Reese
I peel my eyes open early, at around 4:30 a.m., when I hear the shower running.
I open the bathroom door a little bit and peer into the stall. He’s soaping himself up in all the glory of glory itself. I am so very addicted to this man.
My mouth waters as I take in his wet, golden muscles. “Are you going to let me soap you up?” I hear myself ask, sex vixen that I woke up being today. “Because I have never, ever done that in my life and I just added it to my bucket list of things to do before I die.”
His eyes go dark and look a little possessive as he reaches out and takes my hand, urging me inside. “What else is on that list?”
“I just made it up.” I smile as I take a few steps toward him and the water spray. He’s so beautiful. One touch of my fingers on his wet skin and the cock that started hardening when I peered inside fills up completely.
I start to blush when he looks at me naked. Have I ever stood naked before him for so long, completely naked, with this much light? “What is this? Are you blushing?” He lifts my face by the chin. “I appreciate looking at you like this,” he assures me tenderly, running his wet hands over my body.
“I’m realizing.” I laugh a little.
I’m hot with embarrassment and trembling in excitement as he reaches out and runs a bar of soap down my arm. He soaps me up, every spot possible except between my legs until, point blank, weak with anticipation, I hold on to his shoulders and bite down on his wet tendon as I part my legs a little.
He laughs softly in my ear. “Did I miss here?” he teases me, running the bar over my sex.
I blush and nod, wrapping my arm tighter around his broad shoulders. “I’m so reckless with you,” I whisper in his ear.
“I thought you didn’t like it,” he says, lifting an eyebrow as he turns me to the spray.
“I kind of do.” I reach out to stroke him as I kiss his neck and soap him up next.
We end up transferring the soap between each other until we’re both lathered, until I don’t know who’s soaping who, where my hands are, where his hands are, but the sensations are coming from all over the place as we fool around in the shower.
When he finally brings us out of the shower, he grabs a towel and wraps it around my shoulders, then he grabs me by the hips and lifts me.
He stands in the middle of the bathroom, lowering me down on him as he kisses me. I catch the reflection of us in the mirror on the side—unexpectedly. His every muscle cut and flexing. His powerful legs, his abs and ass as he thrusts, his arms and chest and shoulders as he lifts me and lowers me. And me, so pale, my blonde hair wet and streaking down my back, the towel sliding down my body—his cock submerging into the pink, shiny, swollen lips between my legs.
I’m eroticized by the sight of us together because I’ve seen movies, I’ve seen porn, I’ve seen pictures and art, but I have never responded to the sight of a couple making love the way I respond to seeing Maverick spreading me open as he lowers me down on him.
I see myself, and I don’t look like the girl I saw in the mirror several months ago. I’m not self-conscious. I’m sexy. I’m woman. I’m wanted. I’m made perfectly for him.
Gasping his name, aware of the intensity of my feelings, I’m the first to come, but he comes as hard as always, buttocks flexing, body pumping as he nibbles my neck.
I’m shy when I notice he catches my gaze in the mirror, and I whisper, smiling, “Aside from being for my purely selfish purposes . . . that was for luck.”
He mock-frowns at me, as if terribly disappointed. “And for love?”
I nod, grinning happily.
He still holds me aloft with one arm and cups the back of my head with the other, looking at me as if I’m the eighth wonder of the world. “You’re a shot of pure fucking heaven in my veins.”
