I lay my hands flat on the tile wall while he plays with and nuzzles my wet hair and ear, kisses my shoulder and back. My thighs are shaking, and a melting sweetness pools low inside me.
His hand glides up from my breast to my throat, cupping it so gently and tilting my head way back so he can find my mouth with his and kiss me. I open to him immediately, letting his tongue enter my mouth and lick mine, a low moan rising in my chest. With his big, hard body pressed to my back, I nearly swoon.
We wash each other, teasing and tormenting ourselves with lingering touches in intimate places, watching each other’s faces in the haze of steam until I’m vibrating and aching with need.
“I don’t have a condom,” he groans into the side of my neck as I stroke his cock. “Want me to go…?”
“No. We can do something else.” I move to the bench and sit.
His eyelids grow heavy as he watches me prop my heels onto the bench and slip my fingers into my pussy. “Jesus.” His hand moves to his cock.
“Yes…do that.” I study his body and Christ on a bike, he’s so sexy. His wide shoulders and chest taper down to a narrow waist and hips, his abs ridges of packed muscle and his obliques a defined V. His big hand on his cock makes my pussy squeeze and ache even more. I watch him draw his hand slowly down his length and off, his cock springing up. The big muscles in his thighs bulge as he leans his upper body against the glass wall, his hips canted out, his calf muscles like sculpted stone.
I’m out of the spray of water, which is good because I don’t want to wash away the lubrication my arousal has produced. I tip my head back and sink my teeth into my bottom lip as I focus on the sensations building inside me, coiling tighter, higher, twisting inside me in a fiery spiral, my fingers moving quicker over my clit.
“That is so hot,” Easton groans.
“Yes…”
His hand moves faster, his other cupping his balls.
“I’m coming.” The orgasm seizes my body, embarrassing, inarticulate noises spilling from my mouth.
“Fuck, yeah.” Easton pushes away from the wall and takes two steps toward me, his face taut and intense, his eyes blazing. His hand pumps in a blur, and then he comes too, shouting as his cum lands on my belly. I’m dying, this is so hot, watching this.
His hand slows, giving a few final strokes to his still-hard shaft. I trail my fingers through the ejaculate on my stomach and he lets out a low, feral groan. Then he reaches out for my hands and pulls me up to standing, drawing me back under the shower of water, holding me as he rinses me, then wraps his arms around me. I grip his shoulders because my legs are still unsteady, and we sway together in our tight embrace for a few minutes as we recover.
“Holy shit,” he mumbles against my hair. He pulls back and gazes down at me, then cups my face with both hands. “You’re amazing.”
“I’m waterlogged.”
He chokes out a laugh. “Yeah. Let’s get out of here.” He cranks off the water, opens the door, and reaches out for a thick towel hanging on a hook. He wraps it around me, then helps me step out. Still naked himself, he grabs another towel and steps behind me to rub my hair with it. The sensation of gentle tugging on my scalp has lethargy running through my veins. Okay, it could be the orgasm too.
I fumble with the towel around my body to dry off as he dries himself off and follow him into the bedroom. I eye the bed longingly. Otis is curled up at one end of it. Oh hell. I’m doing it. I take a few steps and face-plant onto the mattress. It’s heaven. Firm but cushiony, the duvet poufy, and I bury my nose in it to breathe in Easton’s scent. Otis bounds up toward me and starts snuffling around my face.
With a soft laugh, Easton follows me down onto the bed. “Time for a nap, gorgeous?”
“I didn’t get much sleep last night,” I mumble.
“Sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
He chuckles. “You’re right. Go to sleep. It’s Sunday and we don’t have to do anything. I’ll order food.”
I pull Otis up against me, close my eyes, and drift off.
* * *
—
We eat breakfast in bed—waffles with strawberry compote, bacon, and fried potatoes, washing it down with orange juice and delicious coffee. We have to lock Otis out of the room, though, because he keeps helping himself to the food. My heart breaks at the sound of him crying outside the door and I can tell Easton doesn’t like it either. Eventually, Otis goes quiet.
“Tell me about your family,” I say as I fork up a strawberry. “You said it’s just your mom back in Regina?”
His face tightens and I immediately feel his disquiet. “Yeah. That’s right.”
I wait, not wanting to push it, because I sense he’s not eager to talk about it.
“My dad and my brother died,” he says flatly. “Years ago.”
“Oh no! I’m so sorry.” My heart squeezes. “I’m sorry I brought it up.”
“It’s okay.” He looks down, his mouth a firm line. “It happened a long time ago, but it’s still…hard.”
“I’m sure.” I hesitate. “What happened?”
“It was an accident. A motor vehicle accident.”
“Oh. That’s so tragic.”
His face tightens even more, if that’s possible. “Yeah. And my mom didn’t handle it very well. She kind of had a breakdown.”
“Oh my God.” I gaze at him with my heart in my mouth, sorrow and sympathy flooding through me.
“She was in the hospital for a while, now she lives in a care home. She’s had…treatment. But she’s still not the same. She takes a lot of medication and…she’s not really with it.”
“That’s so sad.”
He shrugs. “It is what it is. I go see her at Christmas and in the summers, and I make sure she’s looked after. My Aunt Kathy—her sister—keeps me posted about how she’s doing.”
I reach out and curl my fingers around his big hand to squeeze it.
“What about your family? You mentioned your dad called the other day.”
I let him change the subject. “Yeah. From the Philippines. That’s where he is now.”
“Wow. He lives there?”
“No, he’s just traveling around. He’s having a midlife crisis.” I roll my eyes. “I guess that’s what it is anyway. He’s doing all the things he wanted to but never could.”