But as I turn to walk away, I feel wet fingers on my hand, and he’s right there, naked, dripping, and pulling me into the bathroom. His fingers are on the zip of my dress pulling down, and then he’s slipping the dress over my shoulders, and sliding it down my body until it’s just a puddle of fabric around my feet on the floor.
He flicks apart the clasp of my strapless bra easily, lets it drop. His eyes are on mine as he pushes his fingers beneath the elastic of my underwear, pulls it down my legs. I step out of them, and for only the second time ever I’m naked in front of him, bared to him.
His eyes travel slowly up and down my body, and a moment longer I might have gotten nervous or insecure, but he doesn’t let it go that long. He wraps me up into his arms, pulls me tight against his slick body, his hard manhood pressed up between us, and he whispers into my ear, “I’ve missed you so fucking much.”
I let him guide me into the shower, and once we are both under the hot stream of water, he worships me.
His lips run a fiery trail from my chin to my ear, down my neck to my shoulder, and across my collar bone. His hands and fingers touch every inch of my body, savor my curves, knead me and caress me, get me all wound-up.
I find his lips, seek his kiss, and he claims mine, a kiss somehow both tender and powerful, as if he means to tell me that he’ll treasure me, but that I’m also his, and his alone.
His lips are so soft against me, but every now and then I feel the press of his teeth, just a teasing, gentle bite, and it makes me smile, makes me hum.
But then he breaks the kiss, and he does something really strange… strange to me, at least. Something I would never have expected.
He begins to wash my hair. He does it with a kind of determined concentration and care, making sure that no shampoo gets into my eyes. It’s the most thorough wash I can remember, and when he conditions my hair, he rubs it into every single strand of hair methodically, and I am reminded of calculating way in which he wrapped my hands with the fighting tape.
I find it strange because it is so totally at odds with what I know of him so far. What I see on the outside is a hard, tattooed body of someone who does what he wants. I see a cage fighter, someone who beats other people up simply because he’s good at it.
I never expected that he could be like this. I feel like something delicate in his large, strong hands, something small, but I feel safe. His hands are not rough with me, they are only caring.
“It’ll all be okay,” he tells me, as if I’m the one who just found out that all the other bosses would be bringing in their best fighters to try and break me. As if I’m the one who has to climb into that cage and fight a man who is going to stop only two inches short of snapping my neck.
He rinses my hair, and when I shut my eyes to stop water from getting in them, I feel his lips close around my lower lip, and he bites it.
I grin, try to kiss him back but he pulls away, and then when I’m not expecting it he takes my lip again playfully, kisses me again.
I fall into him, wrap my arms around him, determined not to let him pull away again, and his kiss grows hungry, urgent, and our tongues dance, and the shower washes away the taste of him to my dismay.
We kiss for ages, holding onto each other, and with my confidence growing, I reach down in between us and grip onto his manhood, start pumping him.
“What are you doing?” I breathe as he turns me, wraps me up from behind. My back is against his chest, and I can feel his hard body, his heat, and I hold onto his powerful arms, let him kiss the back of my shoulder, right where it touches my neck.
I feel a longing for him in my belly, and when his hands run up my sides, over my curves, roam my body, I arch my back, turn my head up toward his chin and neck.
In his arms, I let him touch me, run his hands up and down my body, roll my nipples and squeeze my breasts, bring me to the tips of my toes.
“You’re so fucking sexy,” he says.
His hot breath on my neck makes me feel so wobbly, and constantly in my mind is the thought that I can’t believe we’re doing this, here, now. Dad and Frank could come home at any minute!
His hand runs over my belly, and my longing for him grows, and I feel hot beneath my skin, hot down there.
His fingers sidle slowly south until he reaches the bulge of my pearl. I’m breathing hard against him, and I reach behind me, grip onto his hardness, hold him, feel his desire for me. His breath quickens, the movements of his chest speed up.
“Fuck, Dee,” he growls. “I want you so fucking much.”
His fingers dip into me for a moment, and I feel how slick I am, how swollen I am for him. It’s fleeting, a hint of pleasure, and then he pulls his finger up, pulls a moan from my mouth, and starts to rub my clit.