Chapter 44
JADE
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MY CORE THROBS.
“But not yet.”
He squirts conditioner into my hair, never once letting me go. He works it through my damp strands with careful precision, gently massaging it into my scalp. The sensation is soothing. I close my eyes for a moment, enjoying the simple, calming feeling of his hands working through my hair.
Once he finishes, he tips my head under the water.
How am I ever going to take a shower by myself again?
When he lets me go, I stumble. My legs are so damn weak—weak for him. My hands grip his forearms, and his arm is still around me.
“Easy there.” There’s a hint of amusement in his voice. “Although I have to admit, I do love seeing you fall apart like this. In my arms. And me being the cause.”
So do I. More than I’d ever expected.
“I want to tell you I’m not falling apart.” The sassy part of me lifts my chin at him.
He smirks. “You do?”
“Yeah, and that you’re not the cause if I am.” I stabilize my feet.
His smirk widens. “Oh, really? You want to tell me that?”
“I do.”
“Maybe I’ll have to work harder.” His promise excites me, but then he releases me.
I’ve never craved anything like I crave his touch right now. When he comes back, he’s holding a bar of soap.
“How steady are you feeling?” He plays with that soap between his fingers, and my jealousy is immeasurable.
“Very steady.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Neither do I.
His hand grips my throat, and he presses my back flat against a wall.
Shit.
Fuck.
Take me right here.
And don’t you dare let go of my throat.
“That should hold you,” he says.
The wood is smooth against my flesh, and when he removes my hand, damned if I want to drag it back and tell him to choke me harder.
The lather forms in his hands, thick and white, as he rubs the soap between his palms.
I stand here, captivated.
My body leans into the wall for support as I watch his arms flex with each motion. The muscles shift beneath his skin.
Slowly, he brings his hands to his chest. The soapy suds glide over his shoulders and down the smooth lines of his torso. His skin gleams under the water, beads of it tracing down and catching the light.
He works the soap over his arms, his fingers moving in rough, circular motions.
I watch, spellbound as the lather sculpts the lines of his back.
Then his fingers run over his neck, along his spine, and then lower, across his waist. His hand slides down, dipping low, and the water follows the path, sweeping over his body, washing away the suds, revealing smooth, glistening skin.
I can’t help but trace every motion in my mind, each touch of his skin, each drop of water that runs down.
The way the water falls from his shoulders, across his chest, down his stomach—like it’s all a dance between him and the stream, so natural, so intimate, and I have the privilege of watching.
He doesn’t rush. He takes his time, like he’s in no hurry to finish.
I realize I’m holding my breath, waiting for each fluid motion. Then his hands circle his shaft, and I swear my legs almost collapse under me.
“You alright over there?” He grins at me.
Have I said how much I love this grin?
“I’m fine.” I make a scoffing sound. “Are you alright? You’re really taking your sweet time.”
His grin deepens.
“Should I excuse myself while you finish your spiritual journey with the water?”
A deep, gravelly laugh escapes him, low and throaty, sending my heart into overdrive.
“Don’t you move. I’m not done with you.”
“Promises. Promises.”
He quickly washes his hair. Why is watching him so fucking hot? So damn alluring? It’s just soap and water.
Then he’s standing in front of me again, cleaned from head to toe.
“Hi.” That one word is so sultry, my insides flip.
“Hi.”
“I’m gonna taste you now.”
I nod.
“But first.” Slowly, his sudsy hand touches my skin. “I’m going to wash every last inch of you.”
His palms slide over my shoulders, his fingers skimming the edges of my collarbone, sending shivers down my spine.
“How’s that?” he asks.
“Uh-huh.” It’s all I can manage.
His fingers brush the side of my breast. A fleeting touch that sends a jolt of sensation through me.
I bite my lip, suppressing a gasp. I’m not sure why. There’s no one here but us; no reason to hold back. I certainly didn’t in the gazebo. But something about his restraint, his deliberate slowness, makes me want to savor every moment.
His lips touch mine. “Breathe, baby girl.”
I let out my breath.
It’s all I can do when he says things like that and touches me like this.
His touch grows firmer, his palm cupping my breast, his fingers splaying across the soft flesh. I feel the water rolling off my skin, mixing with the heat of his hand, creating a strange, intoxicating contrast.
His thumb finds my nipple, circling it gently, and I can’t hold back the sound this time. A moan escapes before I can stop it. The steam amplifies the sound, wrapping it around us like a secret.
“You like that?” His rough breath tickles my ear.
I don’t answer.
I can’t.
My throat is too tight. My breath is too shallow.
Instead, I tilt my head back, exposing the curve of my neck, inviting him closer.
He takes the hint, his other hand joining.
His fingers trace the slope of my other breast, teasing the nipple into a tight bud and sending electricity pulsing through me.
