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“I don’t know,” I told Morgan. “This one might be better than yours.”
“Lemme see.” She reached over and bit off the end. “Mmmm.”
A droplet of white sauce ran down her chin. I caught it with a napkin.
“You’re wrong,” she said. “Mine’s better.”
We continued on, tasting taco after taco. Everything was delicious, but the best part was the delighted faces and uninhibited sounds of enthusiasm that Morgan made as she ate.
Just as I was watching her sink her teeth into the carnitas, her eyes fluttered shut, and out of nowhere, rain started falling from the sky in buckets.
We scrambled up to our feet, cleaned up our food, and debated trying to catch a cab or rideshare, but with as sudden and hard as the rain was, it made way more sense to just run for it. I gave my jacket to Morgan for her to hold over her head. It did little to help.
By the time we made it back to the hotel, we were both drenched and dripping wet. In the elevator, I noticed Morgan was shivering. I pulled her to my side to try and keep her warm. Her arms were covered in goosebumps. Her hair was glued flat to her, as was her turquoise dress that while wet fit her like a second skin. The dress did nothing to hide the pebbled shape of her hard nipples.
“I guess that’s the end of today’s grand city adventure,” she said, her teeth clattering.
“We’ll just have to pick back up tomorrow,” I said.
She smiled up at me, her honey eyes warm. By the time we made it to our floor, Morgan’s lips were blue. We hustled back to our room, feet sloshing in our shoes.
“You know what would be perfect right now?” I asked.
“A mega sized blow dryer?” she asked.
“Flip-flops.”
“Rule number three,” she said. “No more flip-flops. They’re going to ruin your feet. They have no arch support. They tear easily, and they offer no protection from the sun or the streets. They’re pretty much the opposite of wearing shoes.”
“What about ergonomic ones?” I teased.
She just shook her head and laughed.
“Straight to the shower with you,” I told her, and started the coffee pot. “We need to get you warm inside and out.”
“What about you? You need to be warm, too,” she said. “I’m only showering if you’re going to join me.”
She peeled her dress up and over her head and dropped it to the floor. Then she headed to the bathroom without waiting for my answer, unsnapping and dropping her bra next.
Fuck yeah. I followed her, stripping the wet shirt from my chest. I ripped off my socks and shoes and pants and underwear, never taking my eyes off of her.
She turned on the water, slipped off her panties, and stepped in.
It was the first time I’d seen her fully naked, and she was more glorious than I’d imagined—perfect breasts, generous hips, soft curves, and natural beauty.
Hopelessly entranced, I stepped into the shower with her. My dick throbbed to sink deep inside of her now. For the night, I wanted to pretend we had all the time in the world. I reached for her and touched her cheek, ran a hand down her neck, across her collarbone and shoulder. Her skin was soft and slick, but still cold.
Her needs came first. I adjusted the shower head and watched the steaming stream wash the goosebumps from her arms. She ran her hands across my chest and down over my stomach, and sucked her no-longer-blue bottom lip between her teeth.
She stopped shivering in the warm water, too. She planted a kiss on the center of my chest, then another a few inches lower. Trailing her mouth farther and farther down, she dropped to her knees.
“Morgan—” I wasn’t even sure what I’d intended to say—a plea, a warning—whatever it was died on my lips as she wrapped her fingers around my base.
“Rule number two.” She grinned up at me, whispered words of appreciation, and took the head between her lips.
I whispered my own words of appreciation at the warm, soft wetness of her mouth, the way she glided her tongue over me, taking more and more by the second.
I shielded the flow of water so it still ran down her back but didn’t hit her in the face. She stared up at me with hazy golden eyes as she took me deeper and deeper.
