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“We’re finding the games and challenges, group competition on the fitness machines increase their use in health clubs, and in homes. We launch the entire line of them January second—when people tend to actually believe they’ll keep their New Year’s resolutions.”
“Sneaky,” she said again, and turned to twine her arms around his neck. “What’s your resolution?”
“To take more showers with my wife.” Mindful of the injury, he touched his lips gently to hers.
“No, you don’t.” She got a good grip on his hair, yanked him back to her, ravaged his mouth. “I just crushed Crusher. I can handle you.”
“You think so?”
If she needed the physical, the punch and the power, he’d oblige her. He’d had a bit of his own in his craw since he’d read the message on the wall that morning.
So he hiked her up, slapped her back against the wet wall, and plunged into her.
“Oh God!” Her hand slid off his shoulder, clawed back for purchase.
&nb
sp; “Can you handle me?”
He thrust hard, deep, tore a cry from her, turned her eyes to gold glass. Those long legs chained around his waist as her breath came in tatters.
But she leveled her gaze with his. “Like I told Crusher. Bring it.”
“Get a good grip.” He nipped his teeth into her good shoulder, scraped them up her throat. “I want my hands on you.”
She grabbed hold where she could, helpless, suspended, pinned while he drove her, drove into her.
Nothing but glorious, shattering sensation while his hands took her breasts, ran rough down her body, up again, and all the while he plunged into her, wild, relentless. Everything she needed.
The heat from the pulsing jets, the rising steam from him saturated her. All the hours in the cold, all the hours with blood and death burned away.
Here was a violence of passion that purged and filled again, that scorched then soothed.
She cried out once more, the sound of release twined in surrender echoing off the tiles.
She imprisoned him with his own mad needs, enslaved him with his bottomless love. She enraptured and ensnared him—every inch of her. Her shape, her scent, her spirit.
And when she moaned his name, went limp, she simply emptied him.
They slid down, boneless, tangled together, ended up half propped against the shower wall. When he turned his head, brushed his lips at the curve of her throat, she smiled.
“Now that’s what I call a shower.”
“It’s what I call getting lucky.” He kissed her throat again. “This is what I call a shower. Temperature adjust to ninety degrees.”
He wasn’t sure how he managed to hold her down in his weakened condition, or if his ears would ever stop ringing from the screaming, but, again, it was worth it.
“No one sane considers ninety degrees cold,” he told her. “Now if I said eighty—”
“I’ll kill you dead.” She wanted to be furious, but it was hard getting there when she felt so good and was sliding around with him on the shower floor. “Prick.”
“Again? The woman’s insatiable. I’ll need about ten minutes first.”
“Don’t even think about it, ace.” She managed to half sit, then just sighed and dropped her head on his shoulder.
He stroked her back, gently now. “Computer lab?”
“Yeah. I gave myself an hour to clear my head, and I’ve taken nearly twice that.”
