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JODIE
Aloud moan falls from my lips, Toby’s thumbs digging into the tension knotting my shoulders as he washes every inch of me.
It’s the most mind-boggling yet content moment of my life.
This guy is… almost too good to be true.
He fucks like a savage, yet his sweetness, his tenderness makes a lump form in my chest.
It can’t be real. It just can’t.
I’m not that fucking lucky.
I can barely hold myself up by the time he’s finished working my back, and when he turns me around, I find his gaze dark and hungry once more and my stomach clenches despite the exhaustion claiming me.
Ripping my eyes from his, I take in his body, my gaze lingering on the scar high up on his chest before dropping lower. His defined chest, his cut abs, that V that leads to… All the air rushes out of my lungs when I take in his straining cock.
My mouth waters for another taste of him and my hand reaches out without instruction from my brain. But I never manage to make contact.
His fingers wrap around my wrist, stopping me.
His other hand turns the shower off before I’m tugged out. In seconds I have a towel around me and I’m watching him wrap another around his waist, his cock tenting it.
“Don’t you w-want—”
My words falter as his lips find my neck, kissing and nipping down the damp skin.
“More than I can put into words, Demon. But I can wait.”
“But I—”
“Come on,” he murmurs, taking my shoulders in his hands and steering me out of the bathroom and back toward the living room.
He gently pushes me down on the sofa and grabs the blanket that’s hanging over the back of it. And after dropping a kiss on my head, he walks away again.
“Where are you going?” I ask in a panic.
“Does Bri have a dryer?” he shouts over his shoulder, and I damn near melt into a puddle when he returns from the bathroom with our clothes in his arms, even thoughtfully pulling my leather skirt and his jumper from the pile.
“Y-yeah, it does both,” I say, my eyes flicking to the machine in the small kitchen.
I watch, enthralled as he empties his pockets and shoves our clothes inside before figuring out how it works.
He continues pottering until he’s found us both a cider—not his kind of drink if the way his nose wrinkles is anything to go by—and he stalks back over with them in one hand and the contents of his pocket in the other.
“Put something on,” he instructs, passing me the remote control. “Something tells me we’re going to need all the noise we can get to drown them out.”
I chuckle, turning the TV on and finding reruns of The Inbetweeners on whatever channel it’s already set to.
“I love these,” I say, taking the rhubarb cider from him.
“Really?” he asks, looking sceptical as hell.
“Really. Trust me.” I tip the bottle to my lips as something flashes in his eyes, but it’s soon gone when they drop to my lips as I lick up a couple of drops of sweetness.
“I’m changing my mind already,” he mutters.
“You haven’t even tried it, you idiot.”
