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All evidence points to Pick being naked, so I take a brief moment to enjoy the mental image and some favorite memories. He has a spectacular body, undoubtedly from all that firefighting he does. When you drag heavy equipment all over a mountain, you develop yummy muscles. I guess it’s Karma’s way of making up for the whole daily risking-of-lives thing. I may also imagine grabbing that neat stack and running. He’ll laugh. And then he’ll get even. It might even include naked pursuit through the camp because I’m fast discovering that Pick doesn’t care what other people think. I don’t mean that in a selfish way, either. It’s just that he has strong ideas of right and wrong, and doesn’t deviate from them because of a little crowd-sourcing or negative public opinion. And honestly? I wouldn’t mind if Pick pursued me.
Yay cheers Inner Hussy.
This gives me an idea, and I’m out of my shorts and tank top in under two minutes. A quick shimmy takes care of my panties as well. The summer heat makes a bra pure torture, so I skipped it. It’s thunderstorm weather, or so I’ve been warned, and each breath I take is sticky and heavy. There’ll be lightning later, white bolts that slice down from the sky and strike the trees. The entire camp will be searching for smokes where the lightning’s strike has smoldered long enough to flare up into flames.
I’m working on some lightning of my own.
Pulling back the shower curtain far enough to slip through, I step into the shower. Pick is soaping up, back to the door, and for just a minute I stand there and admire my view. Soap and water slick the powerful muscles of his shoulders as he ducks his head beneath the spray.
Showtime.
“You got room for one more?”
I barely get the words out, before he turns in a smooth, powerful move that leaves me up against the wall, his arm over my throat. Pick would never hurt me, but this rougher side of him is kind of (really super) sexy. He can and will take care of himself in a fight or a tight spot, and I like that. Unfortunately, I seem to like everything about him.
He blinks down at me, looking a little dazed. I guess he’s not so good with surprises. I make a mental note to cross the surprise birthday party off my list. There might be accidental casualties.
“Hell.” He doesn’t sound upset, just taken aback.
“Surprise?” I offer. Thanks to his ninja warrior move, my breasts are squashed against his chest. When I exhale, my nipples rub against the rough dusting of hair on his forearms. This little accident feels so good that I do it again on purpose. His eyes darken, which I take as a sign of approval.
“Did I miss the memo about water conservation?” A smile tugs at his lips.
“Conservation is very important,” I agree, tilting my head back to see his face better. When I draw a leg up his, part of him makes it clear that surprise shower intrusions aren’t all bad, because he’s now sporting one very impressive erection. He’s hot and slick, so I just have to angle myself against him for an even better fit. We’re kind of perfect together.
“Yeah.” He whips his arm away from my throat, as if he’s only just realized he’s on me like a caveman, but he doesn’t move away. Instead, he leans in closer, planting his arms on either side of my head. “You in the mood for a shower or something?”
“Can I vote for or something?”
When he smiles, he gets this little crinkle around the edges of his eyes. Probably from the sun—or from laughter. I like that about him. He enjoys life. The same way he enjoys my body. Wholeheartedly, rolling with whatever punches life tosses him. Too bad I can’t be more like that. I’ve just never been a particularly laid back kind of person—I’m more of a worry wart, although it seems like Pick can work with that.
“You planning on starting something right here in the shower?”
Sometimes the doing is even better than the planning. I press my mouth against the firm line of his jaw, loving the rasp of his ten-o’clock shadow against my lips. That has to be why I’m practically humming with pleasure (and not “99 Bottles of Beer”). It has to explain why I shamelessly run my fingers over his skin wherever I can reach. There’s just so much Pick to love that I’m not sure where to start.
