“Steamy and hot in there?” he said, pulling off his T-shirt. “I don’t think I ever knew what cold was until I started this training. Care to share some of that heat, babe?”
“Yes, and yes,” she whispered.
He shucked his jeans, underwear and socks. Strong arms came around her, his big body pushing into the shower as the cascading water soaked him.
“I can’t seem to get warm.”
“Didn’t they let you take a hot shower, the barbarians.”
He chuckled at her biting tone. “Yes, they let us take a shower, but I think I need another one.”
“Oh, did you get dirty between the base and here?” She ran her hand up his smooth, water-slicked back, his chest glazing her achingly tight and sensitive nipples. Her thoughts splintered rapidly as his warm lips closed over one of those aching tips. She gasped and arched into him, the exquisite sensation spearing through her, shredding her, leaving her wordless as well as senseless.
“Oh, so dirty,” Hemingway whispered, his touch caressing as he smoothed his hand up her back. She knew he wasn’t talking about physically dirty, but his mind went to what they had shared in this short, mutual like affair. She had no idea what was wrong with her. She had taken her own physical satisfaction down to a science. Meeting her needs had been easy for the most part. Playing hard to get was only part of the fun, flirty battle. But with Hemingway, all her rules, plans, and what she knew about herself seemed to get chucked out the window.
Fighting to hold back her emotions for him, to keep herself grounded—a battle she intended to win—she moved deeper into his embrace, and that fierce surge of emotion burst its bonds. Her hands splayed across the taut muscles of his back, and she pressed her face against his neck, working on keeping her knees locked. Trying with all her might to keep from trembling was futile.
The heated water spilled across her naked torso, beating her aching nipples, sliding across her skin, drenching his short hair to drip off his jaw.
She was demanding and pushy, and operated strictly by her own rules, which was certainly what had gotten her where she was in her career, at the top of the sought-out undercover operators, their go-to girl.
“Well, I guess you can share my shower if I get something in return.”
“Oh. Tit for tat is it?”
She chuckled, thinking tits would definitely be involved. “Or maybe dickering.” Without having to explain it, he chuckled too.
Catching her by the back of the head, he kissed the curve of her neck. “All of this talk is making me hot. You are a very bad girl,” he murmured huskily. “What can I provide? I do always carry my own weight.” Pulling her against him, he left a trail of kisses on her moist skin, tasting the dampness of her shoulder.
She closed her eyes, sinking into the sensations he set off in her. Smoothing her hand up his rib cage, she arched her head back, giving him access to the side of her neck, the moist brush of his mouth sending a shiver of fire and ice along her nerve endings. Catching her around the hips, he pulled her against him, molding their bodies together as he stroked her back, his touch loosening every connection in her body when he began massaging the base of her spine. She arched and moved against him, the rhythmic, kneading pressure setting off pinpoints of sensation that saturated her with tingling weakness.
“It benefits both of us but will require a bit of work on your part.”
His fingers tangling in her hair, Hemingway turned her head, leaving a trail of drugging kisses up her neck, pulling her deeper into a swirl of sensation. He lingered at the pulse point below her ear, tasting her skin, then he shifted his hand. He eased into the cradle of her thighs.
The hard jut of his erection pressed against her and he rasped, “I’m in no position to negotiate.”
She wrapped her fingers around him, her palm stroking him all the way to his velvet head, enjoying it as his eyes glassed over. She kissed his soft, slack mouth, loving having this powerful man in the palm of her hand as water poured over their sweat-slickened torsos. He groaned so deep and beautiful in his chest, she stroked him using both hands, her thumb gliding over the tip of his cock.
Her pulse caught when he grabbed her by her upper arms, pressing her against the warm, slick tiles and his rock-hard body. “Babe, please,” he whispered with nothing short of desperation.
Shea lifted her hips. With two words, he’d negotiated himself where he wanted to be as she let go and slipped her hands around to his taut ass and pulled.
Pleasure ripped through her, and she flexed her knees, urging him on as she held on to his butt, his powerful muscles clenching and releasing. How could she be so sensitive to him? It was as if everything connected in a golden way. It was as if he knew the secret of her body, her sexuality, her…soul.
His response was to settle himself deeper between her legs. He lifted her under her backside, hoisting her up until her back wedged against the tile. She wrapped her legs around his hips. Bracing his weight on his arms, he framed her face, then thrust. This time her eyes glassed over, everything going foggy as her world narrowed down to him between her legs.
The pleasure intensified with each flex of his hips, building so fast in the steamy moisture. She wanted to slow down, remember every moment, saturate herself in every feeling, every sensation, but their collective desires were fast moving trains on a collision course, and she could only ride out the powerful emotions locomoting through her.
This was just sex. Just sex with a skilled, physically buff sailor, she thought again, but she wondered if she was reminding herself of that fact because there was an irrevocable bond being forged, a union like no other. And it absolutely had nothing to do with sex. Damn this man.
He was relentless, his thrusts increasing in a tempo that was nothing but hot, hard flesh, deep gasps and rumbling growls. She clung to him, crying out when he slicked his thumb over her engorged core, setting off an explosion as she came hard. Following at the peak of her release with his own.
He was shaking as he slid from her body and let her legs drop from around his waist. He rolled them both, so his back was braced by the tile, and he held her tightly against him as they both fought for breath. Her knees were loose and wobbly, her muscles pliant, on the verge of uselessness.
He shut off the water, blindly reaching down and pushing on the knob. He didn’t move, and she didn’t either. The steam slowly dissipated as their heartbeats eased to a more regular pace.
His arms were sheltering, his chest wide and nice to ease against. Resting so comfortably in his embrace was against her nature. With a Navy Admiral as a father, he’d taught her to stand on her own two feet, and the ranks of NCIS had made her even more independent. Those hard lessons had been carried over into all aspects of her personal life, including intimacy. She could barely put two thoughts together, so trying to understand why she was acting this way was beyond her. Maybe it was seeing him working so hard today after hours of physical abuse that he took in stride, his bolstering of his teammates, and his indomitable spirit. Maybe coming home and connecting with her brother again had shaken something loose.
She must have withdrawn then, in some way, because he tightened his hold slightly, then slid his hand to tip her chin up.
“You are a first-class negotiator,” he said, the look in his eyes a little stunned but a lot tender. His gentleness caught her off guard.