Naturally Naughty - Leslie Kelly [37]
Jack gave up trying to sleep. Sliding closer to the wall in her small, twin-size bed, he listened intently. The gurgling rush of the water from the faucet changed to a sizzling stream emerging from the showerhead. She stepped into the tub, closing the curtain behind her. Then she dropped something—the soap? As she retrieved it, her hand knocked against the tub just inches from his head. He swallowed hard.
She began to hum. Off-key. Not Benatar now, but some other old rock tune he couldn’t place.
Soon there was nothing but the pounding cascade of water, muted when her body was beneath it, harder as it struck the tub when she had stepped out of the stream to wash.
That was the hardest. Imagining her rubbing a soapy washcloth, or, better yet, her bare hand, over her skin. Easing the tight muscles of her neck. Kneading the kinks out of her shoulders. He closed his eyes and pictured the slide of her hands down her body. The way her fingers would look on her throat, her breasts, her thighs. And between them.
He shuddered. Probably the only thing he could imagine being as arousing as touching her himself would be to watch Kate’s hands on her own body. Giving herself pleasure, the way she said she had here, in this very bed, a few weeks back.
He groaned and pulled the pillow over his face, dying for sleep…for release. Both thoroughly eluded him.
Her long shower continued. Hurry up, would you? He had a feeling he was going to need to take a cold one of his own.
Jack imagined sharing one with her. It would be incredible. He’d barely gotten to taste her at the theater and his mind flooded with images of sitting beneath her in the shower. Looking up at her. Holding her hips in his hands and tilting her soft thatch of dark curls toward his hungry mouth to taste her, indulge in her, positively inhale her.
Only after he’d had his fill would he stand up, turning her to face away while he stood behind her. She’d lift one foot, resting it on the side of the tub. He could picture her hand, flat against the tile wall for support, her red-tinted nails a stark contrast to the cream-colored tiles. Her fingers would clench then widen as he stepped closer and she felt his body press against her back, his hard-on slipping between her legs.
He’d have to touch her. He’d reach his hand around, caressing her breast, then her belly. Then lower, until he could slide his fingers into her slick crevice, testing her readiness. Pleased at how wet she was for him.
She’d bend forward slightly, arching her back, turning to look over her shoulder at him with wide, passion-filled eyes that screamed “Take me now.” He’d tease her, not giving in to her demands yet, taking time to kiss the tiny little bones on her spine until he heard her whimper in anticipation.
Then he’d give her what she wanted, sliding into her from behind, slowly, until he was so deep inside her they couldn’t distinguish their bodies from one another.
They’d pause, the hot water pelting them as they savored the connection. They’d be inundated with the scent of the soap and her lemon shampoo. And the thick, heady smell of sex.
She’d bend lower, tempting him with the curve of her hips and her perfect rear. The visual would join with all his other senses to overwhelm him and he’d have to move. Faster. Getting caught up in her tight heat, having to bend over her, holding her hips and driving them both into oblivion.
“Stop, you idiot,” he muttered with a gasp.
He almost came in her bed. It took all his concentration to grab his last bit of control to prevent his body’s reaction. Calling himself an asshole, he lay there for a few moments, thinking of prostate exams, Brussels sprouts and wrinkled geriatric patients. Anything unappealing.
It wasn’t easy; it didn’t help his erection subside, but