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“Absolutely.” I cock my head and wiggle my eyebrows, hoping to keep the mood light. “Pants only, or pants and panties?”
She laughs. “Pants and panties.”
“On three?”
She nods. “On three.”
I tuck my thumbs into the waistband of my joggers and count down. On three, we both slide our pants and underwear over our thighs and step out of them, hanging them on the hooks outside the shower stall. I pull back the curtain and step under the spray. Winter follows, pulling the curtain closed behind her.
When she turns to face me, her mouth drops open. “Holy fuckballs.” Her gaze jumps from my eyes to my erection. “That’s… Wow. That had to hurt.”
“Probably less than you think. A Prince Albert piercing is surprisingly low on the pain scale.”
“Well, that’s a seriously unexpected surprise.”
I hold out my hand and she takes it, letting me pull us under the spray. “How’s the temperature?”
“Fine.” She catches my arched brow. “I mean good.” Her eyes drop again. “Statistically speaking, you’re already way above average. You didn’t need to bling out your dick to make it more enticing.”
I laugh. “It makes sex better.”
“Does it now?”
“Mm.” I nod.
“For you or your partner?”
“Both.”
When she reaches out, I catch her hand. “How about you let me take care of you right now?”
“But you’re hard.”
“I’ll calm down eventually.” I spin her so her back is to my chest and pull the tie free on the end of her braid, separating the strands until her hair hangs in a curtain down her back, almost grazing the dimples above her luscious, very bitable ass. I squirt a generous amount of shampoo into my palm—the stuff at the arena smells nice—and run it through her hair before I massage it into her scalp.
“Oh my God, you weren’t kidding about the scalp massage.” She tips her head back, groaning as I knead tense muscles.
“When I was in high school, I took cosmetology.”
“Because it was mostly girls?”
“Basically, yeah.”
Winter laughs. “Figures.”
“I learned some great skills though, this being one.”
“Not gonna argue with that. I don’t think anyone has helped me wash my hair since I was three.”
“Anytime you want to shower with me, I’m in,” I tell her.
When I’m done massaging her scalp, I rinse all the soap out, then finger-comb conditioner through the ends. I take my time, aware that once this is over, she’ll likely stay at the hospital until visiting hours end. It’s a short reprieve from the endless trauma.
Winter turns and runs her hands over my chest. She steps closer, and my erection, which has not chilled in the least, bumps her stomach. She looks down. “Doesn’t seem like you’re calming much.”
“Eventually doesn’t have a time limit.”
She steps closer, until her warm, wet, naked body is pressed against mine. “Isn’t that uncomfortable?”
