More loved, whispered a little voice in my head. But I pushed it away. That was silly—I couldn’t love Salt and he couldn’t love me. We were partners and that was all we were. All we could ever be. Right?
Right, I told myself as he squeezed more peach body wash on the cloth and prepared to scrub my bare breasts.
But the minute the wet terrycloth made contact with my sensitive nipples, I winced and jerked away.
Salt was instantly alert.
“Problems?” he inquired anxiously. “Did I hurt you?”
“Not you exactly.” I frowned at the washcloth. “It’s that damn cloth—it’s really rough.”
“Oh?” Salt frowned and rubbed the terrycloth between thumb and fingers. “Feels all right to me.”
“Because you’re just touching it with your hand,” I pointed out. “Look, I can’t help it, Salt. I’ve always had very…very sensitive nipples.” I felt my cheeks getting hot but went on anyway. “It’s a problem sometimes when I’m trying to find bras. And in the shower, I never use a sponge or scrubbie on them.”
“Then what do you use?” he asked and I could hear the frown in his deep voice even though I wasn’t looking at him directly.
“Well,” I said awkwardly. “Just my hands, mostly.”
“Do you wish for this?” Salt murmured. “For me to put down cloth and just use my hands?”
I bit my lip, imagining how that would be—having my partner’s big, warm hands all over my bare breasts. I had never admitted it to Salt and had tried to forget it myself, but I’d actually had several erotic dreams about my partner that went along those lines.
You shouldn’t, whispered a voice in my head. It’s crossing the line. But wasn’t that a line I had already crossed when I took Mandy’s dare to suck my partner under the table at dinner? How much worse could it be to let him wash my breasts? And after all, we had to do this for the case—we had to make it look real, I argued to myself.
“Andi…mishka?” Salt asked in my ear and I realized I was taking too long to answer.
“Yes,” I whispered, nodding my head. “Yes, Salt, just…just do it.”
“As you wish,” he said simply, hanging the cloth over the side of the tub. He drizzled a few drops of the peach body-wash onto his fingers and rubbed them together until they were slippery. Then, gently, he cupped my breasts in his big hands.
I sucked in a breath as I felt him stroke upward, lightly brushing over the outer curves of my breasts. Even that barely-there caress had my body humming and I found I wanted more.
Hardly aware of what I was doing, I pressed my breasts forward, more fully into his hands. I was hoping that Salt would understand what I wanted.
To his credit he seemed to get it. Long fingers traced delicately around the wide pink bands of my areolas, almost but not quite touching my nipples. He was either trying to be very careful or he was teasing me on purpose.
“Salt!” I protested breathlessly as his fingers slowly circled me. “It’s okay—I told you I won’t break! You can…can touch me—I mean wash me—harder than that.”
“Like this, do you mean?” He stroked firmly over my aching nipples, making me moan.
“Yes,” I gasped. “Just…just like that. Only more.”
“As you wish, mishka.” He took my tight, pink peaks between his thumbs and forefingers and tugged gently but firmly.
A sudden bolt of lightning seemed to go through me and I groaned and threw my head back against his broad shoulder. I pressed my breasts up and out, trying to get more of his addictive touch.
Salt made a soft, deep noise of approval low in his throat. He pinched my tight buds carefully, teasing me with the sensation—he seemed to know exactly how I wanted and needed to be touched. And I swore that every movement of his big hands on my breasts resulted in an equal bolt of pleasure shooting down to my pussy as well.
“Do you like this, mishka?” he murmured in a low voice as he stroked and teased my sensitive nipples. “Do you like to feel my hands on your sweet, full breasts?”
“You…you know I do,” I whispered, unable to lie.