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It’s modern and clean. Beautiful.
Too much for a single man.
Its showerhead system reminds me of the one Alton has in his shower at home. Not as fancy, and I know which knobs to turn. Three separate heads come to life at once, and the bathroom fills with steam pretty quickly.
It’s an open concept with just a half wall of glass at the end where the water pours from, and I step inside. The hot water feels amazing on my tired body. A moan passes my lips when I turn around, giving the jets on the wall beside the nozzle my back. Tension drains, and yet there’s a new kind of energy buzzing around me.
More so when I grab his shampoo to wash my hair. His scent, so masculine and all him, surrounds me. Embeds itself into each one of my pores as I wash off. Massage the lather into my hair and then let it run down my body; a gentle caress that only heightens my need to have his hands on me once more.
I want him to win me over.
Grabbing a bottle of conditioner from the same brand, I pour some into my hair and let it sit while I lather the rest of me. Touching myself inside his shower creates images of us. Where it isn’t my hands but his, where he’s whispering filthy things in my ear as I shatter in his arms.
The first swipe of a finger over my clit sends a shock wave of pleasure through my body so strong that my knees shake. Every muscle contracts, and on the second, I rub harder, tiny little circles over my trembling bundle as my walls pulsate and throb.
I’m so close, and I’ve barely touched myself.
This is all over him. His face and voice.
An image of him pushing me up against this very wall with a leg over his hip.
My fingers travel lower and to my opening. I’m wet, and it has nothing to do with the water pouring down my sensitive skin. Circling my entrance, I slip a single digit inside to the second knuckle.
“Fuck,” I whimper, body almost shaking from the need to find a release. Slowly, I push my finger in and out of my tight hole. Four pumps, and then I push a little more, adding a second. Walls locking down, I press the palm of my hand against my clit and shatter. Come apart with a silent scream and panting breaths.
It’s the most I’ve ever done sexually.
At home, I’ve never felt comfortable enough to explore. Always afraid of Alton finding me.
Or worse, wanting to touch me.
But here, I let go and as I slide to the cool tile floors, I find myself smiling. Body limp and at ease.
What this man does to me. What I know I’ll let him do in the future causes another rush of pleasure to zip through me and I close my eyes—focus on my breathing when I hear his voice coming closer. Calling something out to someone five seconds before his hand knocks on the door.
“Did you finish, Twirl?”
“Yes,” I manage to squeak out, and the door handle jiggles.
“Babe, can I come in?” There’s a hint of amusement in his tone.
“I’ll be out in a minute.” Scrambling to my knees, I rinse the evidence of my private desires and shut the water off. “Give me ten…just need to get dressed—”
“I’ll gift you twenty. Your outfit is on my bed.”
“Okay.” Grabbing a fluffy white towel, I wrap it around myself and open the door. “Can you pass me my clothes?”
His throat bobs harshly as he swallows. “I am completely fucked when it comes to you, and I’ll never complain over it.” Malcolm turns then and walks back to the door, almost crosses it when he pauses at the threshold to look me up and down once more from over his shoulder. “You are simply mouthwatering, sweetheart. Makes me hate my parents for interrupting the quiet morning I had planned for us. I don’t want to share you with anyone, not even them.”
“Your what?” His words make my heart beat fast and palms sweat, but his parents being downstairs is going to cause me to pass out. “Repeat, please.”
“My parents, Ms. Foster. Hurry up…” he licks his bottom lip, eyes on my bare legs “…I want them to meet you and then leave. In and out. I don’t think I can handle more than a thirty-minute visit right now.”
18
WE’RE SITTING AT the breakfast nook area of my kitchen when she comes downstairs wearing her cute little outfit. It’s short and flowy and she looks beautiful. My mouth waters as her hips shimmy with each tiny step closer.
Beside me, my parents are oblivious to her entry. They continue talking about a week-long trip to the Dominican Republic they’ve been wanting to make, that Mom almost has him ready to book. She wants my input—to agree with her—and I’m ready to offer them my jet if they leave now.
