by Alison Kent
His arms were long, roped with tendons and muscles; the round of his shoulders defined their breadth. His legs were those of a runner, his calves firmly developed, his thighs strong, his feet sporting the barest tufts of dark hair. The same dark hair that grew low in soft swirls on his abdomen.
His stomach and chest were smooth, lightly sculpted and a temptation to touch. She curled her hands into fists and struggled to evenly breathe. And then he moved toward her. That body she’d only seen in head-to-toe dark clothing was now so real and so bare and so incredibly, beautifully hers to explore.
His hands went to the front of her shirt and he pulled the hem from where it had been tucked back into her pants. She let him strip if off, wishing she’d worn lacier underwear, knowing the plain black stretch cups of her bra molded nicely to her curves but weren’t particularly sexy. She decided Sebastian didn’t care, as he took the weight of her breasts in his hands and tugged the peaks to attention.
She reached for the clasp at her back, wanting to feel his skin and his mouth, his lips, his teeth, his tongue, but he shook his head to stop her. She let him, hating that she had to wait, loving that she had to wait.
He reached for the button at her waistband, his fingers warm against the skin of her torso, his breath even hotter when he leaned down to blow a stream of air across her taut nipples. The distraction failed to pull her attention from his hands moving into her pants.
When her zipper went down and the heat of his skin warmed her bared belly, shivers set in. She held on to his shoulder as he leaned toward her to pull off her pants, one hand working its way over her backside, the other teasing her front while sliding down the boring black gabardine.
She wasn’t sure how she was going to survive sex with this man when having him take off her clothes nearly brought her to her knees. And this bathroom. It was as if showering in and of itself was an afterthought. The room was built for sex. She wondered how many women had been here before her. She wondered if she really wanted to know.
And, now that she stood here in her plain black bra and black athletic panties cut high on the thigh, she wondered why she was wasting time wondering anything at all.
Sebastian straightened. Erin dropped her hand from his shoulder and caught a glimpse of their reflection in the mirror behind. A smile touched her mouth and Sebastian turned to follow the direction of her gaze.
The lift of his lips was less appreciative than suggestive and gave him the hungry look belonging to a bird of prey. She couldn’t help herself. She stepped back into his body. “What do you think? Perfect as models for Calvin Klein?”
He shook his head, moved his hands to rest on her shoulders. “I don’t think we’re looking at the same thing.”
She was looking at the contrast of black on white, cotton on flesh, the darker skin of his hands on her fair shoulders. Good and bad in a moment worthy of Kodak. Or, better yet, Zalman King’s Red Shoe Diaries. This was the moment before the thrill.
She shuddered to think of being stared at, even while she couldn’t tear her gaze away. “Tell me what you see. Then I’ll tell you mine.”
“You’ll tell me your what? Your fantasies, maybe?” A dark brow arched. “The ones you have of you and me?”
Arrogant beast. “You think you star in my fantasies?”
“Isn’t that why you’re here?”
She remembered why she was here and wit escaped her. All she could think of was that he had to know that she dreamed of him, that she’d taken him to bed dozens of times in her mind.
“Am I here for the fantasy?” She met his reflected gaze squarely. “This certainly isn’t reality, is it?”
“Depends on how real you want it to be.”
They were talking in circles. But, fantasy or reality, she needed ground rules—
though better late than never seemed a backward way to work. “Honestly? I want this to be mind-blowing. But I want to know I can walk out of here whenever I’m ready to go. Even if I want to go now.”
Sebastian’s eyes glittered. His hands slipped over her shoulders and down her arms to her wrists. Then he stepped back and away, leaving her body bereft of his warmth. The upward tilt of his mouth wasn’t humorous or cynical, but seemed to signal his acceptance of the reality she’d defined.
Still, she couldn’t help but look when he moved his hands to the waistband of his briefs. She caught the barest glimpse of the slitted tip of his erection before he shucked the shorts down his legs and opened her eyes to the amazing dimensions a man’s body could take.
Her sex opened and swelled and she had to stop herself from reaching back and copping the feel she so wanted to take. She didn’t have time to do more than ogle, however, because he stepped around her, brushing her hip with the edge of his, and pulled the top from a black lacquer box on the vanity.
“I’m going to shower,” he said to her reflection in the mirror. “You’re welcome to join me.”
And that was it. He stepped up into the shower enclosure that wasn’t enclosed at all. She counted as, one, two, three, the shower heads blasted on and, in seconds, steam began to rise.
Hot. That’s all she could think of. Hot water, hot skin, hot sex. A man hotter than any she’d ever known. This chance was one she’d never have again and was exactly the one she’d been wanting. No ties. No expectations. No regrets.
One deep breath later, she walked to the vanity, peered into the box and thought wicked thoughts as she reached for a handful of condoms.
Who was the scary one now, she mused, and turned toward the shower.
