“Yes, I’m getting in. But let me get us a couple of drinks.”
He steps out of the bathroom, but he’s back before I can even get my hands between my legs to give my clit a little rub. I move my legs up to the side of the tub. But he comes to the end where I lounge.
I take the offered glass of wine.
He’s still standing there. His cock is right there.
I grasp his hard-on with my bubble-covered hand. “Aren’t you getting in?”
“Yes, as soon as you scoot up so I can slide in behind you.”
I move. He steps in and sits with his legs on either side of me. Reaching around, he grabs my tits and rolls my nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, sending a zing of pleasure straight to my cunt.
Fishing around in the water behind me, I take hold of his cock. We massage each other for a few seconds before he pulls away.
“What’s wrong?”
He downs the rest of his wine.
“I’m going to wash your hair.” He draws me to him until my back is against his chest. His cock presses into me, keeping me high on anticipation.
With his wine glass, he dips water to pour over my head, careful to keep it out of my closed eyes.
This isn’t a rich man’s house. This is Heaven. Maybe I did die of mortification, and, because it was such a horrible death, God has granted me an eternity with this angelic version of Jackson Tremaine.
He’s gentle, especially around the stitched wound. His fingers lightly rub circles over my head, lathering my hair. My clit beats with my heart, ready for Jackson to turn his attention to other, more important, places.
“You grow up in Oklahoma?”
I lean back, so I can see his face. “How’d you know I’m from Oklahoma?”
“I’m good at placing accents, I guess. Plus, I grew up in Louisiana. But I’ve been to Oklahoma. I actually spent a little time there as a guest of the Office of Juvenile Affairs Correction Facility. That’s how I met Bax. We’ve been friends ever since.”
I run my hands down his legs, the hair on them tickling my fingers where it floats in the water. “Really? I never would’ve known that you’re from Louisiana. Where’s your Cajun accent?”
“We don’t all sound like Cajuns.” He chuckles. “Well, I did a little, but when I got out here and started acting, I ended up paying a voice coach to overcome the handicap. Landed a lot more parts without the accent.”
“So…juvie, huh?”
He shrugs as he ladles water over my soapy hair. “Yeah. I was sixteen. I’d decided to move to Oklahoma to find my dad. Unfortunately, I didn’t find Dad before trouble found me. Got in with the wrong crowd, and basically everything that entails. Luckily, I got picked up early. I did my time, and the judge who sent me there was waiting for me outside the gate when they let me out. He took me to stay with his dad.”
“Oh?” My heart cringes thinking about a sixteen-year-old on his own.
“Yeah, he was a curmudgeon, but he was also funny. He took me in for the next two years—he made me finish high school, put up with my teenage shit, and then helped me figure out what I wanted to do with my life. He was even supportive when I told him I’d decided to come to Hollywood.”
I smile, leaning my head against his collar bone. “Well, you certainly have succeeded. I can only imagine how hard you must’ve worked to get to where you are at your age. Wait, how old are you?”
He drops a kiss on my temple. “Worried that you’ve hooked up with an old man?”
I shrug. “Some people look younger than they are.”
“I’ll be thirty-one in August.” He jostles me. “How old are you?”
“What? You afraid you’ve hooked up with a minor?”
“No. Not worried about that at all. I actually know you’re twenty-four, and possibly the youngest self-help book author I’ve ever interviewed. I wanted to see if you’d lie.”
I splash water into his face. “Why would I lie?”
“Some people lie about their age.”
“Well I wouldn’t.”
When my hair is rinsed, he takes the loofah and the soap, rubbing them together until the sponge bubbles with lather. He takes his time massaging circles over my body, my arms, my belly, my back, and even my thighs and calves, though he has to move to the other end of the tub for that.
Now, we sit face to face in the warm water, the bubbles dissipating. They no longer cover my floating tits, and Jackson’s hard cock is visible under the water.
I take his erection in hand and rub my thumb over the head. Again, my mouth waters as I recall my tongue bumping over the ridges of the vein that runs up the side of it. “Are you done here? Because I think I’m ready to get out.”