Page 30 of Loving at 40

I’ve interrogated thousands of suspects over the years. Come face-to-face with hundreds of criminals and their cohorts, but I was battling words as well as I stared into those expressive eyes. They said everything. They admitted her crime and subjected her to guilt, but I didn’t want her to be embarrassed. I was actually a little honored, flattered while shocked.

“Let me help.” I reach for the edge of the tub, and I slide my hands outward along the cool porcelain as I shift to kneel beside the tub. Jenna watches me, her gaze drifting from my hands to my face. She seems just as afraid to look lower at my body where there is no disguising the bulge in my jeans.

Both her legs are bent upward, knees pressed together. The strain of her position is apparent as the showerhead is below her thighs. Gently, I place my hand on one knee and pull it toward me, widening a gap.

Jenna only stares at me, swallowing hard while her eyes well with liquid. I’m not certain if those potential tears are fear or need. I reach for the collar of my shirt behind my neck and, with one tug, pull it over my head, dropping it behind me. Her eyes fall to the medal dangling against my chest. Bracing my hands on the edge of the tub once more, I nod toward those slightly spread knees.

“Let me watch.” The strain in my voice is unavoidable. The water is a jet stream straight at her pussy. With a shaking hand, I press at Jenna’s shoulder, guiding her to lean back against the slant of the tub. I’ve never seen anything sexier. “Continue,” I command, holding her eyes with mine. They soften, and something I can’t read fills them.

“This is so wrong,” she whispers.

“But a few seconds ago, it felt right, didn’t it?”

She doesn’t answer. She swallows once more, and while focusing on her eyes, I slip my other hand between her thighs and seek the handle of the showerhead. The water whirls as I lift it higher, watching as she tips her hips upward. The spray hits her just right, and her lids struggle against the pleasure, drifting to half-mast. I rotate the wand in my hand, shifting the position for maximum stimulation, and Jenna bites her bottom lip.

“Say it,” I groan, staring at her mouth where she works the sensitive skin with grinding teeth. “Say my name again.”

Jenna shakes her head, the base of her skull moving against the tub ledge.

“Say it like you just did, like you want it to be me touching you, pleasing you.”

Jenna slowly releases her lower lip, and her mouth slightly opens, but no sound travels over the lush pucker.

“Say it like you want me to take you in this tub. Suck you and fuck you and—”

“Archer,” she chokes out. Her eyes close.

“Open,” I demand.

“I can’t look at you.” Her voice is strained.

I want to question why she can’t face me, but I also want her only thinking of what’s happening between her legs, against her clit, at her channel. The thought has me jealous of a fucking showerhead and any fantasies in her head. I want to turn this thing off and replace it with my fingers, my tongue, my dick. My imagination runs wild with additional ways to use this device on her.

“Look at me,” I command, and hesitantly, her eyes open. “You said my name, so look at me as you fall apart.”

Those bright but dark eyes hold mine, and we pause on the pull between us, an electric spark like lightning cracking over the lake. Her legs spread until her knees hit the sides of the tub. Her mouth hangs open.

“That’s it, baby.” Watching her has me as solid as the porcelain, and I want to touch her, feel her bare, slick skin, under the water, but I won’t break the trance she’s fallen into. Quickly, she grips the edge of the tub, splashing water around the basin as her hips rock in sharp, quick surges. She bites her lower lips so hard it turns white, and she groans against the shout wanting to escape.

“Oh no you don’t,” I hiss. “Fucking scream.”

She shakes her head to deny me, and I wonder how many times she’s had to hold her tongue from releasing a cry of delight. Her fingers curl over the side of the tub as her back arches before lowering to the slanted porcelain. She came; I’m certain of it, but it wasn’t enough. She rolls her head on the hard ledge, giving me the side of her face. A hint of disgrace washes over her expression again, and a hand covers her mouth as her eyes close.

“I am not done with you,” I warn, retracting the pulsing showerhead and reaching for the faucet to cut off the water source. Pressing on the edge of the tub, I use it to help me stand upright. Damn my leg. I unbutton my jeans.

“What?” she gasps. “What are you doing?” Her glazed eyes drift to my waistband, and whether conscious or not, she licks her lips. I’ve already pushed the limit with this woman, but I can’t stop now.

“You’ve got me all worked up.” Some space behind my zipper is necessary as my erection strains the fabric. Jenna’s gaze remains on my upper body, unabashedly scanning the firmness of my abs and lowering to the unmistakable bulge behind my zipper.

“I—” She swallows around the singular word once again as I step into the tub, still wearing my jeans and placing my feet between hers.

“We really need to work on your vocabulary. As an English teacher, yours seems rather limited,” I tease, dropping to my knees and hitching her legs up and over my thighs.

“Archer.” She hisses as my palms finally meet her inner thighs, and all the reserve I had goes down the drain.

“Let me touch you. Let me make you come again. You can do better.”

“Better?” she chokes. Her eyes fixate on mine as I slide my hands down the inside of her firm legs, squeezing, kneading.