Page 71 of Riding the Curve

“No need to apologize. It’s me who should apologize.” I pull my hand back, ashamed I let myself get carried away. “You’re in charge here, Hen. I’ll gladly wait, until you’re ready.”

Her gaze becomes glossy as she releases my wrist to cover her face. As I sit up, I grab both of her wrists and block them from shielding herself. “Please don’t hide from me. I want to see every part of you. Happiness, sadness, and everything in between. You don’t need to be afraid to share anymore how you’re feeling, okay?”

She dips her head for a moment, taking a deep breath. “Thank you,” she whispers.

I wrap my arms around her, squeezing her tightly as I press a kiss into the crown of her head before releasing her. Hints of vanilla waft from her hair, chased by the spicy cinnamon scent I’ve come to claim as uniquely Hen.

My own personal little cinnamon roll wrapped tightly beneath my arms.

Pressing one my quick peck onto her forehead, I help us to our feet.

“Let’s hose off, then we can take a shower to get the rest of it off. Then, you and I are cooking dinner.”

As if on cue, my stomach grumbles.

Her smile grows wide, and relief washes over me to see it shine through once more.

Hen’s fingers glide over my stomach. Her touch spreads like embers through me once more. “Give me about an hour, and then we’ll take care of that problem,” she chuckles.

I help her wash off, doing everything I can to think about anything else besides her soaked body on display. But nothing seems to douse the flame she ignited.

By the time we say our goodbyes, my body has become a raging inferno.

I hold it together until I watch the screen door swing shut behind her. Then I bolt into my cabin and turn on the shower.

Reaching one hand behind me, I tear my shirt over my head and toss it to the side. Just like the night I caught her in the spa, my skin sizzles. Like any moment I might combust. I know I should just take a cold shower, like I did that night. That no good can come from what I’m about to do.

But fuck that.

The glass door hinges open as a cloud of steam mists all around me. Stepping inside, I let the scalding water soothe my muscles and lather my loofa with the same vanilla body wash I’d placed in Hen’s cabin. I don’t know what possessed me to buy two, but at this moment, I’m thankful I did.

Lathering my body with the soapy suds, I roughly scrub off the excess paint until I’m satisfied that I’m clean enough. Each pass of the loofa only amplifies the heat crawling through my veins.

Leaning one hand against the cool tile, I wrap my hand around my cock, hissing at the sensation. Her sweet scent curls around me, dragging me under into my deepest desires. Reminding me of the things I want to do to Hen’s body.

All the pleasure I could bring her.

All the ways I could show her just how much happiness she brings me.

With a groan, I let my head fall into the stream of water. It cascades through my hair and down my back, and I twist my wrist, stroking my cock in one long tug from base to tip.

“Fuck,” I murmur, repeating the same action over and over.

As my eyes seal shut, images of Henley’s hazel eyes come into clear view. I can almost feel her pouty lips brushing against my skin. Almost taste the spice of her tongue tangling with mine.

The muscles in my lower belly begin to tighten and my imagination runs wild. Picturing her tongue sliding over my length as it slides back and forth through her beautiful mouth.

Once languid movements are quickly replaced with harsh, rapid strokes as I chase after my high with each pass. Every muscle tenses and I throw my head back, her name passing through my lips in a hoarse groan.

Leaning my forehead against the tile, I struggle to catch my breath as all my pent-up desire for Hen washes slowly down the drain.

On unsteady legs, I let the water wash over me until I float back to my senses.

What should have left me sated has done entirely the opposite. The only thought playing on repeat is how incredible it would feel if we did that . . . together.

I finally pull myself together enough to throw on a pair of gray sweats and toss one of my team shirts onto the bed to throw on in a bit. Rapidly sweeping through the cabin, I try my best to make it presentable before Hen arrives. Just as I finish throwing some of my clothes into the hamper, I hear a light tap at the door.

As soon as I open it, a wicker basket is shoved into my arms. It’s stuffed with cooking utensils and an assortment of ingredients that look suspiciously like what you’d need to make grilled cheese.