35. Juno
CHAPTER 35
JUNO
I’m floating in a post-orgasmic cloud of hazy contentment when strong arms lift me.
Hmm. I’m being carried somewhere. Before I find the energy to ask where, the destination becomes apparent.
The shower.
Setting me onto my feet on the tile floor, Lucius turns on the water, then lightly pushes on my butt so I step in. Once I do, he joins me.
Holy saguaro. He begins to lather me up with body wash, his strong hands roaming all over me, stroking and massaging every part of my body. I should be completely wrung out—and I am—yet somehow, he’s reawakening my desire.
By the time he switches focus to himself, I’m aching with need, and by the time we’re toweling off, I’m as turned on as I was before we entered my apartment.
Biting my lip, I regard him through wet lashes. “Will I be using my own legs to get back or…?”
His lips twitch, and he bends to swing me into his arms, pressing me tightly against his hard-muscled chest as he begins walking. He doesn’t seem to exert any effort as he carries me, either.
Those sexy muscles aren’t just for show.
“I could get used to this, you know,” I say after he lays me on the bed.
A cocky smirk dances on his lips. “You enjoyed yourself?”
I stretch, feeling like a cat. A well-fed, well-stroked cat. “When I came the second time, my toes curled so hard my feet hurt.”
He stares at my feet, and his earlier smile is replaced with a downright carnivorous expression. “Do you want them massaged?”
I could remind him about the time I admitted to enjoying that particular act, but instead, I blurt, “Does a cactus inhale carbon dioxide at night?”
He sits on the edge of the bed and takes my right foot into his hands. His voice is husky again. “I assume that is a yes.”
I start to answer, but he squeezes my foot near the toes and I exhale in pleasure instead.
Encouraged, he presses more firmly, and then his fingers slowly traverse the distance to my ankle, bringing pleasurable relaxation in their wake.
He starts to make small circles on the arch of my foot.
I close my eyes, now feeling like a cat being petted.
He moves his thumbs up and down my Achilles tendon.
If humans could purr, I would.
When he starts to squeeze and then pull on each of my toes, I sigh in delight as I get a flashback to my earlier orgasm—especially when he starts to slide his fingers up and down each toe.
“This is the best foot massage I’ve ever gotten,” I breathe, opening my eyes to catch his gaze. “Not a hint of tickling, I love it.”
His carnivorous smile returns. “Let’s see if you like this. Don’t peek. Just feel.”
Intrigued, I close my eyes again.
Wow. There’s an intensely pleasant sensation coming from my big toe—a combo of warmth, wetness, pressure, and light suction.
It’s vaguely akin to when my nipple is sucked, and even echoes in my core in a similar way.
Unable to help myself, I open my eyes.
As I figured, he’s sucking on my toe.
Then he licks it, sending a bolt of heat straight to my clit.
I gasp.
He slides his tongue over the arch of my foot.
I can’t help but moan.
He restarts his ministrations with my other foot, and I find my hand sliding between my thighs, pressing against the empty ache pulsing there.
“That’s right,” he growls, his eyes flaring. “Come for me like that.”
Gladly.
My breath speeding up, I press harder on my clit as he sucks my next toe, and as he switches his attentions to the third toe, I come with a choked cry.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, regarding me with molten eyes. “Are you ready for another round?”
Another round of what? I look down and gape at the throbbing erection he’s sporting.
How can it look even bigger than the first time? And how can he be ready again? None of my exes had this short of a refractory period.
Does he like my feet this much?
Whatever the reason for the recuperation, there’s a compliment in there somewhere.
I crawl to get the condom as fast as my jellied bones allow, and then I hand it to him.
“Get on all fours,” he orders, stroking his massive erection.
I gleefully obey, and in an eyeblink, he’s entering me again, gently at first, then more assuredly as I adjust to him.
His first deep thrust makes my eyes roll into the back of my head. After the second one, I ball my fists in the sheets, a fresh tension building in my core. He picks up his pace, thrusting harder and faster, until the tension threatens to overflow.
“Come for me,” he rasps, and his hips piston into me, wrenching moans from my lips.
Just as I’m on the edge, he grabs my feet, squeezing them with just the right pressure—and I come with a scream, my toes curling under his strong fingers.
“Fuck,” he grunts as I feel his release, which gives me a little aftershock orgasm of my own.
Drained, I drop onto the bed, my eyes closed and my body limp.
It’s official. I’m ruined for all other men—and that’s before he takes me back to the shower and treats me to another sensual washing.
When we’re back in bed, he arranges me in a spooning position, then wraps his arms around me and breathes into the back of my neck.
This is nice.
No. Nice doesn’t cut it.
This is bliss.
I sigh contentedly. In this moment, it’s very easy to imagine this thing between us working out—and without any heartache. The outside world already thinks that we’re together, so we would just need to change a few little labels, right? And let’s be honest… For me, the adjustment will be minuscule, thanks to all the things I’ve been feeling that I wasn’t supposed to.
The big question is: is he on the same page?
His actions tonight strongly point in that direction, especially how tenderly he’s holding me right now. Yet a chilly worry spreads through my veins. He’s still a gorgeous billionaire, and I’m a small business owner who sometimes misreads the labels on boxes of fertilizer.
What if tonight was just about getting laid for him? What if he’s not viewing it as a momentous occasion, but a momentary lapse of reason?
The longer I lie there, the more worried I get.
Suddenly, he pulls his arms away.
Does he need the bathroom or something?
He removes his whole body, leaving my back feeling cold.
Confused and concerned, I turn over.
Lucius is sitting on the edge of the bed, looking uncomfortable.
I sit up. “What are you doing?”
“Going home.” Not meeting my gaze, he jumps to his feet and starts hunting for his clothes. “You’ll want the bed for yourself.”
What the hell?
I realize he might have a million-dollar pillow waiting for him at home, but I thought?—
“Sorry,” he says, pulling on his clothes faster than I thought humanly possible.
I narrow my eyes. “Sorry about what?”
He spreads his hands. “We shouldn’t have done this.”
My heart drops. “By ‘we,’ do you mean ‘I?’ And by ‘this,’ do you mean ‘me?’”
He pulls up his zipper. “What?”
“Nothing.” I fight violent urges, as well as a pressure behind my eyes. “Since you’re so eager to leave, fucking leave.”
“I’m not—never mind. I’m going.” He puts on his shoes. “Sorry, again. Call you tomorrow?”
“Don’t.” He should thank saguaro I don’t have a lamp nearby, or something else I could toss at his stupid head.
He gives me an indecipherable look, then closes the door with a loud bang.
I bury my face in my pillow and begin to cry.