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“I’m surprised she didn’t send for the straitjacket squad.”
They smiled at each other. Then he leaned his head back and dug the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. “God, how long has this day been?”
“Long.”
He lowered his hands from his eyes and slapped his knees as he rolled up out of the chair. “I’m going to shower, unless you want the bathroom first.”
“Go ahead.”
He trudged up the stairs, went into his bedroom, and took off his windbreaker and shoes. He unclipped his holster from his belt and considered taking the pistol into the bathroom with him so it would be within reach. But he set it on the nightstand instead. When he went into the bathroom he noticed that Talia’s bedroom door was closed.
By the time he’d undressed, the water in the shower was steaming. Flattening his hands on the wall above the taps and standing directly beneath the spray, he let it pound so hard against the back of his head and neck that it stung.
Then he was shocked into awareness of a softer, gentler touch between his shoulder blades. His head snapped up.
“No, stay as you were.” Talia moved up behind him and pressed her body—all of it—against his. She rubbed her center against his ass. Her breasts sandwiched his spine.
“Oh, my God. Talia—”
“Stay as you are.”
“But I want to see you. And it feels so good.”
“To me, too.” She rested her cheek against his back. “It feels good to be needed. Allow me to do this for you. Okay?”
He answered by saying nothing and staying as he was. She backed away only far enough to reach for something. It must have been the bottle of shower gel, because her hands were soapy when she applied them to the back of his neck.
Starting at the base and working up, she kneaded out the achiness, then slid her fingers into his hair and massaged his head. On their way back down, they gently pinched the tops of his ears and earlobes, then moved across his shoulders, squeezing the tension out of them.
He sighed a long, drawn out ah. “That felt great. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Can I turn around now?”
“No.”
“When?”
“When I’m done.”
“When will that be?”
“When I say when.”
She got a refill of gel, then pressed her hands firmly against his back on either side of his spine, rubbing circles into his lats, working her way down until her hands were on his butt, creating deep depressions in his glutes with her fingers.
“Your muscles are tight,” she said. “Relax.”
“Relax? Are you serious? I’m dying here.”
She laughed softly. “I don’t think so.”
Her thumbs became twin pressure points on the small of his back. They rode the bumpy path of his vertebrae all the way down to the cleft of his ass, then teased it with feather-light brushes that caused his breath to hitch.
“Damn, Talia. Now?”
“Not yet.”
