slight grin.
“Oh,” I say, unsure of how else to reply.
Should I comment on the size and say “It’s big” or “I’ve never seen one like
that.” I bite my lip and stay silent, deciding to let him make the next move.
I don’t have to wait long before he’s wrapping an arm around my waist and
pulling me in close, pressing his lips to mine. I respond, relaxing under the now familiar taste and feel of this man’s kiss.
I find myself reaching up to wrap my arms around his neck and lean into him, while one of his hands cups the back of my head and pulls me—if at all possible—closer. I’m jarred back to reality when I feel his thick erection pressing against my hip. Pulling out of the kiss, my body is kept in place by the tight hold he has on me.
For the first time, I notice his long lashes are now wet spikes, adding to the intensity of his golden eyes. Effortlessly he spins us around so that he is now in front of the sprayer.
Releasing me, he takes a half-a-step back, moving fully underneath the showerhead. The man reaches up and pushes back his hair, letting the spray hit his face. I watch as the droplets slide down his chest, catching in the tuffs of hair.
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he mumbles over the spray, bending down to grab a small washcloth and a tiny unwrapped bar of bland smelling hotel soap from the shower ledge. The man briefly runs them both under the spray, wetting the two items, before vigorously rubbing them together. Once he is satisfied, he turns toward me. “Spread your legs.”
I widen my stance slightly, nervous.
“Further,” he commands, stepping even closer.
As I inch my feet apart, I have a good idea where he plans on using that washcloth, and the thought of him rubbing the rough fabric against my sex excites me.
“Use my shoulders to steady yourself.” The man squats down in front of me.
I flush in embarrassment and rock backward as his face becomes level with
my crotch.
“Hold still,” he admonishes, palming my ass and pulling me back toward him.
It’s one thing to have him touching me, another for him to be staring directly at my bald and ugly hoohah and flabby thighs. I can almost hear my mother’s voice in my head telling me I should have used her old Thighmaster.
Starting with my inner thighs, he runs the sudsy washcloth roughly against
my skin before running it between my legs in the same vigorous manner. I hold my breath, suppressing a moan as his motions press against my clit. I dig my fingernails into his shoulders and can’t control my hips as they rock against his palm. All too soon he stops, leaving me aching for more.
“Sir,” I groan softly, but he either can’t hear me over the spray or ignores my plea.
With one hand he spreads open my outer folds.
I can feel myself getting wet as he begins to gently and methodically clean
me, running the cloth up and then down, on either side of my clit, once—twice
—three times. The rough nub of the cloth sends shockwaves of pleasure throughout my body as he continues to ignore my throbbing clit.
“Sir,” I groan again. The man looks up with his amber eyes burning and gives me a cocky satisfied smile. He knows what he’s doing to my body.
“Now the rest of you,” he says, standing up and thoroughly rinsing off the washcloth before soaping it up again.
“I can do it,” I say, annoyed and not just a little frustrated as I make to grab it from his hand.
“Don’t worry. You’ll have a chance to wash me too,” he says, outright grinning at my wide-eyed expression. “You first.”
The man gently runs the cloth around my neck and down onto my breast, teasing my nipples in the process. With his free hand, he begins to lazily run his fingers along my side, making me giggle uncontrollably. He tosses the cloth onto the floor and wraps his arm around me as he continues to tickle me relentlessly.
“Stop,” I sputter, drowning under the spray as I laugh, trying to escape his hold, which is only causing me to wiggle against his naked body even more.
“Are you ticklish or something?” he asks, grinning down at me and
continuing to run his torturous fingers lightly along my side.
“Yes,” I gasp out, pressing my palms against his chest and creating a space
between our bodies. He takes the opportunity to dip his head and catch my nipple between his lips.
I sway toward him as the pleasure of his twin assaults engulfs my senses. My
knees start to give way as my body begins to come undone.
“Fuck.” The man pulls me into a quick, hard, wet kiss. “You’re amazing, Princess.”
Breaking away, he picks up the discarded washcloth and continues what he
started. This time without the tickle-induced pleasure. I’m unsure if I should be disappointed or not.
