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“You have orchids.” It comes out as more of a confused statement than a question.
“I don’t have time to care for them properly, and someone suggested I put them in here so they get misted daily.” He opens the glass door and turns on the jets.
When he returns to me, I’m still staring at the many pots of flowers. They look good. Healthy. There’s a pair of pruning shears and a dead bud on the counter, as if he’s just recently clipped them. Suddenly, I’m somewhere else, staring at pink shears and flowery gardening gloves.
“I hear taking care of orchids is a calming hobby,” I say tightly, my throat constricting on the memory of my mother’s garden.
“Kate was the one with the hobby. I inherited it.”
My brow furrows. And just as I’m wondering why anyone would inherit a hobby—because why not just let the flowers die—he reaches for the hem of my dress, and I jolt, slapping his hands away on instinct. When he narrows his eyes, I realize my mistake.
“I’m sorry. Usually, I undress myself.”
Without taking his gaze off mine, he takes the hem again and lifts it clear over my head in one fell swoop.
My hair falls back over my shoulders but doesn’t do me the favor of also covering my breasts. Not that it could. It’s not long enough and my D-cups would require a lot more of it to be concealed.
Then he hooks my thong and easily pulls it past my hips, letting it pool at my feet.
An instant hot flash spreads over my skin as Arran takes a step back and drops his stare to my body. He takes it all in, his gaze trailing over every inch of me as I stand here naked, like a fucking offering. A piece of meat he wants to devour.
Something he’s just bought and is ready to consume.
Then he’s the one undressing, and I’m not sure what’s worse. Being exposed to him or him baring his masculine perfection to me. His tall, lean swimmer’s body. The breadth of his chest and shoulders, muscled and fit, but not overly bulky. The light matting of golden hair that covers his chest and thickens the lower it goes, over his tight abdomen and even thicker still to…
I flick my eyes upward and catch his grin. “I told you I’m not a virgin. I’ve seen what you have before.”
“Have you?”
Not exactly, I want to say. The men I’ve been with have been more manageable looking.
He takes me by the wrist and tugs me into the shower. Swirling steam rises as the water heats, engulfing us and the orchids on the table. I glance at the pretty flowers as Arran moves me under the jets, and they seem only too happy to be in here with him day after day. They belong to him too, and even though he doesn’t careforthem, he does take careofthem. He keeps them safe.
Oddly enough, the thought makes me relax a little. That and the water streaming down my body, warming away any lingering trembles.
I have to believe that if he were going to kill me, he would have done it already.
But that’s not all that has you shaking, is it?
He grabs a bottle with a French label on it. The scent of lavender and tea tree rises with the steam as he squirts a dab of the product onto his hand. Then he rubs his palms together and digs his fingers into my hair.
I shut my eyes and drop my head back as he massages my scalp and works his fingertips from my temples to the base of my neck.
It takes a lot of effort not to moan. To keep from begging him not to stop.
With his thumbs, he deftly works the tension from my shoulders and down my spine. Then his fingers trail feather light over my ribs as he pulls me against him.
In my haze, it takes me a moment to realize how intimately we’re pressed together. How he’s practically engulfed me with his size and that my entire backside is to his front.
My eyes fly open when I feel him harden, the length of his shaft pressed to my ass crack. He’s big and hot and the very idea of that inside me sends a needful pulse straight to my core.
Soapy hands cup my breasts and immediately begin to toy with my nipples. This time, I do moan. I can’t help it. The wetness and the soap is increasing every sensation tenfold.
As he teases and pinches my nipples, he begins a rhythmic thrusting of his dick between my legs. It slides across my entrance but doesn’t penetrate. What it does do is keep me on edge, wondering when exactly he’s going to ram it home.
He doesn’t. Instead, he turns me so that I’m facing him. Kneeling, he wraps his arms around my back and tugs me until my breasts are in his face.
Before I can react, he latches onto a nipple, sending a wave of heat to my belly. When he moves to the other, my knees nearly buckle. It’s the way he’s sucking and licking and biting that has me weak and moaning out of control.
