I walk to the shower and open the door. Kayla gasps, her brown eyes large, her hair darker and pinned by the water. Her hands move to her breasts to shield her as the suds from the soap follow a beautiful slippery slope down her body, moving breathtakingly slow. I take her in. All of her—from the delicate curve of her neck and shoulder, to her large breasts being held by her hands, to the way her hips flare out, to the slight curve in her stomach, and then… lower.
Everything about Kayla is feminine. I’ve always known that. For obvious reasons, I’ve never imagined what Kayla looked like under her clothes. I. Was. A. Fool. She’s not bare like so many women, like the ones I’m used to. There’s a thin line of pale hair at her entrance. It’s been neatly trimmed and it looks so uniquely Kayla and makes me ache. I knew being with her would be different than any other woman I’ve ever been with. It had to be because I care about Kayla. She’s special. Suddenly it hits me that it’s going to be different because for the first time in my life, it matters.
“White? What are you doing?” Kayla whispers.
What am I doing?
CHAPTER 19
KAYLA
White standing there is like every fantasy I've ever had come true. Then I remember I'm naked and it's rolled into one big nightmare. I try to cover myself, my hands automatically going to my boobs in defense. Then, I realize my freaking va-jay-jay is hanging out with a big sign that says: "Taco Tuesday! All you can eat!"
Okay, that part might be wishful thinking.
I turn to the side to try and hide as best as I can. This is White. I may have had this fantasy since I was old enough to crave—really crave—sex. But, it wasn't supposed to happen until I started going to the gym, maybe dropped about fifty pounds, and definitely not until I got an all over spray tan.
"Will you close the door? What's going on with you??"
"Fuck, honey," he mumbles, but he doesn't move. He doesn't do anything but stare.
"White?"
"You're beautiful," he says, his voice hoarse.
"I… are you okay?" I ask, because I have no idea what's going on here. I'm starting to think he banged his head on something. It's the only explanation I can come up with.
"I will be," he says, but he's still not looking at me. Well, my eyes, at least. I reach up to grab the towel I had thrown over the shower doorframe. "No fucking way," he growls, pulling the towel away from me.
"What is wrong with—??" I break off when he pushes into the shower, making what was once a large shower feel incredibly small. My eyes go huge, my breath lodges in my throat, and he pulls me, so I face him. His eyes are a deeper blue than I remember, or maybe it's the water that's running in them. His face is tight with tension radiating from him. Before I can question him further, he finally speaks—sort of.
"Jesus-fucking-Christ."
I jump at the harsh growl, confused and afraid to guess what's going on, even though I think I know. I hope I know.
His lips crush mine. There's not a chance for anything other than a moan as his tongue forces its way into my mouth and takes it over. I've been dreaming about our last kiss, wondering if he had the same reaction as I had to it—and being afraid he didn't. I was worried it would never happen again… and worried it might. In short, I've been a basket case. White's kiss doesn't give me time to second-guess, however. His tongue tangles with mine and immediately takes control. My hands go to this t-shirt, which is now wet and clinging to his broad body. As I lose myself in his kiss, my fingers tighten into him, clenching and holding on for dear life.
White has a hand wrapped in my hair, holding me to him. The hold is tight and a little painful, sending tiny sparks of need through my body. His lips are bruising in force as he attacks my mouth like a drowning man fighting for life. I fucking love it. For the first time in my life, I feel feminine, beautiful, and everything a man could want. That's how powerful and mind-altering White's kiss is. I feel beautiful down to my toes. The kiss goes on and on. It only stops when we're forced to break apart to drag oxygen back into our lungs.
"White?" I ask maybe for the hundredth time, the only difference being this time I don't recognize my own voice. It's too shaky, too needy.
"I think it's time I started giving you what you wanted," he says muffled because his lips have started kissing down my neck, not stopping until he sucks my aching breast into his mouth.
"What I want?" I gasp, just as his teeth pull on the tender nipple. My body literally shivers in response as wave upon wave of hunger crashes into me.
"A baby," he answers as his hand massages my other breast.