Here Comes Trouble Page 0,48
desire to have her. He’d wanted to take her, to have her, to slake needs, his…and hers. And they’d done all that, and more.
So, it was curious now, not that he wanted her again, but that the needs behind it were different. He wanted to…what? Romance her? That wasn’t really it. And he didn’t know her well enough to call it lovemaking. That felt like something that required at least reaching some deeper level of affection. And it wasn’t that he felt sorry for her, for what the last person she’d trusted with her heart, her body, had done to her. He hated that, to be sure, but that wasn’t why his heart felt all kind of wobbly and weak when he looked at her.
He merely knew he wanted to give her pleasure, and take care of her in a way that wasn’t just about slaking needs and having mind-blowing sex. He wanted to give her…more. Get her off that wobbly, vulnerable edge, at least where this was concerned. Bring that other part he knew of her, the direct, confident part, to this. All of this.
He was reaching for her without really knowing what in the hell he was actually thinking, or even wanting. Maybe this wasn’t about her at all, or that sad look he’d seen in her eyes, or the way she’d had to talk herself into having sex she obviously wanted. Maybe this was about him. He wasn’t sure he really cared. And he knew he was tired, damn tired, of thinking about every last thing. He just wanted to feel. To do what felt natural, what felt right, and to hell with everything else.
Because, for once, maybe for the first time ever, there was nothing else.
He took her shoulders, gently, in his hands, and she didn’t jump, so she’d been aware he was standing behind her all this time. But she hadn’t turned, hadn’t looked at him. He turned her to him, into him, into his arms. It was a confined space, a small circle of curtain surrounding them, filled with steam and the spray of hot water. He tipped her mouth up to his and took it slowly, in a deep, searching kiss. It wasn’t about demanding or claiming, or anything even carnal, really. It was just about connecting, joining, feeling. His eyes had drifted shut, so it took him a second, or maybe two with the water cascading down over them, for him to taste the saltiness on her wet lips.
He paused, opened his eyes, and blinked away the water to see that there were tears on her cheeks. Confounded, he didn’t know what to say, or do for that matter. But then she was weaving her fingers into the hair at his neck, urging his mouth back down to hers. And he knew he should be concerned, should worry that whatever this was for him might be construed differently by her. But her mouth was on his, seeking, tasting, feeling. And it was exactly what he wanted.
So he kissed her back, pulled her more fully into his arms, and kissed her until the salty tang went away. She was slick and lithe and perfect in his arms. Her fingers dug into his scalp, and their kisses became deeper, longer, if not more urgent. His body recharged slowly, and grew achingly, fully to life. She moved against him, trapping the length of him between her belly and his. He thought, briefly, about the scratches, but when he tried to shift back, she dug her fingertips in deeper and urged him to stay where he was by sliding her tongue more deeply into his mouth.
This was what he wanted. Her, all of her, the parts that were direct, the parts that were a bit needy, all wrapped up into this. Into him. Eventually he shifted and reached for the soap that hung from a rack hooked to the overhead spray. He squeezed some in his hand and began stroking the lather into her skin. The tight quarters prevented him from moving too far down, much less crouching, but what he could reach he took his time with. She was making small whimpers, deeper moans, when he slid his hands between her legs. He pulled her back against his chest and soaped her breasts with one hand, while bringing her to a slow, shaking climax with the other.
She tipped her head back on his shoulder as her body continued to quake and shudder. He leaned down