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“And the Roman numerals?”
He hesitated, then answered, “My twenty-fourth year.”
I nodded and rubbed my thumb across the numbers, kissed his shoulder, ached for his pain. I stroked my hands across his wide chest, around to the back of his thick neck, and back down his chest, across his abs, down the sides of his hips and back around his ass.
He was beautiful. Every solid inch of smooth skin stretched over bunched muscles, the light dusting of crisp hair over his forearms, more on his chest, tapering down to a thin line leading to his hardening cock. I wrapped my hand around his girth and squeezed lightly, tipping my head back to look into his face.
“I never get to touch you,” I whispered reverently.
He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You can touch me whenever you want, however you want. Just not during sex until I’ve had my fill of you,” he acquiesced, “even that, if that’s what you want, I’ll give to you. You can have me any way you want, any time at all.”
“I want to wash your hair. Can I do that? Will you let me wash your hair?”
His eyes lit with humor. “It’s going to be a bit of a squeeze in here, but I think we can make it happen.”
He lowered himself to his knees, and looped his arms loosely around my hips, which brought his face directly in line with my breasts. He dropped a reverent kiss between the full mounds, then rested his forehead on my breastbone, the spray hitting him on the back of his neck.
I kissed the top of his head then tipped it back under the spray, ran my fingers through the long, dirty-blond strands, watching as the water darkened them to a golden brown. I kissed his furrowed forehead, his closed eyes, ran my nose along the side of his, and brushed my lips across his. He sighed, his face went soft, and I drew his forehead back to rest on my chest.
Leaning over him, I pumped shampoo into my hand and slowly worked it through his hair, massaging his scalp. It was with wonder that I noted how he melted under my hands, how he soaked up my loving, how the tension eased from his body. I loved it that I had something to offer him he could not get from anyone else, and I promised myself that I would offer it often.
Once dry we slid between my cool sheets. He tucked me against his chest, then rolled into me, effectively trapping me beneath him, and yet, I did not feel caged.
Chapter 26
Straight Talker
Willa
The mood at Bex and Rhys’s place was celebratory when we walked in. Mara perched on the edge of a kitchen chair, her face flushed, half with pleasure, half with embarrassment, while Bex flitted around grabbing drinks and teasing her about becoming famous. Rhys tried again to coerce her pen name out of her to no avail.
“You’re famous?” Barrett greeted Mara.
I’d forgotten to tell Barrett about Mara’s publishing news.
“No,” Mara fought her smile, “I’m not famous, Re-bec-ca.”
“Rebecca?” I teased, “If she’s calling you Rebecca, you’re in trouble!”
“She will be famous!” Rebecca winked at me even while she informed Barrett, “She just published her first novel.”
Rhys and Zale leaned back into their seats on the couches, Rhys with his signature smirk, Zale with his eye crinkle, watching the scene playing out in front of them.
Barrett’s eyebrows shot up as he turned towards Mara.
“Congratulations! That’s incredible! What kind of book did you write?”
At this, Mara dropped her forehead down to the table while Rhys and Bex both replied, “The kind you’re not allowed to read!”
Zale chuckled and Barrett laughed, then rumbled, “Kind of makes me want to read it even more.”
Mara groaned in dismay from behind her folded arms and everybody laughed. I pulled a chair out and sat down close beside her, throwing my arm around her back.
“Hey, Merry.”
I needed to change the subject for my poor sister. Although the flushed pleasure looked good on her, I knew she was uncomfortable.
“Are you still interested in volunteering for the fundraiser?” I asked.
