Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Damian
I leaned back on the bench outside the barn, the sun warm on my face, and mud dried in stiff patches on my shirt and jeans.
Geraldine sat next to me, her shoulder brushed mine, and she was just as filthy from our horse-cleaning mess.
Her laugh still echoed in my head from when we’d turned it into a full-on mud fight, and her hand rested on my knee, light but steady.
The horses were clean, but we were a disaster with hay in her hair, soap suds smeared on her arms, and dirt caked everywhere.
She shifted and wiped her hands on her jeans and leaving more streaks, and I couldn’t help grinning at how ridiculous we looked.
“God, I need a shower,” she said and stood up and stretched her arms over her head. Her shirt lifted and showed a strip of muddy skin, and she grimaced and brushed at it. “I’m a walking swamp.”
“Yeah,” I said and stood too and grabbed the towels we’d barely used. “We’re a mess. Let’s clean up.”
“Good call,” she said and smirked and headed for the house. “Race you to the bathroom.”
“Cheater,” I said and jogged after her, my boots squishing with every step. She laughed and darted inside and up the stairs, and I followed close, the creak of the wood loud under us. She beat me to the bathroom door and pushed it open and stepped in with a triumphant grin.
“Too slow,” she said and turned on the light, and kicked off her boots. “You’re stuck with second place.”
“Fine by me,” I said, and shut the door behind us and locked it with a click.
The bathroom was small with a shower in the corner, a sink against the wall, and a mirror fogged from yesterday’s steam.
I dropped the towels on the counter and watched her peel off her muddy socks, and hopped on one foot.
“Help me out here,” she said, and tugged at her shirt The fabric stuck to her. “This is glued on.”
“Hold still,” I said, and stepped closer and grabbed the hem. I yanked it up, and she wiggled free. The shirt hit the floor with a wet slap. She stood there in her bra, mud streaked across her chest, and smirked at me.
“Your turn,” she said and reached for my shirt and pulled it over my head before I could stop her. It landed next to hers, and she laughed and ran a finger down my chest and smeared the dirt. “You’re filthy.”
“Look who’s talking,” I said and grabbed her waist and pulled her against me.
Her skin was warm and sticky with mud, and I kissed her hard and tasted salt and soap.
She kissed me back, her hands slid up my back, and her nails scraped through the grime, and I groaned into her mouth, the heat kicked up fast.
“Shower,” she said between kisses, and was breathless and tugged at my jeans. “Now.”
“Yeah,” I said and fumbled with her zipper and shoved her pants down as she kicked them off, underwear and all.
I stepped out of mine just as quickly, and we stumbled into the shower, a tangle of muddy limbs.
She turned the water on, and it hit us cold at first and made her yelp and me laugh, but it warmed up fast, and steam filled the air.
The mud started sluicing off, brown water swirled down the drain, and I grabbed the soap and lathered my hands.
“Turn around,” I said and spun her and ran my hands over her shoulders and scrubbed the dirt from her skin. She leaned into it, her back slick and smooth under my fingers, and I worked lower and traced her spine and then her hips and dug into the stubborn patches.
“Harder,” she said and arched against me, her voice low. “Get it all.”
“Bossy,” I said and pressed harder, my hands slid around to her stomach, and soap suds bubbled between us. She grabbed my wrists and pulled them up and guided me to her chest, and I groaned again and cupped her through the wet bra, the fabric rough against my palms.
“You’re missing spots,” she said and turned and grinned, and snatched the soap from me.
She lathered up and attacked my chest, her hands rough and wild, and scrubbed at the mud and hay.
“You’re a disaster,” she said and dragged her fingers down my abs and lower and teased the edge of where I wanted her.
“Keep going,” I said, and caught her hands and pressed them against me.
She laughed and shoved me back under the spray, the water pounded my shoulders, and I pulled her with me and kissed her again, deep and messy.
Her body slid against mine and was slippery with soap, and I pushed her against the wall, the tiles cold on her back.
She gasped into my mouth, her legs hooked around my hips, and I pressed into her, hard and fast, the water streamed over us.
“Damian,” she said, her voice broke as I moved, wild and rough, the shower shook with every thrust. Her nails dug into my shoulders, and I gripped her thighs and lifted her higher, the soap made it slick and frantic.
She bit my lip, sharp and hot, and I growled and slammed into her, the steam thick around us, our breaths loud and ragged.
“More,” she said and clawed at my back, her head tipped against the wall, and water ran down her face.
I shifted and hit deeper; her moans bounced off the tiles, and I slid a hand between us and rubbed her hard; her body tensed fast. She came with a shout, shaking against me, and I followed quickly, a rough groan tore out as I pulsed inside her, and the water washed it all away.
We panted, still pressed together, the shower beat down on us, and she laughed softly and shakily, her forehead dropped to mine. “Holy shit,” she said and caught her breath and ran her hands over my chest. “We’re wild.”
“Yeah,” I said and grinned and eased her down, my legs felt like jelly. “Guess we’re clean now.”
“Not yet,” she said and grabbed the soap again and lathered her hands and scrubbed my arms, slow and deliberate this time. “You’re still a mess.”
“Pot calling the kettle,” I said and took the soap from her and worked it over her shoulders and down her back and washed off the last of the mud. She turned under my hands, the water rinsed her clean, and I slid my fingers over her hips and pulled her close again, softer now.
“Your turn,” she said and took it back and soaped my chest and stomach and got the spots I’d missed. Her touch was firm but gentle, and I stood there and let her, the water warm and steady. “There,” she said and stepped back, and admired her work. “Now you’re good.”
“Same,” I said and ran my hands over her arms and rinsed the last suds away. She smiled and leaned into me, her skin soft and clean against mine, and I kissed her slowly, the wild edge gone but the heat still there.
“Guess we’re done,” she said and pulled back and turned off the water, the steam settled around us. “Towels?”
“Yeah,” I said and stepped out and grabbed them from the counter and handed her one. She wrapped it around herself, water dripped from her hair, and I dried off quick, my jeans and shirt still a muddy pile on the floor.
“Look at that,” she said and nodded at the mess. “We’re hopeless.”
“Nah,” I said and smirked, and pulled her close with the towel. “We’re just good at getting dirty.”
“And clean,” she said, and laughed and kissed me quickly before stepping back. “Let’s grab fresh clothes. I’m not putting that back on.”
“Deal,” I said, and opened the door. The cool air hit us as we stepped into the hall, still damp and grinning. The bathroom was a wreck, but we were spotless, and I couldn’t complain.