Before Gus could say another thing, the connection was cut.
As he took the phone from his ear, he went into his call log. “Blocked Caller” was all that appeared on the first line of the list.
“Shit,” he breathed as he stared at his monitor. “Fuck… shit.”
Oddly enough, given the conversation, he didn’t think about his employment contract.
He thought about going into that bathroom in C.P. Phalen’s study and seeing a man who only had twenty-four hours left to live zip up his pants. Which was stupid. Of all the things that could have been on his mind, that woman’s love life should not have been any kind of preoccupation.
Then again, she had always fucked him up.
What the hell did he do now?
TWENTY-SIX
LYDIA WOKE UP with a start and the first thing she did was throw her arm out and pat around the bed next to her. When it became clear that Daniel wasn’t with her, she sat up and pushed her hair away from her face. Just as she was about to jump to her feet and bolt off to find him, she heard the shower running.
“Thank God,” she muttered as she shifted her legs over and stood up.
Putting her hands on the small of her back, she stretched and heard her spine crack. Then she padded into the bathroom.
Daniel was faceup to the spray, his head tilted back as he rinsed the shampoo out of the fuzz that was on his scalp, the suds running down his shoulders, his spine, the backs of his legs.
As if he sensed her, he twisted his torso around. “Oh, hi. I didn’t want to walk you—wake you, I mean.”
“Hi.” She glanced back at the bed. “I don’t know what time it is—”
“We’re creeping up on dinner.”
“What?” She shook her head. “You mean, I slept all day long?”
“Good thing it’s Saturday and you didn’t have to go to work, huh.”
“Ah, yeah. Wow.”
The fact that he didn’t turn all the way toward her made her wonder if he was hiding his body from her. She could understand why. The overhead light in the stall was on, and its harsh illumination was unforgiving.
But as she stared at him, she didn’t care what he looked like.
“Mind if I join you?” she asked softly.
“Oh, God, yes—” He shook himself. “I mean, no. I mean, come in. Please. Fuck.”
Her clothes came off so fast, it was as if they were as sick of her as she was of them—or maybe it was just that her hands, when properly motivated like this, could be really damned efficient with the buttons and the zippers and the over-the-head, down-the-legs stuff. The second she was naked, Daniel opened the glass door, and her eyes clung to his as she stepped into the warmth and humidity.
And then her body was against him.
It all felt so good, so right, this need to be touched by him, to feel his hands on her body, to taste his mouth and—
Their kissing started slowly, the caressing of mouths lazy and slick from the water, but the heat came quick, and that was good. That was so good. Even if he looked different and his shoulders were not the same, the way he handled her was exactly as it had always been, his palms sliding down her ribs, grabbing her ass, pulling her in tight to his hips.
When he started kissing down the side of her throat, she eased back into the corner of the shower, and then she was sitting on the shelf and he was kneeling before her. Between his palms, he worked a bar of soap, the fragrance rising up between them. With hands that barely shook at all, he cupped her breasts, covering them with suds, slipping his fingers over her nipples, cupping water and rinsing her off. To give him every access he could want or need, she stretched her arms over her head and held on to a chrome hook that was mounted on the marble wall.
Arching her back, she offered her aching, taut nipples to him.
And he didn’t disappoint. Planting his palms on the tile, he leaned in and latched on, his mouth suckling at her, the wet, warm draw of his lips, the lick of his tongue, the way he straightened a little, spread her legs, and stroked her inner thighs, every bit as good as it had ever been.
As she looked down at herself, he was utterly focused on the job he was doing, ravishing her, pulling away as he sucked so that her breast snapped back as the seal was broken, the tugging and releasing going right into her core.
Which was where this was all headed.
As the rain from above traveled over her body, sweeping the suds away, everything flowed down her torso—and seemed to give him direction. With his hands on her knees, he kissed his way to the heart of her, taking his time, lingering on her hip, nipping the inside of her legs, licking around her belly button.
When she called out his name in frustration, he still didn’t give her what she wanted. And then she was whimpering, trying to rub her thighs together, but unable to because he was between them. Shifting around on the ledge, she got to the edge of it—
The slip-off was quick.
And Daniel caught her. Proving that he still had good reflexes, he made sure she didn’t wreck her back on the marble seat, cupping her butt and easing her to the tile floor of the shower.
Stretching out, she kept her arms overhead still, and she was shameless. She brought up her heels and let her knees fall all the way to the sides until the hot water from the fixture rained down on her hot, slick sex.
“Oh, Lydia…”
For the first time since she’d moved in, she thanked C.P. Phalen’s love for enormous scale—because the shower had room enough for Daniel to stretch out, too, if he folded his legs up at the knees—and he did.
His eyes glowed as he settled in between her thighs, and keeping his stare locked on her, he extended his tongue and licked her once, nice and slow.
When she moaned, he did it again. And then he was kissing her sex, all the while playing with her breasts, his face moving against her as he tweaked her nipples and cupped her weight and caressed her. The sensations were so intense, she lost any sense of how hard the marble floor was under her or the fact that there were security cameras everywhere.
What the hell did she care if someone wanted to watch?
She was about to come, and that was the only thing that—
* * *
As Lydia orgasmed, Daniel rolled her hips to the side and used the inside of her thigh as a cushion for his head. With her leg cocked over his shoulder, he nuzzled her sex and took long licks as the warm, gentle rain fell upon them both.
When she came again, he couldn’t resist.
He reached down between his own legs to see if—no, he wasn’t hard. There was still little to no sensation in his cock, and he had a thought… there had to be clinical options for this. Weren’t there shots?
Maybe he needed a bicycle pump.
Whatever, he’d worry about that later. Flicking with his tongue, he slipped his fingers inside her and started working her with penetration while he took care of the top of her cleft.
“Daniel…”
It was amazing how empowering this was, proof that sex could be transformative in so many ways—and in his case? The pleasure he was giving her was making him feel like a total man, even though he was flaccid.
So, yeah, he continued to drive her harder and harder, until she was writhing and jerking in the midst of the falling rain, a gleaming, glistening display of a woman in ecstasy—and he had fucking put her in that state. Why did he keep going? Because he could. Because he wanted her to feel him in any way he was able. Because he was breathing her in and swallowing her and making a mark on her that she would not forget after he was gone.