The euphoria gets slightly clouded with panic when I remember that the last girl I came inside, I got pregnant. But I shove those feelings down and try to enjoy this. There’s nothing I can do about it right now. That may not have been my smartest move, but in the moment, it felt so fucking right.
When she stands up, I look down to see my come dripping out of her and sliding down my cock. What a glorious sight. But as soon as she steps to the side, the water washes it away.
Before she can retreat too far from me, I grab her hips and stand, putting her in the place where I just sat. “You sit. I’ll wash you, then it’s bath time.”
“I’m not gonna argue with you.”
I scoff. “For once.”
Chapter Eighteen
KASS
Once I’m all showered, I step out to run the bath while Blake waits on the seat in the shower.
When it’s half full, I pick her up in my arms and carry her to the tub. As we both settle in, the water rises almost to the top. She turns to sit across from me and drapes her legs over mine. It’s so tempting to lean forward and touch her again, but we’re both spent.
Instead, I opt to rub her legs. Her eyes flutter closed, and she sinks back against the tub.
As I rub her legs, I admire the artwork scattered across her skin. They’re hard to completely make out under the rippling water, but I can tell they were done by talented artists. “When did you get your first tattoo?”
Without opening her eyes, she responds, “Professional or unsanitary stick and poke?”
“Professional.”
“When I was 17.”
“Your mom signed for it then?” I'm half expecting her tosay she used a fake ID or got some sketchy artist to do it who doesn't care so much about the law.
“Yeah. She knew I would find a way to get it regardless of whether I had her permission or not, so she figured she might as well be there to make sure I didn’t get something totally outrageous.”
“Fair enough. Which one is it?”
She shifts in the water, making it splash dangerously close to the edge. She lifts her leg out to expose the back of her calf and points to a tattoo that’s the size of a deck of cards.
“A pop tart?”
“Yep.”
I lean in toward her leg and bite the tattoo.
“Ahh!” She squeals and rips her leg away from me. “Jerk.”
“Sorry, it was just too tempting.”
“What was your first tattoo?”
“Professional or unsanitary stick and poke?” I say, mocking her earlier question.
She narrows her eyes at me, trying to hide her amusement. “Professional.”
I lift my arm and twist it, so the underside of my bicep is facing her. My hand grazes over the inked skin there, and my mind slips back to that day.
“A flower?”
“Mhm. A Daisy.”
“What, is that your mom’s birthday month flower or something?” She asks it in a mocking tone.
