I’d be annoyed if I wasn’t so damn happy. That’s why, instead of getting an eye roll, a sleepy smile is all he sees as he stretches to turn on the taps, waiting for the water to warm before stepping inside the shower with me still in his arms.
He lets my body glide down his as he lowers me to my feet, the warm spray covering us both from the rain shower head above.
One of the best perks of having a hairstylist for a sister-in-law is getting to use the shampoo station installed in her home when I’m down for a visit, but none of those washings have anything on when almost six and a half feet of naked Adonis perfection is the one doing it, though. Sorry, not sorry, Bette.
The feel of Mase’s fingers working my hair into a lather is blissful. “You are so hired,” I moan.
His deep chuckle surrounds me as he hooks a finger under my chin to tilt my head back, rinsing the suds from my curls. “You’re saying if football doesn’t work out, I can have a career as a shampoo boy?”
My spine stiffens. I know it’s a joke but, fuck, I don’t like it.
“Babe,” he soothes, placing a gentle kiss on my forehead. “Stop worrying.”
I wish I could.
“I’ll never be able to smell peppermint without thinking about you,” he says, popping the top on my conditioner bottle. “Christmas should be interesting this year.”
We’re still two weeks out from Thanksgiving—why is he bringing up Christmas?
“Why’s that?” I ask as his deft fingers work to untangle knots as he encounters them.
“I’m afraid I’ll get a semi any time I come across a candy cane.”
“You’re ridiculous.” I giggle.
“You know you love me.”
“I do.” Really, I do—even more so because he knows exactly how to distract me and get me out of my head.
Since Mase is too tall for me to successfully wash his hair, I grab the loofah and get to work washing his body instead.
And what a body it is. My inner cheerleader scans Mase from head to toe. She’s not wrong; it’s like a freaking work of art. The pop of his traps, the round balls of his shoulders, biceps as large as my head, corded forearms, strong wrists, and all that dark ink decorating it.
Give me a Y. Give me a U. Give me an M, M, Y. YUMMY!!
Mentally, I roll my eyes at myself. Only Mason is able to make my inner cheerleader forget the fact that we were never the type to actually cheer like non-club teams. Though, she’s not wrong.
I watch the soap suds wash down his body, following their path along the cuts and ridges of his washboard abs, into the V at his hips.
“Careful, baby,” he cautions when I kneel down to soap up the tree trunks he calls legs. “Don’t start something you don’t plan on finishing.”
My teeth bite down on my bottom lip at the sight of his manhood at eye level. It starts to lengthen under my attention, but he’s right—I’m sore once again.
I nod, rise from my crouch, and poke him in the side. “Turn around so I can do your back.”
He does as I ask, and I make sure to give it the same proper attention I gave his front. The magnificent bubble of his ass is even better to look at naked than it is in his tight football pants. He twerks it at me when I squeeze it before turning around to face me.
The loofah is snatched from my hands, the purple puff looking comically small inside his massive hand. The flashing of his delectable dimples is all the warning I get before he sets to work turning the tables on me.
Brushing a few errant curls over my shoulder, he starts at the curve of my neck then drags the puff down my arm.
Water droplets cling to the dark fringe of lashes surrounding his eyes, and like every other time, I can’t look away from the captivating seafoam color. My skin feels alive under both the exfoliating weave of the loofah and the warmth of his stare following in its wake.
The thick, soupy air inside the shower fills my lungs as I struggle not to hyperventilate from stimuli overload.
He continues his washing, paying extra special attention to my breasts and between my legs. I whimper, unable to fight the sensations that have me on the verge of coming. “You need to take your own advice, Caveman.” The breathy quality of my voice negates any real authority.
He continues to tease until the water starts to turn cold.
#Chapter41
“Listen, bitch…” I can’t stop the twitch of my lips as Em drops into the chair next to mine in the library. The narrowing of her eyes underneath her perfect, perfect eyebrows tells me she doesn’t find my amusement at her frustrated term of endearment funny.
“Yes, Emma?” I lean forward, resting my chin on my palm and blinking at her with wide-eyed attention.
“Don’t be trying to full-name me, missy.”
Ooo, someone is in a mood. I snicker at my inner cheerleader, and the murderous glare I get from Em tells me it’s probably a good thing I’ll be sleeping at home tonight and not the dorm.
“Want to tell me what has your panties in a bunch?” I ask, clicking the top of my highlighter in and out.
“Oh good.” A flurry of movement follows in the wake of Q’s declaration as she takes the chair on my other side, the legs lifting and slamming back down with a bang. I wince, thankful I chose a table on the more deserted third floor. “You found her.”
I close the lid of my laptop and slide it to the side. I get the impression my study time is over if the expectant looks on my two friends’ faces are any indication.
“Wow.” I feign boredom, the pop-click, pop-click of my highlighter only adding to my nonchalance. “You two are in rare form today.”
Q
