expression on her face when her gaze fell, her eyes widening.
“Oh my god.” Her eyebrows drew together, her hand reaching out, hesitating, not touching. “What did you do?”
“I fell.” I turned sideways and slid my suit down my hips. She’d seen now-there was no sense being modest anymore. Most of the bruises had faded, looking more like a Canadian sunrise across my middle instead of the storm clouds they had been a few days ago.
“You fell?” Her expression was doubtful. “Where? Off a roof?”
“I tripped over a chair in the kitchen, fell against the counter.” I’d prepared this speech all week, just in case. And it wasn’t entirely untrue. Not entirely. I made it sound casual, dismissive. “It doesn’t hurt.” I stepped into the shower to avoid the look in her eyes, the water hot, stinging my face. It was just a moment before I felt her get in behind me. I edged forward so I wasn’t hogging all the spray.
“I have to tell you something.” Carrie took the soap out of the dish, rubbing it thoughtfully in her hands, making suds. “But I don’t want to make you mad at me.”
“Why would I be mad?” I turned to look at her. We were almost the same height and we stood eye to eye, practically nose to nose, the steam rising around us. “You’re the first friend I’ve had…” I blinked, glad for the water running down my cheeks. “In a long time.”
“And friends should be able to tell each other things,” she said, rubbing her soapy hands over her oil-slick shoulders. “Right?”
“Right,” I agreed, although I wasn’t quite sure what I was agreeing to.
“Well, then.” She reached for the shampoo, giving up on the soap and slipping it back into the dish. “You have to know these walls are pretty thin.” She nodded toward the tiles and squeezed shampoo into her cupped hand. “I’m sure you’ve heard us.”
I flushed, glad for the heat of the shower turning my skin pink. “Sometimes.” It was true that they might as well have used tissue paper to insulate the walls. I’d heard the two of them at night a few times, her sharp cries, his groans-and their bedroom was two rooms away from my own. Either they were incredibly loud or the walls were incredibly thin. Or a little of both.
“So tell me…” She worked the shampoo into her hair. “Do those bruises have anything to do with the yelling I heard coming from your place last week?”
“No.” I denied it immediately, my arms crossed over my middle. “I fell.”
She turned her back to me, letting the spray rinse the soap from her hair, working it out with her fingers. I took the soap and quickly washed, the smell of coconut strong in the moist heat. When she handed me the shampoo, I took it, using it as an excuse to close my eyes and turn away from her.
“I knew it would make you mad,” she said in a small voice. I felt her fingertips brush over my shoulder, like bird’s wings. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m not mad.” I shrugged. It was true-I wasn’t mad. I was afraid. And I didn’t want to talk about it. “Really, I’m not.”
“So we’re still friends?” she asked as I turned to face her.
“Friends who take showers together, apparently.” I grinned.
“Nothing wrong with that.” She laughed. “Can I ask you something else?”
I groaned. “Do you have to?”
“I was just wondering…” Her gaze fell briefly and then skipped back up again to meet mine. “Have you always shaved down there?”
I blinked and then glanced down too, as if to confirm what I already knew.
“Well…not always. But Mason likes me smooth.”
“Does he?” She cocked her head, looking again between my legs as if my response gave her permission. There was no hair there at all anymore. I used to have a dark little landing strip but Mason had made fun of me, saying it looked like my pussy had a Mohawk, so I’d gotten rid of it. “What’s it like?”
“Haven’t you ever gone bare?” I raised my eyebrows, looking down at her little nest of curls. She was definitely a real blond. “You, with your penchant for bikinis?”
“Well, I keep it trimmed.” Her hand went there, her fingers pulling gently at her pubic hair. It reminded me of seeing her touching herself from my bedroom window and the memory made my knees weak.
“You could wear one of those little micro-bikinis if you shaved,” I pointed out.
“Less tan lines. And I bet your husband would love it.”
“You think?” Her eyes brightened at the thought.
“Sure. It makes things easier. Less in the way.” I waggled my eyebrows and she grinned. I leaned in, lowering my voice, as if I might be overheard. “The first time I did it, I couldn’t believe how sensitive I was down there afterward.”
“Really?” she breathed. We’d been drinking sun tea and her breath smelled minty against my cheek. “I’d be afraid though. What if I cut myself?” She shuddered.
“It takes practice.” I nodded sagely, the idea coming out of my mouth before I could even think. “I could help you. Show you how I do it.”
“On you?” She licked her lips, her gaze dipping again to my bare mound.
“Or on you.” I pointed between her thighs, where her hand was still idly stroking the hair there. “If you really want to.”
“Okay.” She grabbed my wrist, squeezing. “Let’s do it.” She was so excited she was practically vibrating. “What do we need?”
“Just a good razor and some shaving cream.”
She was out of the shower before I could finish my sentence, opening the medicine cabinet, taking a disposable razor out of its plastic and handing me a red and white striped can. She shoved them both at me. “Here. Where do you want me?”
I glanced around the bathroom. I usually shaved in the shower, putting one leg up on the edge. Would that work, if I knelt in the tub? I wondered.
“Here.” I opened the curtain wider so she could step in. She was shivering, her nipples stiff, the skin around them pursed. She hesitated, looking a little afraid, and I smiled. “It doesn’t hurt. I promise. I’ll be gentle.”
“How?” She looked around, frowning, as I sank to my knees, the hot water needling my back.
“Put your foot up in the corner and sort of lean back.” I guided her with my words, not daring yet to touch her. My hands were shaking and that wasn’t the best state in which to be handling a razor.
“Like this?” She did as I directed, her palm resting against her lower belly, peering down at the soft fuzz between her legs.
“Perfect,” I said, and she was. Her thighs were long, tawny muscled velvet and I couldn’t help placing my palm there, as if to steady myself, just to feel the incredibly softness of her. “Are you ready?”
I glanced up and saw her bite her lip, her breasts beaded with water, rising and falling with her breath. Her hair turned darker when wet, less honey and more wheat, some of it making little curls against her cheeks and her neck. Seeing her like that, her thighs parted, her eyes wide with excitement and even a little fear, made my mouth water.
“Do it,” she insisted, closing her eyes tight and looking the other way. It gave me the opportunity to really study her and I smiled, squirting shaving cream into my hand.
Her pussy was truly lovely and I almost hated to shave off her blond curls. She flinched a little and opened one eye when I started to spread the shaving cream over her bush.
“It’s okay,” I soothed. She closed her eyes again, looking away. She kept it trimmed with scissors, so the hair wasn’t too long to begin with. I made short, easy strokes downward. “All of it?” I inquired, hesitating as I reached the middle of the triangle.
Again, she opened just one eye. “Yeah. Let’s go for it.”
“All right.” I rinsed the blade in the inch or so of water gathered at the bottom of the tub, continuing the job. I had most of the long hairs gone on her labia, but there was much more intimate work to be done. I glanced up at her turned face, her eyes still scrunched closed, and then used my fingers to delicately part her pussy lips.
“Ohhh.” She barely breathed the word, biting her lip as my fingers brushed her clit. It was difficult to keep her open and manipulate the razor at the same time. She wasn’t just wet from the shower-she was slippery. Aroused. God knows I was too. My pussy felt fat and swollen, and I squeezed my thighs together, resisting the urge to touch
