Roland’s breath caught as she tilted her head back, ran her hands through her hair, elbows pointed at the ceiling. Water sluiced down her body, over her shoulders and full breasts, skipping off the hardened pink tips. Her long hair darkened to black, straightening as it molded itself to her slick form in a shiny curtain. One thin section slid down her chest, hugged her breast, and continued down to tease her belly button.
When Roland raised his gaze once more it was to find she had opened her eyes and was watching him. “You’re so beautiful,” he told her.
She smiled. Her lashes were dark and spiked with moisture. “So are you.”
“I’ve never showered with a woman before,” he admitted.
“Really? What do you think so far?”
He felt a slow smile stretch his lips. “I like it.”
Grinning, she moved aside so he could take her place.
Roland stepped beneath the spray. Reluctantly ceding his ability to stare at her, he turned away and began rinsing his hair, face, and chest. The water turned red as it sluiced down his front, collecting more blood from his arms, abdomen, and legs. By the time it circled the drain, it looked like cranberry juice.
When his front was as clean as it would get without soap, he turned his back to the spray.
Sarah had taken a cloth from the recessed shelf and was lathering it up, her gaze firmly fixed on his ass. When he faced her, she hastily raised her eyes to meet his.
He grinned. “Caught you.”
Laughing, she blushed. “What’s good for the goose?”
“Is great for the gander.” He grabbed a second cloth, randomly chose a shower gel from the selection provided, and started lathering it. “Turn around.”
She gave him her back, so delicate beneath his large hands as he slid the thin soapy cloth across it. Shoulder to shoulder. Down to her narrow waist. Over the smooth round globes of her bottom. Following the curves of her lightly muscled thighs. He knew these curves. Every gentle flare, subtle dip, and hollow down to her tiny feet. He had learned them well last night. Memorized them. Dreamt of them.
He could hear her heartbeat pick up, her breath shorten, as he drew the cloth down the back of her thigh to her ankle, around and up the front to the bend at her hip, then down the outside, around and up the inside until his soapy knuckles grazed the curls at her center. A pause. Then down the back of the other thigh, up the front, down the outside, and slowly up the inside to end with another brush of his knuckles.
“Turn around,” he said again, his voice raspy with the desire that made him so hard he thought he might burst if he didn’t have her soon.
She swung around to face him, face flushed with need.
As he rose and reached toward her, she stayed his hand.
“My turn.”
When he opened his mouth to protest, she made a twirling motion with her index finger.
Roland gave her his back.
Molded to her small hand, the soapy cloth touched his shoulder, then smoothed across his back in firm, but languid strokes, drifting lower, down to his waist.
The water from the showerhead pounded his front, pouring over his ultrasensitive shaft, adding to the pleasure of her every touch.
When both of her hands settled over his ass and squeezed, he moaned and dropped his head back. Her hands left him.
Her front pressed against his back. When he felt her reach around him, Roland glanced down and saw her dangle the cloth under the spray until the pink suds were whisked away.
She stepped back. He heard her add more soap to the cloth, lather it. Then it was brushing the back of his thigh, slipping down to his ankle, around, up the front, down the outside just as he had done to her and up the inside until her knuckles brushed his balls with just the lightest touch.
He hissed in a breath as pleasure darted through him.
Down the back of his other thigh, up the front, down the outside, and up, up, up the inside, anticipation as sharp as a knife. But she stopped without touching him this time. The cloth withdrew. He let his breath out in a faint sigh of disappointment, then sucked it in again when her small hand, slick with soap and free of the cloth, slid between his legs, cupped his sac, and fondled him, squeezing gently. His cock jumped. The need to be inside her was so strong he shook with it.
“Sarah,” he moaned.
Her hand left him. “Turn around.”
Sarah was practically panting with need when Roland spun around and faced her. His chest rose and fell as swiftly as hers. His eyes glowed brightly. His swollen erection strained toward her.
“Hurry,” was all she could say.
He tossed his cloth aside and instead palmed her breasts with soapy hands. Dipping his head, he captured her lips in a feverish kiss. When his thumbs and fingers found the hardened peaks and strummed them, pinched them, circled them, a throaty sound of need unlike any she had heard herself make before escaped her.
Dropping her own cloth, she followed his example and drew her sudsy hands across his powerful chest.
One of his hands slipped down her stomach to the damp curls at the juncture of her thighs. Her knees nearly buckled when he stroked her clit with his thumb and, finding her entrance, dipped a finger inside.
Moaning, she trailed a hand down to his erection, curled her fingers around him (he was too large for her to enclose completely), and stroked him from base to tip.
He groaned, urging her on with his hips when she stroked him again and again. “Fuck this,” he muttered. “We’re clean enough.”
Sarah sputtered, then laughed as he drew her back with him under the steamy spray.
They aided the water in swiftly sweeping the suds from their bodies. Her hands teased him. His hands teased her. He shut off the water, then lifted her.
“Wrap your legs around my waist,” he growled.
Sarah did so eagerly, trapping his long, hardened length between their bodies.
They didn’t pause to dry off. He merely carried her into the bedroom and tumbled them smoothly onto the bed.
“No more preliminaries,” she begged as he settled his weight atop her, his hips between her thighs, his upper body propped on his hands. “I want you inside me.”
He groaned and reached between them, positioning his erection at her entrance, rubbing the smooth head against her. “Next time you’ll let me taste you first,” he vowed, then plunged inside her.
Sarah threw her head back as he filled her. “Yesss.”
He withdrew almost to the crown, then plunged again.
“More,” she purred.
A very masculine chuckle rumbled forth as he obliged her.
Sarah stared up at him raptly as he continued to thrust, grinding against her, driving her pleasure ever upward. Short, dark hair fell over his forehead in wet spikes that dripped cool water onto her every time he thrust. His luminous amber eyes were brighter than she had ever seen them. His fangs had lengthened and peeked out from between soft lips. Heavy muscles bunched beneath smooth skin beaded with moisture.
Sliding her hands down his back, she gripped his muscled ass and urged him on, arching against him as the pressure built and built and built. He felt so good inside her. So hard. Touching all the right places.
She screamed his name as she came, heard her own emerge from his lips on a groan as he followed her over the edge.
Their breath emerged in gasps as the pleasure gradually spiraled downward and a lazy contentment enfolded them. Drawing one of her legs up over his hip, Roland rolled them onto their sides, bodies still joined, and cuddled her close.
By the time she regained enough of her breath to speak, the fatigue brought on by too many days with too little rest and too much adrenaline caught up with her and she drifted into a deep sleep, surrounded by his warmth and soothed by soft caresses.