I feel every movement, every brush of his skin against mine, like a current running through me.
His thumbs continue their drawn-out, steady circles. My nipples ache. They throb with a need I can’t quite name, and I press back into his touch, craving more. He continues to rub my hips, his palms sliding over my skin, the soap creating a slippery barrier between us.
His hands move lower, and my pulse hammers. His fingers gently cup between my legs, and I jerk forward, grabbing his shoulder.
“Relax.” He kisses the side of my head. “I’m only washing you.”
“You fucking tease.” My fingers dig into his flesh.
He laughs so loudly. “My sweet Jade.”
The way he says it, he’ll be lucky if I don’t break right now.
He traces the contours of my folds with a tenderness that makes my breath catch and heighten every sensation.
“You’re so soft.” His voice is a rough contrast to the gentleness of his touch.
I press my lips together to stifle a moan, and then clamp my teeth on his shoulder.
He hisses. “You’re so wet.” His breath is hot against my ear.
I close my eyes. “It’s the water.”
But we both know it’s not just the shower, and I’m struggling to keep my balance, trembling under his touch.
Then his hands are on my ass cheeks. His thumbs press into the soft flesh, kneading it, and a low moan escapes me, echoing in the small space.
Groping.
Kneading.
Washing.
His fingers slip between my cheeks, parting them.
I flush with a mix of embarrassment and desire. This is intimate, raw, and I feel exposed in a way that makes my heart race. But his touch is confident and assured, and I realize he’s not just exploring; he’s claiming.
His palms glide over the sensitive skin of my ass crack, his fingers brushing against the most private part of me. The sensation is electric, a jolt of heat that shoots straight to my core.
I press my mouth into his shoulder, trying to stifle another moan, but it slips out anyway, a ragged sound that hangs in the air.
His fingers brush my asshole, just a light touch that weakens my knees. The suds mingle with the water, creating a slippery, sensual glide that heightens every sensation.
I press my forehead against his shoulder, trying to ground myself, but my body is already surrendering to him. His fingers circle the tight ring of muscle, teasing it, tantalizing it when all he’s supposed to be doing is washing.
I feel my body respond. My muscles clench in anticipation, and I let out a breath.
“Rinse off.” His growl is electric, and I obey like a good little girl.
My legs feel like jelly, but once I’ve rinsed, he pins me to the wall and gets down on his knees.
His tongue delivers the first soft lick to my most sacred place, and a wave of euphoria sweeps over me. He presses firmly against me in hot, wet strokes.
I gasp, my head falling back, my fingers tightening in his hair as his movements meet the pace of my pounding heart. Each stroke sends pleasure. He gently sucks, his teeth grazing, biting just enough to make me gasp. To make my damn knees weaken.
Of course, he does.
I lean into him, my hands tangling in his hair, guiding him deeper, urging him closer.
“More,” I whisper, my voice hoarse, my body trembling with need.
He complies.
His tongue presses harder. His fingers firmer.
Each touch builds until I’m teetering on the edge, core tightening with every stroke.
Sucking.
Nipping.
Stroking.
I’m lost, drowning in the sensations.
He doubles his efforts until I can no longer hold back.
Just as I’m about to shatter, he pauses. His breath is hot against me, his lips hovering just above my core, leaving me suspended—teetering between release and longing.
My body freezes, every muscle tense, every nerve ending screaming for him to continue. The water continues to fall, but the world around me seems to hold its breath.
“Are your knees weak?” His fingers trace lazy circles on my thighs, his lips brushing feather-light kisses along my folds, teasing but not giving.
I whimper, my hips instinctively rocking toward him, desperate for the touch he’s withholding.
“Yes,” I beg. “Don’t stop.”
He chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrates against me. “Tell me, I make your knees weak.”
“You make my knees weak.”
“Louder.”
I say it louder.
“Now say my name.”
“Hart.”
“Louder.”
I say it louder.
“Scream my name, darlin’.”
I scream his name, and his tongue flicks out again, a quick stroke that makes me buck against him. The release crashes over me like a wave, tearing a cry from my throat.
My body convulses. My muscles clench. My core pulses as the orgasm washes through me.
He doesn’t stop his mouth and hands working in perfect harmony, milking every last drop of pleasure from me, spiraling me out of control until all I see are stars.
I’m boneless when it’s over, my legs barely able to hold me up, and my head spinning. I lean against him, breathless, my eyes half-closed, and a satisfied smile playing on my lips.
The water continues to fall, cooling my flushed skin, but I’m still warm, still buzzing with the aftermath of my release.
His arms wrap around me, holding me steady, his breath hot against my neck.
I smile weakly, my fingers tracing the lines of his face. “Your turn.”
“I don’t have a condom.” He presses his forehead against mine. “I left our clothes on the front porch.”
“Then take me inside.”
He scoops me into his arms.