“What the fuck?”
“I don’t want you to use all the hot water,” she says lightly. “My hair takes forever to wash.”
Which does nothing to explain why she is shoving herself in behind me butt naked.
“This place has dozens of rooms. They don’t run out of hot water.”
She snaps the curtain shut. “Thanks for the bit of trivia. I clearly don’t know as much about luxury accommodations as you do.”
Her tone is sarcastic, but teasing. Miles away from the moody anger I saw downstairs.
I have no idea what to make of this.
“I got here first.”
She shrugs and reaches for a bottle of rose-scented shampoo. “I know you never learned to share in kindergarten like the rest of us, Cortland. But it’s never too late for a lesson in the basics.”
If any other girl looked at me like this, opened up her hot mouth to smart off like this, I’d bend her over and smack her ass a few times. I can practically hear the wet slap of flesh because the water on her already heat-reddened skin will hurt that much more.
I’ve got a lesson for her. It’s hard as a rock and about to be inside of her.
For about a minute, I try to ignore her. I scrub my face and rinse it off in the water spray where I can’t see her naked body or hear anything aside from my own thoughts.
I feel her eyes follow me like a burning on every inch of skin her gaze touches. It lingers on my chest and the flat plane of my abs before coasting down to my dick that is so hard it’s almost painful.
When I lean back and swipe the water from my eyes, Zaya is still staring at my dick.
I wonder if I’ve fallen down a rabbit hole in Wonderland, or maybe Earth had an alien invasion when I wasn’t paying attention and Zaya got body snatched. Those are literally the only explanations I can think of for this surreal situation.
Especially when she turns, giving me an unfiltered view of her luscious ass and looks coquettishly over her shoulder. “Will you get my back?”
No matter how much weight this girl loses, and she has already lost way too much, that ass never changes. Round. Soft. The perfect size to fit inside my hands if I want to pick her up, spread her legs, and force her down onto my cock.
I force those thoughts away as I reach for the soap. When my hands glide over the sharp lines of her back, all I can think about is gripping that flesh in my hands as I sink inside of her.
My shower gel coated hands skim over her back. Her smooth, dark skin feels even softer under the water than it does normally, glistening and flushed from the heat. Every time I look at her, I discover something new.
Like the way that curls in her hair tighten and define before she has even stuck her head under the water, twisting like some living thing. I used to sit behind her in English class and would study the back of her head, trying to count how many different types of curl I could find there. Each one is entirely unique, like snowflakes. Beads of water catch on her eyelashes, making her look like some seductive water nymph emerging from the waves.
Even if I spent the rest of my life studying every facet of her face, I’d probably never lose interest.
It’s been a long time since I’ve seen her naked, especially in the light with no part of her hidden away. Yes, I’ve fucked her. Eaten her out. Held her down and dragged my dick across the soaked lips of her pussy through her panties, whispering filthy things into her ear, until we both came.
But I’ve never just looked at her like this, especially without any timeline to stop doing it.
We have hours here. Days, if we want them.
Plenty of time for all the things I want to do to her.
When her back is cleaner than any piece of skin should rightfully ever be, I lean forward to whisper in her ear. My murmur is barely loud enough to be heard over the rush of water from the showerhead.
“You have about thirty seconds to get out of here before I fuck you up against the wall.”
Her smile widens as she backs toward the spray of water. “It takes longer than that to rinse my hair out.”
Before she can say anything else smart, I press my lips hard against hers.
I can count on two fingers the number of times I’ve kissed a girl, unless you want to count pecking Emma on the forehead when she was a baby. Both times were about Zaya, because everything has always been about her, even when I refused to admit it.
Once was to make her jealous.
Twice was to make her mine.
But I only kiss her now because I want to taste her again. Her scent suffuses my senses, warm cotton laid in the sun with just the lightest hint now of roses. If I had known kissing her would be like this, I might have started doing it sooner.
Zaya melts against me. Her body fits against mine like a matching puzzle. My hand wraps around her slim waist to pull her closer to me. Everything about her is soft, yielding. I don’t sense any of the resistance that has characterized every other encounter we’ve ever had. Usually, I have to compel her responses, force her to accept what her body craves, even when her mind screams out protests.
There is no hesitation here.
My hands settle over her breasts, stroking and punching until her breaths come in desperate gasps. I force my tongue in her mouth, just as I twist one taut nipple between my fingers so I swallow her low moan.
She breaks our kiss. “You did my back, let me do your front.”
The diamond glitters on her finger underneath the
