The next morning Fletcher rolled out of bed carefully, not wanting to disturb Jordan. She’d fallen asleep after only one chapter of the book, but he’d stayed awake listening to another. Mostly because she was cuddled up against him, her back to his front, tucked against him trustingly. But the book was pretty good too.
She’d slept through the night, though she moved around a lot. During the night they’d been entangled, then rolled to their separate sides of the bed, then come back together in the middle, and so on through the night. It was very comfortable. He loved sleeping with his wife. Which was a pretty great realization after knowing her for twenty years.
He made his way into the bathroom and started getting ready for work. He brushed his teeth and turned on the shower. He slipped his boxers off and stepped into the stall. He shampooed and shaved in the little mirror he had mounted on the wall. He was trying his best to ignore the urge to take his cock in hand as he’d done the last two mornings.
But damn, he was even more madly in love with his wife this morning than he had been yesterday. Sure, in the past she’d lied to him about how good he was at geometry, teaching her to drive, and who knew what other things. But knowing that he’d been there for her in more ways than he’d realized made him feel pretty damn good.
Maybe that was stupid. He’d found out that he wasn’t quite as good at fixing her problems as he thought. But even as that went through his mind, he realized it wasn’t true. Actually, maybe he was even better at fixing things than he thought. Maybe he didn’t have to wait until the end when everything else had failed to come in and take care of her.
He grabbed the bar of soap and rubbed it between his hands, getting a lather going. He started scrubbing his chest and shoulders, moving down his arms and abs. He soaped his back and both legs. The entire time he thought about Jordan.
He thought about the time she’d fallen asleep in the backseat of Stephanie Hatchett’s car with her head on his shoulder and talked in her sleep about the date she’d been on in her dream. Apparently Barack Obama had taken her to a state dinner.
He thought about the time she and Charlie had decided to get on an airplane to Orlando without permission. The phone call from her from outside Disney World when they realized how much money tickets actually cost and that they didn’t have enough to get in, still made him chuckle. As did his attempt to cover for them with their parents. It had only worked for a few hours, and then he’d ended up in as much trouble as they had. Thankfully, Charlie Landry could talk her way out of anything. Even with his parents.
But no matter how many silly, or even disgusting stories he came up with, nothing made him want her any less. He could still replay every single second of every night with her so far and he instantly got hard and hot. He wanted her body, her moans, her orgasms.
At the moment, though, he could feel her smooth, silky skin under his hands and the smell of peppermint in the air. Giving her that massage had not been sexual, but it had been incredibly satisfying. Being able to do something to make her feel good was a turn on. Whether it was bringing her a cheeseburger, letting her have the last piece of cheesy garlic bread—and wow, Jason hadn’t been kidding about how much she could eat the day after a migraine—giving her a massage, or giving her an orgasm, or just lying with her in the dark, it all made him want her on a level he’d never experienced before.
Fletcher finally gave up and took his cock in hand. Everything about Jordan made him hard. He wanted her. On every level. And dammit, he needed a release. He fisted his cock, squeezing and stroking up and down. He pictured her naked, her nipples hard, her mouth open as her breathing grew ragged. He pictured the flush on her cheeks as she grew more aroused. He remembered the sight of her fingers between her legs, playing with her clit. He remembered how her nipple felt against his tongue, how her pussy felt around his fingers, then around his cock. He gripped himself harder and stroked himself faster.
Then he remembered how she looked hugging and laughing with their families at their wedding reception. He thought about her grin when he brought her the peanut butter cups. The sound of her laughter went through his mind and he suddenly flashed through everything from the first time they’d snuck into a movie theater to see the same movie for the third time in a row, to the first time she’d run across the football field and jumped into his arms after a big victory, to the first time she’d come to his house to take care of him when he’d been sick.
His grip tightened again and he leaned his forehead on the arm he had braced on the wall. He let out a soft groan.
Just then he heard the door swing open. He froze, fist still around his cock.
Breathing hard, he looked through the glass shower stall. It had steamed up slightly, but he could clearly see Jordan standing just inside the door, her hand still on the knob.
Damn his brother for insisting full glass shower stalls were the way to go. A nice curtain would be good right now. Still, he was slow to let go of his throbbing cock and straighten.
“Jordan? You okay?” What if she was sick? What if she needed him for something? And here he was jerking off in the shower in the next room. He could help her with a raging hard-on, but it wouldn’t be comfortable.
She wet her lips. “Um… I’m fine.” Her gaze tracked over him.
She was several feet away and the glass between them was foggy. She couldn’t see him clearly. But her eyes on him, even like this, made him feel like his blood was on fire.
Fletcher made a decision. He opened the shower door and extended his hand. “Come here.”
Her eyes widened, but she took a step forward, putting her hand in his. He tugged her close. Her gaze roamed over him again, now without the glass between them. His body responded, heating and hardening even further.
She swallowed. “Wow.”
He grinned. “Perfect reaction.”
Her eyes came up to his. Slowly. Over his abs and chest as if she was memorizing each inch. “Now what?”
“You probably need a shower this morning, right?”
She nodded. “Definitely.”
He reached for the bottom of the camisole she’d worn to bed. She might as well have slept naked. The thing was tiny, barely hitting the top of her panties, and was a pale peach color that nearly matched her skin. The silky fabric clung to her and the darker color of her nipples was visible through the thin material.
He stripped it off of her, loving the way her nipples tightened even further. She hooked her thumbs in the top of her panties, pushing them to the floor without hesitation. Then she stepped into the shower stall with him.
She ran her hands over his chest, sliding through the water, her palms skimming his nipples. A shudder of lust went through him. He wasn’t sure how long he could last this way. With just her hands on him he already wanted to pin her to the wall and thrust deep.
He caught her wrists, pressing her hands flat against his chest. “What do you want?”
“To touch you all over.”
He swallowed hard, but nodded. “Just some playing?”
“Whatever you’ll let me do.” She looked up at him through her long, wet lashes.
“You don’t like morning sex. Or shower sex,” he reminded her.
Her eyes went wide. “What? When did I say that? We had morning sex!”
“You sprained your ankle—”