She slides her hands down my body until she can grasp my cock through my joggers with a light hand and I almost break into a million pieces from trying to keep myself together. I want to grab her and put us up against the nearest wall, but I settle for sliding an arm around her waist so I can haul her body to mine. Our mouths crash together with all the pent-up denial of the last two weeks. She moans into the rough hold of our mouths against each other, her body wilting into my hold like she’s decided to take whatever I want to give. Finally, I break our kiss and lean back enough to see her face.
“We need to get naked, hit a shower, then find a bed.” I slide my hands down to grasp her ass, squeezing the flesh. “Now.”
She gives me a dazed grin and takes my hand in hers, guiding us through the main floor of the house to a set of stairs leading to the basement. She flips on a light at the bottom of the stairs, and we pass through an unfinished portion of the basement where her easels are set up along one side and canvases are scattered throughout the space. Even though I’ve never seen her at work, I realize how easily I can picture her down here, painting and creating. Anya isn’t debating the same, apparently, because she doesn’t even pause until she pulls us into a finished guest room. It looks almost exactly like the room I’m crashing in at my parents’, with a double bed, one nightstand, and a small love seat. Tucked into one corner of the room are the same heap of boxes and bags that were piled up in the hotel room when we met.
Anya crosses the room toward an attached bathroom and reaches into the shower to turn on the water, and then goes to work stripping her clothes off.
The tank top disappears first and her cutoffs are next. Underneath, she’s wearing a tiny white bikini, and whatever thoughts I had about discussing her art or the way I’m still trying to keeping my cool here, go up in smoke. All that’s in my brain now is a vivid image of Anya in that bikini, lying out next to the Greenes’ swimming pool with the sun beating down on her smooth, honey-drenched skin.
Holy fuck. I like that picture. A lot.
The only thing capable of disrupting that fantasy is Anya shooting me an impatient look from over her shoulder. I yank my shirt off, shove my joggers and boxers down in one move, and then kick everything off to the side. I clear the space between us with my cock leading the way like Anya’s nearly-naked body is its true north, and slide my hands over her waist, twisting my fingers in the bikini ties near her hips.
“This has me thinking about how killer it would be to spend the afternoon with you outside by the pool, wearing nothing but this little bikini and some suntan oil on. But right now”—I tug on one of the ties—“I just want you out of it.”
She lets me work the bottoms down her legs as she unties the top, dropping it on the floor. I slowly drag my hands up her inner thighs, easing one hand between her legs, finding her so worked up that she shudders when I draw the pad of one finger over her clit. Already, I’m not sure how long I can play this game without cracking. Even now, I’m thinking about spinning her around, putting her hands on the vanity top, and bending her over as I sink deep in one thrust.
But Anya’s face kills that thought. She’s wrinkling up her nose and grimacing, which reminds me why we’re in this bathroom in the first place.
“I told you,” I mutter. “I stink.”
She snorts and steps into the shower. “You definitely do. Come in here and we’ll fix that.”
I step under the spray, running my hands through my hair as the hot water cascades over me. Anya fills her palms with a scented body wash, frothing it up her hands before running over my chest and down my arms, kneading a few of my tired muscles along the way. I think about closing my eyes because it feels amazing, but I don’t. I want to watch her slicking those hands over my skin and catalog the sight. My life is still in a weird place, which means there’s no telling when I’ll get to enjoy something like this again.
She pours more body wash into her hand, then lathers it over my hipbones, across my abs, and down to my cock. Her hands go to work up and down my shaft, but her grip is so light it sets my teeth on edge from wanting the rough treatment I’m aching for.
As she circles her thumb and middle finger where the crown meets the shaft, she rises up on her tiptoes and drags her lips across my neck, eventually landing at the spot where my ear meets my cheek.
“Can I tell you a secret?”
I give in and let my eyes drop closed. “You can tell me whatever the fuck you want, just so long as you don’t stop what you’re doing.”
She grins, slowly enough that I can feel the curve of her lips against my cheek. “This is like a fantasy come true for me.”
Her hands have started to move faster, and her grip is steadier. I mentally congratulate myself for being able to not only hear what she just said, but form a response. “What, the shower sex?”
“No. I have this embarrassing hot jock fantasy and every day you come home looking sweaty and built, like you just finished tossing tires around or something. It’s been driving me crazy.”
I grin a little. It’s nice to know that I’m not the only one who’s been losing their mind the last few weeks. I sink my hands up into her hair and pull her face to mine, teasing her mouth open with a soft kiss, then nip her lower lip once.
“And is this the only thing that happens in your fantasy? The guy gets his cock stroked until he loses it in your soft hands?” I manage to work one of my hands down between us and start to tease between her legs. “Or does he make you feel good, too?”
She answers me with a needy whimper and I chuckle a little.
“I think that’s my answer. Sounds like somebody’s fantasy includes having this hot jock make you come nice and hard. I’m thinking I should do that with my tongue. Sound good to you?”
All I get is another whimper, followed by a long moan when I pull her hands off of me and start to guide us both back against the wall of the shower. I drop to my knees without another word, then glance up and meet her eyes for a moment, just to be sure she can see how this isn’t going to be just a fantasy for her to enjoy. All I want right now is the taste of her pussy—on my lips, my tongue, everywhere.
Anya lets out a sigh and widens her legs, inviting me in as she runs one hand through my hair. She tugs on a fistful, hard enough that I let out a feral growl as I dip my head, drawing my tongue over her with one long, slow stroke. Her grip on my hair tightens, before loosening almost entirely when I spread her wide with my hands and bury my tongue even deeper. But for every lap and suck I give her, it feels like I can’t get enough no matter how hard I try. Even when she comes, pressing her pussy to my mouth like she wants to be sure she doesn’t miss a moment of the experience, I just want more. More of her taste, more of her sounds, more of everything she’s willing to give me.
Finally, I give her clit one last flick with the tip of my tongue. She shudders a little and groans.
“Fantasy complete,” she says with a tired laugh. She waits a beat then flicks a glance at me. “Well, almost. There’s always the part where I make him come and when it’s over, he tells me I’m the best he’s ever had. And let’s be real, my fantasy jock guy is very experienced. Duh.”
A laugh tumbles out of my mouth. “I’m sure he is.”