I busy myself slicing cheese and buttering the bread while the pan heats up. “It’s all good. I get it, you’re working. And I’ve even seen some of it. I’ve been by to watch a couple times, and it was different than what I was expecting.”
She laughs. “No shit. Not quite as glamorous as all the awards shows would have you believe, right?”
“Not at all. Long days, that’s for sure.”
“Yup, and sometimes working in shitty conditions, wearing clothes that are wildly inappropriate for the weather. Um, water scenes. Those can be rough.”
Immediately an image of her in the shower comes to mind. It’s from one of her movies, but now that I’ve seen her in real life—the soft golden skin, the lean lines, the slight curve of her breasts—it’s so much more vivid and real in my mind. Enough to send heat seeping under my skin.
“Water scenes, eh?” My voice drops an octave, and I have to clear my throat.
“Not like that. Get your mind out of the gutter. I’m talking about swimming. Cold lakes, tanks in studios. It can be a total nightmare. Although, now that you mention it, I could really use a shower.”
I huff out a laugh to avoid letting the groan slip out. “Nobody said anything about showers, but you’re welcome to use mine if you’d like. Dinner’s almost ready, but I can hold it for you.” I put the spatula down, turning around with a smirk. “Unless you want company.”
She shakes her head at me. “Really? I think you’re forgetting how this thing between us works.”
I sigh. “I know. You’re in charge. Forget I asked. But if you’re still interested in the solo shower, fresh towels are in the hall closet.” I pause. “But you know that.” If only she were still staying here.
Her chair scrapes the floor as she gets up, and then she’s behind me. I can feel her presence before she slips her arms around me for a hug. “Yeah, I know. Thanks.”
I twist around so I can get my own arms around her. It feels right, like she belongs there, and I squeeze her tighter. She doesn’t pull away or protest, instead melting into me. I drop my head to hover above hers, so close I can feel her hair tickling my nose. She smells like horses and hay, that distinct mix of aromas I love most in the world.
It takes everything in me to resist stretching down to give her a kiss. But I do.
I’m nothing if not a good boy.
Chapter 25
Aura
Thehotwaterhitsmy aching muscles just right and I tilt my head back to let it cascade down my body. Now that I’ve got shower scenes in my head, it’s all I can think about. Except the male lead is him. This is starting to be an alarming trend. When I finally crash, exhausted at the end of the night, he’s the one I’m thinking about while I fall asleep. Even when I tried to relieve a little of the tension with my fave vibrator, he was the one whose hands I pictured on my body, his cock stretching me, taking me over the edge.
My hand is slippery with body wash—his body wash—as I slide a hand down my stomach. My eyelids droop closed as I reach the apex of my thighs. My clit is already sensitive and needy when my fingers find it, starting to make small circles. But it’s his hands I’m picturing as warmth builds and spreads through me.
“Aura, you almost finished?”
His real voice cuts through the haze. Finished? I wish. I laugh. What is actually wrong with me? Touching myself in his shower while thinking of him when the real thing is out there in the kitchen, ready and I’m sure, more than willing.
“I’ll be right there,” I call out, a hint of laughter still lingering in my words.
A chill raises goosebumps on my skin after I shut off the hot water and reach for one of his navy-blue towels. Very single-man-living-alone. But they’re soft on my overly sensitive skin as I towel my body off. My damp hair falls past my shoulder blades, and I wring out as much water as I can so I’m not dripping all over his house. At least, not in that way.
Once dry, I drape the towel over the edge of the tub and step out of the bathroom. Light from the wooden chandelier over the table is peeking through the open doorway leading into the kitchen, and I check myself.
“Hey, Quint, can you shut the curtains?”
“What?” He asks, poking his head out around the corner. His eyes widen when he sees me standing there, on display for him. There’s so much power in putting that look on his face. Not like thinking of all the millions of people watching me on a screen, or looking at an airbrushed version of myself in the pages of a magazine. This is different. It’s personal and tangible. And it’s what I need right now.
“Shut the curtains, Quint.”
He backs away quickly, not taking his eyes off my body. There’s a thump and then, “Shit.” My lips twitch as I fight back a giggle. I hear the whisper of fabric being pulled across a curtain rod, so I step through the door.
“Dinner’s ready.” He shifts on his feet, and my gaze tracks down to the outline of his cock visible through the denim of his jeans.
“It can wait.”
“But I thought you were hungry.”
