refully rinses out the suds.
When he’s done, I face him once more and make a
beeline for his pants.
“I want to wash all of you,”
I whisper. He smiles that lopsided smile and lifts his
hands in a gesture that says “I’m all yours, baby.” I grin; it
hands in a gesture that says “I’m all yours, baby.” I grin; it
feels like Christmas. I make short work of his zipper, and
soon his pants and boxers join the rest of our clothing. I
stand and reach for the body wash and the freshwater
sponge.
“Looks like you’re pleased to see me,” I murmur
dryly.
“I’m always pleased to see you, Miss Steele.” He
smirks at me.
I soap the sponge, then retrace my journey over his
chest. He’s more relaxed—maybe because I’m not
actually touching him. I head south with the sponge, across
his belly, along the happy trail, through his pubic hair, and
over and up his erection.
I peek up at him, and he regards me with hooded eyes
and sensual longing. Hmm . . . I like this look. I drop the
sponge and use my hands, grasping him firmly. He closes
his eyes, tips his head back, and groans, thrusting his hips
into my hands.
Oh yes! It’s so arousing. My inner goddess has
resurfaced after her evening of rocking and weeping in the
corner, and she’s wearing harlot-red lipstick.
His burning eyes suddenly lock with mine. He’s
remembered something.
“It’s Saturday,” he exclaims, eyes alight with salacious
wonder, and he grasps my waist, pulling me to him and
kissing me sa一vagely.
Whoa—change of pace!
His hands sweep down my slick, wet body, round to
my sex, his fingers exploring, teasing, and his mouth is
relentless, lea一ving me breathless. His other hand is in my
wet hair, holding me in place while I bear the full force of
his passion unleashed. His fingers move inside me.
“Ahh,” I moan into his mouth.
“Yes,” he hisses and lifts me, his hands beneath my
backside. “Wrap your legs around me, baby.” My legs
fold around him, and I cling like a limpet to his neck. He
braces me against the wall of the shower and pauses,
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