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Chloe firmed her voice. He wasn’t going to dictate where and when she was doing anything, dammit. “I’ll be there to get Axl in an hour.”
“Okay, I’ll see you then.” Lori was still laughing when she hung up the phone.
Chloe let her arms dangle off the bed. She was not going to go have sex with Michael in the shower. Nope.
She didn’t have time for that. She rolled off the bed and into the ridiculously huge bathroom. Her tour of his apartment had been minimal at best. She remembered stumbling in there sometime in the middle of the night
to take care of business, but she’d been beyond blurry.
Right now there was a wall of glass, multiple shower heads going, and blessed steam filling the room. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d actually had a hot shower that lasted more than seven minutes. Usually, because her hot water didn’t last much longer than eight, but more often than not it was because Axl didn’t allow such luxuries.
Water and mint-scented suds slid down Michael’s muscular form.
She did have an hour to get to Lori’s. She flipped off his shirt, letting it drop to the floor.
“Fuck it,” she said and opened the door.
Michael was dipping his head back under the rain hood and shampoo was foaming off his neck and down his back. He had such wide, strong shoulders. A light dusting of freckles came into view. He rolled his neck to get rid of the rest of the soap and a simple triangle tattoo was revealed.
She stepped inside and slid her hand up his wet back. “There’s quite a bit of room in here. Just one problem?”
He turned and drew her under the rain shower head. “I can’t see a single one, except that you’re not slick everywhere just yet.”
She tipped her head back with a low groan. “That’s a whole lotta wrong.”
“Everything looks right to me.” He dipped his head and took her nipple into his mouth.
She slid her fingers into his wet hair and let a moan sigh out of her chest. He knew just how much pressure to exert before pulling back. She’d tell him about needing a tub for Axl later.
When she could think again.
Twenty minutes later she landed in a heap on Michael’s bed. He’d wrapped her in a towel the size of a damn blanket and carried her out of the bathroom.
He had to. She couldn’t feel her feet.
Between the steam and his relentless need to give her three orgasms for his one—good ratio as far as she was concerned, not that she’d tell him that—she was spent. Someday it would be lovely if she could just sprawl out on a huge bed and sleep the day away.
She’d gotten to do that in Vegas, of course, but drunk sleep was not the good kind of sleep. Not the kind that followed an orgasm and a day of pampering.
Actually, she was pretty sure she’d never had that kind of a day.
“We have to go get Axl.”
Michael opened up her towel and kissed her inner thigh, then her belly. “We sure do.”
“Do you mind?”
He peered up at her. “Of course not.”
She pushed his hair off his forehead. “I know it’s an imposition.”
He caught her hand and brought it to his cheek. “It’s not. I want to do things for you guys. It’s my job now.”
“It’s not your job to take care of me—of us.”
“I want to.”
She sighed. “I’ll find a job as soon as I can, then we’ll be—”
