and I lifted her again, tossing her over my shoulder, her ass in the air.
Her yelp dissolved into a laugh. “You can’t keep doing that.”
When we were younger, I’d asked her if she minded that I randomly lifted her. She said it made her feel safe.
Had that changed? “I’ll stop if you want.”
“No. I just meant that you don’t have an eighteen-year-old’s indestructible back anymore.”
“I’ll do more stretches.” My body would hold out for the next month.
The image of me sweeping her off her feet in my forties rose in my mind. In my fifties. I’d keep trying in my sixties and seventies and beyond.
The swell of emotion behind my sternum almost made me drop her. Instead, I held her tighter. I didn’t even have the next month with her. Two weeks.
In the bedroom, I pulled the covers back and gently lowered her to the mattress. She scooted in and I crawled in behind her.
When we were settled, my arm around her and her cheek against my chest, we were quiet for a few moments.
