Now he was sitting naked on the edge of the cold tub with a boner.
Lame. That’s what this was. And honestly, he was pretty damn sure he would have just ignored her protestations and jumped in anyway with any other woman because they had already had sex. That entitled him to shower sharing. But for whatever stupid reason he just perched like a naked bird feeling bitter while his arm went numb from hanging there in the cuffs.
“Finished. May I have a towel?” She popped her head out from behind the curtain.
Damn it, she was beautiful. It was making him grouchy. But he stood up without hesitation and grabbed her a towel. “Need help drying off?”
“No, thank you.”
Of course she didn’t. Because that would be fun for him. “I’m coming in,” he told her, the dried blood on his shoulder and neck starting to pull at his skin. He was just about out of patience.
But she was quick, emerging from the shower wrapped in the towel. “It’s all yours.”
They traded positions, and she managed to avoid any contact with him whatsoever in the transition.
Funny how when he was the one standing in there, his arm was still stretched to capacity and he was hunched over. She had half of his arm out of the shower as she toweled her hair dry, while he felt like a chimpanzee trying to learn to use tools. He was all bent over and bouncing around on the balls of his feet trying to get some shampoo onto his head one-handed.
What the fuck.
Her French pussy had clearly whipped him.
Because he wasn’t complaining. He was just one-handed washing while his arm went completely numb and water slapped him in the face.
Lizette didn’t offer to dry him off. Not that he expected her to, but it would have been a nice gesture.
“Our clothes are in the kitchen,” she told him, still burrito-wrapped in her towel, her damp hair falling over her shoulders in waves.
“Your clothes are trashed. How about I find something of mine for you to wear.” Not bothering with a towel, because well, he liked to be naked, and she couldn’t stop him, he went over to his dresser.
Rifling through his T-shirt drawer, he found a Union Jack shirt. “Oh, look, here’s one for you.”
“Ha-ha. Aside from the subject matter, I cannot wear a T-shirt with these handcuffs.”
She was right. She would need a sweatshirt or something, which was ridiculous because it was ten million degrees outside. “You’re going to have to wear a T-shirt. It’s too hot for anything else.” He found one that was loose, and just a plain gray cotton. “Here, try this.”
Lizette turned her back slightly, which was ridiculous, but she did, and edged her towel to her waist to put the shirt on. Of course, her left arm fit in normally but the right one couldn’t, so her flank was completely exposed. But Johnny could fix that. He rifled through his dresser and found a stapler.
“What are you doing?” she asked, sounding alarmed.
“Trust me.” He stapled the shirt together, closing the gap from waist to arm pit. It looked weird, but she was in, and it was clean, even though the shoulder was bunching.
“But . . .”
“What?”
“I don’t have my bra on.”
He hated to tell her that no one would ever notice. She wasn’t exactly a busty chick. But he just told her quite honestly, “You can’t tell. I swear.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. The shirt’s really baggy, there is no way you can tell.”
“I feel ridiculous. I wish I had panties.”
He wasn’t sure what the one statement had to do with the other, but he could at least fix the second problem. “Do you want to borrow a pair of my underwear?”
“No! Of course not. That would be . . .”
“Inappropriate?” he asked, pulling a pair out of his drawer for himself. He bent over and stepped into them. Of course, the motion caused her to have to bend over, too, putting her face in very close proximity to his cock.
This had potential.
“I know precisely what you are thinking.”
“Yeah?” Good, then he wouldn’t even have to ask or suggest.
“It is not going to happen.”
Damn. “You’re sure? Because I would return the favor.”
“No. That is not something I have ever done.”
Was she kidding? She’d never blown a guy? Wow. “Because you think it’s gross or because it’s just never happened?”
He wasn’t sure how anyone could go several hundred years and never at least have the option of sucking cock presented to her, but then again, they didn’t move in the same circles. Maybe Paris was dead these days. His unintended pun made him want to grin, but he controlled himself and just stood in his underwear waiting for her response.
“I have limited experience with men, as I mentioned. Jean-Baptiste, he considered that particular action reserved for a mistress, not a lady.”
Jean-Baptiste sounded like a pretentious prick. “So wait a minute, you’re telling me he’d let a prostitute blow him, but not you? That he wasn’t even faithful to you?”
She swallowed visibly. Her words were defensive, but her tone was soft, maybe even sad. “Yes. But that was the way of our world. I never expected him to be satisfied with me alone.”
That was fucked-up. “But let me guess . . . you were expected to be faithful to him.”
“Of course.” She looked like that was a ludicrous question. “I never wanted to be with another man. I was in love with him.”
Johnny wanted to ask why, but he kept his mouth shut. He didn’t know the guy, and she was right, times had been different. So he concentrated on what that meant. “So you never have, but have you ever wanted to?”
“Certainly. It has crossed my mind on more than one occasion that I would like to have the experience. I would like to know if I am capable of creating that sort of a response from a man.”
She had never given oral sex to any other man, yet she was open to the idea. That was the hottest thing he’d ever heard in his entire life. He could be the first man she put her mouth around and sucked to oblivion. An erection sprang to life, and he wondered if there was a casual way to ask to her to reconsider dropping to her knees.
“When I am ready, I will let you know,” she said.
For some reason, that did something really weird to the interior of his chest cavity. Johnny brushed her hair back off her cheek and looked into her deep brown eyes. “I really like you, Lizette.” It was a completely cornball, lame-ass thing to say, but it was how he felt.
She smiled. “That’s not going to make me change my mind.”
The ironic thing was, for once he didn’t have an angle, nor was he joking around. He didn’t even bother to explain that to her. He just found himself saying earnestly, “I wish you didn’t have to go back to France. I wish we had more time to spend together.”
The smile fell off her face and she tilted her head, studying him. “What do you mean?”
“I mean I want more time to get to know you, both in bed and out. I don’t want you to leave yet.” He took her hand and held it a little more aggressively than romantically. But he had a point to make.
Her expression softened. “I don’t think that I want to leave yet either.”
“Then maybe it’s a good thing you canceled your flight.” He kissed the corner of her mouth because it looked delectable. She looked delectable.
“Perhaps it is.” She sighed. “But I only have a room at the hotel through tomorrow.”
“You can stay with me,” he said, because he was crazy. Crazy about her and just plain crazy. Because never once, in his entire life, had he offered for a woman to stay with him. Not even his sister.
So the fact that he had just suggested to Lizette that she shack up with him for an undetermined amount of
