The music swells, theshhkof percussion brushes joining in with the vibrato of the saxophone as I dip down to tease my entrance. Not much more than the tip goes in, though, because water doesn’t make for good lube. “Damn it!” I huff, rerouting back to my clit. I don’t feel bad for my language slip-up because of our agreement that watching our mouths during sexy times goes out the window. And, well...solo sexy time still counts.
Right?
Damn right, it does. Air flows down from the vent above my head, making me shiver before the warmth hits me. My left hand softly tweaks a tender nipple, a gasp mixing in with the music. Shaping my fingers in a vee, I gently slide them up and down my inner folds as I settle back into my mental vision of Connor. How his dark brown stare penetrates my soul as he crooks a finger, beckoning me closer.
Closer, I walk. Closer and closer with a little sashay in my hips until I’m standing in front of his gorgeous face. I smell him, even in my reverie, and it’s not a bad scent at all. I’d even go so far as to say it’s clean. He leans over his workbench, running his nose over the curve of my cheek, and hotly whispers, “Water’s getting cold, kitten.”
I stop dead, fingers immediately going limp. That’s not what he was supposed to say. It should have sounded more like “marry me” because Dream Connor knows just what to say to convince me to give in. And his voice sounded awfully deep just now. Deep enough to tickle my eardrums and give me goosebumps. That could only happen if—
Well, shit sticks and double fuckery. I’m not dreaming anymore, am I? I crack an eye open to see him—therealhim—on his knees beside me. Thick finger stirring a small circle in the now-tepid bathwater, he stares at me in barely-concealed amusement and tsks. “Kitten, kitten, kitten. Are you having fun without me? Touching what’s mine?”
“No,” I blurt out even as I look down to make sure my secret is still hidden by the bubbles.
“I don’t believe you. Let me taste.” The quiet command hits the air harder than a sledgehammer.
My fingers curl, gently grazing my too-sensitive clit and sending a rush of sensation through me. I bite back my whimper. “What?”
His pupils expand, banked heat smoldering in their depths. “Fingers. Now.”
Helpless to do anything other than obey when he speaks in that dark voice, I slide my left hand from my breast and lift it into the air, water running in rivulets through the bits of bubbles clinging to my arm. Connor snatches it and runs his tongue up the length of my index finger.
Good. God.
My legs jerk of their own volition at the ticklish feeling, fresh wetness drenching my core as I swallow down yet another pitiful noise that fights to escape.
With a warning nip to the tip of my finger, he shakes his head in disappointment. “Don’t play games, kitten. Give me what I want.”
He knows what I taste like.
Heart pounding in thrilling feminine awareness, I slowly raise my right hand that still holds traces of my essence. A warm grip wraps around my delicate wrist bone, slowly reeling it in. When it meets the teasing tip of his tongue, he licks the pad of my finger, testing the veracity of my offering. He engulfs my finger in his wicked mouth, silently daring me to break our gaze.
I can’t move. I’m pinned in place by the heavy weight of his stare and can only sway against gravity as he laves my flesh, tormenting me with the sucking sensation. Pulling off, he drops small kisses over my hand and forearm, trailing higher and higher until he meets my mouth.
Soft.
Controlled.
Tempered.
With a final press to the corner of my lips, he sits back onto his feet, and it’s then that I belatedly notice something about him. “Different clothes?” The navy blue shirt chokes his massive biceps and pecs that threaten to rip through the material.
“I showered out back so I wouldn’t bring wood shavings into the house. Come on—out you go. Water’s too cold now.” Standing and pulling me up with him, he opens the towel I’d set aside earlier and lifts me up and out.
“I’m perfectly capable of getting out of the tub, you know.” Wryness saturates my tone even though I’m still breathless from his attentions.
With swift motions, Connor dries me off as the water drains with a chorus of gurgles. “But you don’t need to. Not now that I’m here. Have you been thinking over what we talked about?”
Is he kidding? It hasn’t left my mind all afternoon. “I think I need clothes for this conversation.”
A tanned male hand blocks me as I reach for my underwear—the new underwear he bought me two weeks ago. “And I think you don’t. In fact, I think you need a little help making your decision.” A mischievous gleam shines in his eyes to match his smirk.
“What are you doing?” I ask rhetorically, because as my world shifts, it’s obvious that he’s carrying me. As if I’m the most precious treasure in the world, he bends and carefully places me on the bed.
“Off.” He shoos the animals, herding them out of the room and closing the door. Slow deliberate steps bring him back to me, where he pulls his shirt off in that hot, one-handed way guys sometimes do. The black ink decorating his hard chest and arms comes into view, and oh, God, I want to trace each and every winding, tribal pattern with my tongue. I don’t get to do much more than wish, though, because he lowers down on top of me, caging me with his heavy body.
Sweet kisses pepper the side of my neck, over my jawline and to my waiting lips. But he doesn’t stay there long. No, he teases me with slow, small brushes that only frustrate me. “What am I doing?” he repeats my question in a mumble against my mouth. “I told you. Helping you make up your mind.”
Oh, God. I’m in trouble.