SEBASTIAN STOOD BENEATH the center showerhead, his forehead pressed against the arm he’d braced on the wall. The water beat down on his back as he waited. He knew she’d come. He’d always known she’d come. They’d played this game now for months and by morning would have gotten what they wanted.
He just had to make sure his twisted mind didn’t attempt to take things any further, to imagine an involvement that wasn’t there. This wasn’t a fictional creation. He didn’t need to supply deep motives for either of their choices.
He needed to purge his mind of this distraction, finish up his current Slater contract, then do what he could with the germ of a story idea his muse had planted so he could get the insistent bitch off his back. As motivation, he figured it worked.
And Erin, well, he didn’t know what brought her here. Her reasons were her own and unimportant to his plans. But, when he felt her at his back, he forgot about every reason but the one that mattered, the one throbbing like a wild thing between his legs.
Her palms made contact with the center of his back and she stepped into his body. Her breasts were soft and pliant, her belly a sweet curve beneath his backside. He didn’t think she could possibly get any closer but, when her cheek came to rest on his spine, she proved him wrong.
He spread his free hand over his abs and then slid his fingers to the base of his cock where he pressed hard to stop the pulse of semen ready to flow. Not yet, not so soon, not when they hadn’t yet tasted heaven or one another.
Erin nuzzled her face against him, moved her hands to his shoulders, slid her palms the length of his arms, stopping only when her one hand reached his holding his erection. She worked her fingers underneath his palm and silently demanded he show her the way he liked to be stroked.
If her touch wouldn’t have guaranteed an abrupt end to their shared pleasure, he would have gladly spread his legs and let her have her way. Instead, he cupped her hand over the head of his cock, thrust once, oh, damn, into her hand. Then, shaking, he turned.
Her beauty caught him with a sharp sucker punch. Water streamed down her face, through lashes matted together over huge hazel eyes. Her nose was a perky button, her mouth wide and lush and the dream of a man and his dick.
He couldn’t wait to see her come again. To see her eyes flash and her nostrils flare and hear sounds she had no reason to hold back. Moving his hands to her shoulders, he backed her across the enclosure until her heels hit t
he base of the bench built into the wall. He wanted her to sit, to spread her legs and feed his hunger.
He wanted to give her pleasure more than he remembered caring to share with any other woman. And a part of him realized he was feeling that desire in more places than those so obviously physical and that made absolutely no sense. He shoved the thoughts away and bent to taste the skin along her jawline, his hands at her rib cage, his thumbs pressing into the plump sides of her breasts.
Her skin tasted like the sea, and she had the most gorgeous breasts, tipped with hard, dark cherry centers. Leaving tiny nips the length of her neck to her shoulder, he leaned down and sucked a nipple into his mouth. She gasped at first and then she moaned, her fingers digging into his biceps as she held on to him for support.
He slid his hands from her shoulders to her elbows, pinning her arms to her sides and urging her down to the bench built into the wall. She went without question. Sebastian followed, dropping to his knees between her legs. He glanced up and, in the swirling steam, he saw her eyes blaze.
Her expression kicked him in the gut. The heady mix of desire and uncertain anticipation would’ve been enough to make him rethink what they were doing if he’d been capable of anything resembling thought. As it was, he was nothing but a creature of appetite and a man’s most elemental focus. This moment meant nothing but her pleasure. He lifted her legs, draped her knees over his shoulders.
And then he moved his mouth to her sex.
At the first touch from the tip of his tongue, she cried out. And shuddered. He felt her tremors where his hands held her inner thighs, his thumbs pressed to her flesh so soft and firm and giving. He loved a woman’s skin. He loved this one’s taste. She brought to mind grapefruit, and olives, a salty sweetness warmed by her body’s heat and that of the water raining down.
He moved his hands closer to the creases where hips met thighs and slid his thumbs into the folds of her sex, pulling her open to expose her swollen clit and the slick opening to her pussy, a slickness that had nothing to do with the water beating down and everything to do with carnality and lust.
His kissed her, his mouth open on her sex, so plump and ripe and his balls drew up hard, his cock surging up toward his belly. He wanted to wrap his hand around his shaft and watch himself enter her body. That first thrust, the thought of being inside this woman…He shuddered and entered her with his tongue.
She gasped and arched against him, her hands braced at her hips holding her weight. She pulled her knees to her chest, moved her feet to his shoulders for leverage. Her eager response totally did him in. His tongue circled her clit. He sucked it into his mouth while he fingered her to the same rhythm his other hand used to stroke his cock.
Nothing in his memory, hell, nothing in his imagination had ever been this sharp, this intense, this ball-bustingly hot. He was going to come and that’s all there was to it. He had Erin Thatcher in his shower, her legs spread and his body screaming with weeks worth of pent-up want. He wanted to pull her down onto his lap and let her ride him hard. But he was so close and the thought of stopping for a condom was a killer.
It was only when he felt her fingers come to rest on his that he opened his eyes to realize that, some time during his fantasy, he’d abandoned the real Erin for the imagined. He had to be out of his mind. Reaching for the fictional when he had the real thing. Her feet now rested on his thighs and he didn’t even remember letting her go.
He looked up, caught off guard by the tongue she held to the bow of her upper lip while she watched him jerk off. Her fingers slid over his to the head of his dick then she pulled her heels up onto the bench and sat, knees up and separated, exposing herself completely.
And then she slipped her own hand between her legs, her own finger into her sex. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. This wasn’t at all what he had planned but damn if he could find a reason to stop her. Or to stop himself. Especially when she met his gaze directly and said, “I want to watch you come.”
He got to his feet then, a move that put his crotch in her direct line of vision. And then he began to stroke in earnest, rubbing the flat of his palm up and over the head and back down the shaft. He pumped harder, his gaze flicking from her fascinated expression to her own sweet sex that she fingered.
He wanted to be everywhere at once, in her sex, her hands, her mouth, her tight little…oh, fuck. He groaned and let go, shooting semen into the swirl of foggy air, working his cock, pumping, stroking, until he was spent. Spent but still amazingly hard. An anomaly of which Erin took notice.
He sank onto the bench opposite the one where she sat. Though she didn’t sit long, pushing up to her feet and crossing the enclosure to stand before him. He expected her to drop to her knees. Instead, she reached above him for a cloth and the bottles of shampoo and bath soap he kept there on a shelf. She set soap and cloth on the bench beneath the center showerhead and set about washing her hair.
Sebastian found himself transfixed. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from the picture of Erin’s hands in her hair, her eyes closed, her chin up as the spray pelted her face, sending the suds streaming down her spine and over the sweet curve of her backside.
When she reached for the liquid soap and the cloth, he felt the first new stirrings of desire in his gut. He snorted to himself. What a lie. Desire hadn’t laid down once since the birth of this obsession. The proof was in his erection that remained at half mast.
And now, with Erin sliding that soapy cloth over her shoulders, down her arms to her elbows to her wrists, and even her fingers, his fixation sharpened.
She moved the cloth to her throat, across her collarbone and down over her breasts, cupping them as she washed the full swells and gumdrop nipples. She stood in profile and suds slid down her limbs, pooling at her feet, her body slick and gleaming.
His hard-on stiffened further, straining toward his belly and begging to be stroked. He refused, and he waited, feeling strangled as he sat unmoving, strangled, tied in knots, grabbed hard by body parts better left unbound.
But when she moved the cloth to soap her inner thighs, bringing the fabric and her hands up between her legs and turning to face him, meeting his gaze directly and putting on a show mortal man had never been meant to resist, Sebastian succumbed to human nature and the call of the wild.
He grabbed up a condom from where the stack Erin had brought into the shower had fallen to the floor and, in three quick strides he was there, and the suds soaping her skin provided an intoxicating friction when he wrapped his arms around her body and backed her into the wall.
Her breath whooshed out from the force of his motion. He told himself to back off, back down and be gentle. But then she dug her fingertips into his shoulders and worked her heels into the backs of his thighs, levering herself up between his body and the wall.
He slid a forearm beneath her for support then tipped his lower body toward her. She released her hold on his shoulder with one hand and reached between their bodies for his cock, guiding him to the opening of her sex and, even after he thrust upward, after he buried himself in her warmth and she gasped, she kept her fingers wrapped around the base of his shaft.
The pressure she applied would’ve made for a damn good cock ring but it was her hand and not a strip of leather or a metal circle and that made all the difference in the feelings surging through him. He shoved hard against her. It was all he could do. He had no room to withdraw, to feel the head of his cock breach her opening the way he wanted. Again and again.
To feel that first pressing thrust, that push of flesh on flesh, firm into supple, insistent into giving, his hard-as-a-wooden-bat erection buried in the rich complement of her glove soft sex. She ground down against him, squeezing him with inner muscles and that one friggin’ hand.
That was it. He grabbed her ass with both hands, pressed his chest into her chest for support as he drove himself into her body and exploded. Erin whimpered, both hands now clutching his shoulders, moving down his back, clawing and scratching
as she tried to pull him farther inside to assuage her arousal’s itch and ache.
When she came her spasms rocked the both of them. She cried out, and would’ve fallen if he hadn’t braced her up, leaned against her, kept her safe. He felt her contractions grip and pull him farther inside and he shook from the force of her body’s response. She shook as well, her head back, her back arched, her hands slapped flat to the wall. Her climax nearly brought him to his knees.
When the force of her completion subsided, when her strength was taxed and her energy spent, he sank to the enclosure’s floor, still holding her tight, still buried deep inside. She curled arms and legs around him and he couldn’t tell where he started, where she began.
The water continued to beat down. The steam continued to swirl and rise. Sebastian leaned back against the base of the bench, wrapped both arms around Erin where she sat in his lap, and did his best to breathe.
He’d just compromised the entire reason he’d had this shower built. Solitude, personal safety, peace of mind. He’d never step inside again without thinking of Erin in his arms.
