But she couldn’t think about that now. He might have made her come with his mouth and a shiny little egg, but her body still ached to be filled. If tonight was all she had, she wasn’t going to waste a moment on flashes of self-doubt.
He was bent over the tub, fingers beneath the fall of water from the tap as he adjusted the temperature.
“Shall I get into the tub?” she asked, waiting for him to turn, but she caught his reflection in the mirror and saw the way he gazed back at her, his nostrils flaring, his body tightening. She’d never felt sexier.
“Not yet,” he finally replied, leaving the water running. He strode toward the counter, pulled a towel from the rack beside it, and placed it on the counter beside the sink. “Come over here.”
She approached him just as he pulled open a drawer and pulled out an electric shaver. “Um…what’s that for?”
“I’m going to shave your pussy before I bathe you.”
Before he bathes me…?
Wait—she rolled the conversation back. “You’re going to shave me. But why?”
“Because it’s my preference. Do you have a problem with that?”
“No…no problem. But…Sarah wasn’t shaved.”
“She isn’t mine.”
Amy liked the sound of that. But for how long did he want that to be true? “And I am? But we’re just getting to know each other.”
“Sweetheart, we’ve been getting to know each other for weeks.” He opened the towel on top of the countertop. “To catch the hairs.”
“I don’t know. Maybe if you let me do this myself.”
“You’d deny me the pleasure?”
She didn’t understand how a man could derive pleasure from such an intimate task. Something in her expression must have told him so because he folded his arms over his chest, and his expression grew set and watchful.
He was firm on this point. Or was he testing her to see if she would obey? “I feel like I don’t know the rules here. I want to please you. I want this to be…perfect, but this…” she said, waving her hand at the razor. “It’s embarrassing.”
“How can this be more intimate, more embarrassing, than you letting me eat your pussy out?”
Her face burned with the memory. Yeah, that had been her on the front seat of his truck, letting him have her in full view of anyone who might have driven by. “Fine,” she said, the word clipped. She strode toward him, heat in her cheeks.
He gripped her waist, and before she could protest that she was too heavy, he’d lifted her easily to the countertop. “Oh,” she gasped.
“Open your legs and lean back. Then scoot your ass forward. I need room. And I need to see.”
Lord, she wished her thighs didn’t spread like butter over the edge of the counter, but she eased back, bracing a hand behind her for support, and then slowly parted her legs.
But he wasn’t satisfied, pressing against her inner thighs to widen them farther. Then he trailed his fingertips over her still moist folds, combing through her short curls. “Same color as the hair on your head,” he said, smiling slightly. “And thick.”
Was it an unusual amount? She hadn’t thought so, but then again she hadn’t seen many other pussies, not since gym class in high school anyway. “Would you just start?” she asked, agonized with humiliation.
His gaze lifted from her sex. “I don’t like that you’re embarrassed.”
And how am I supposed to be casual with this?
Taking a deep breath, she struggled to relax. She had promised herself she would do anything for one night with him. If letting him shave her was the cost, so be it. Mustering up her courage, she went for boldness and tried to keep the tremor out of her voice.
“Isn’t it your job to put me at ease?”
A brow lifted, but he withheld further comment and picked up the electric shaver. “I’ll use this to clear away the bulk of it, but I’ll have to use a double-edged razor to make you smooth.”
Self-doubt threatened to cripple her new adventure.
Sure, his body was to die for. But so far, he hadn’t shown any interest in putting his amazing cock into action. She wondered if he’d changed his mind, or if he had more “improvement projects” to complete before he’d be satisfied she was good enough for him.
The razor hummed louder than the egg, but her body seemed conditioned to respond to the sound. Her blood raced faster, heating her up, causing perspiration to gather on her forehead and upper lip. Her embarrassment faded as she worried about hiding her arousal, which seeped steadily toward the lips he shaved.
His thumb brushed over one side of her folds, and the razor followed, the teeth of the razor gliding across her skin and lifting tufts of her brown hair, which he efficiently plucked away and dropped into the trash can beside his feet.
She wondered at the thought and preparation that had gone into this task and felt confused by the emotions roiling inside her. Besides the waning mortification, she also felt oddly cherished.
A tall, handsome man was shaving her pussy, changing something about her appearance—that no one else would ever see or know about—to suit his own desires.
How could she argue with that? Why would she even want to try? If permitting this oddly endearing intimacy pleased him, who was she to complain?
The razor continued its monotonous hum, and she relaxed, wondering idly if it was possible to come from the vibrations. Would he be surprised?
T
he razor chuffed upward, smoothing over her mons, denuding her of hair, and then delved into the crevice between her thigh and lips.
She opened wider before he asked, and she kept staring at his hands, fascinated with the care he took. When he completed the process with the other fold, he turned off the razor and set it aside. “Into the tub with you now.”
He helped her off the counter, and she slid past him, sighing as her skin brushed his.
The water was deep, and he emptied a bottle of white liquid into the tub. With a swirl of his fingers, the scent of roses filled the air in the steamy room.
She stepped over the edge of the tall tub and sank until the milky water reached her shoulders. “This smells divine.”
“A milk bath with rosewater.”
She bit back the question she wanted to ask. Was this part of an established routine, another of his preferences with “his” women? If so, she really didn’t want to know. Instead she asked, “Will you be joining me?”
“No, thanks. I just needed the bristles softened. You can stand up now.”
She accepted the hand he held out and stood in the tub while he sat along the curved edge. He shook a can of lady’s shaving cream and then blew foam into his palm, which he used to coat her sex. The double-bladed razor he wielded next didn’t give her a moment’s worry. He’d done this before, after all.
At his urging, she placed one foot on the edge of the tub, opening herself to him, and he slowly, deftly shaved the rest of the tiny hairs away, wiping the blade with a cloth to remove the hair and keep the water clean.
When he’d finished, he swiped away the excess foam. His fingers smoothed over her folds. “Feel this,” he said, glancing up at her.
She cupped herself. It felt foreign, not like part of her body at all, that baby smoothness on her mound and pussy. Her skin was soft and so sensitive she shivered at the touch of her own fingers.
He was smiling when she lifted her gaze again to him. “Now get into the bath.”
She slid down, sighing. The temptation to keep touching herself there was so strong she placed her hands on the rim and gripped it. But soon enough, Logan gave her something else to obsess about. He stripped, seeming unaware of her staring.
This close, with all that burnished skin and his thick red-brown cock exposed, she couldn’t help but feast her eyes on his body. “Thought you weren’t going to join me,” she murmured.
“I’m not, but why get my clothes wet? Remember, I’m bathing you.” He grabbed a washcloth and sat on the tub edge again. “Where do you want me to start?”
Because her body was completely concealed beneath the milky water, some of her confidence returned. She gave him a little smile. “Can I choose the interesting bits first?”
“Things might be over pretty quick.”
“I’m getting a little anxious. I wouldn’t mind.”
He trailed a finger down her cheek. “This isn’t a race, Amy. And every part of you interests me. Will you let me explore?”
Again she swallowed, this time because her mouth had gone dry. “Then start with my toes. I’m really ticklish there, and if you get that over with first, the rest won’t be spoiled with a fit of giggles.”
With a smile, he scooted down and held out his palm. She hated giving him her foot. It was really large. She would have had to lop off her toes and half of her foot to fit it into Cinderalla’s tiny slipper.
But she relented, lifting her size eleven. “They’re kind of big,” she said, hating how unsure she felt.
Logan shrugged, beginning to rub the soapy cloth over the top of her foot. “You’re a tall girl. Besides, they’re pretty. No monkey toes. No piggy toes.”
She smiled. “You’re a strange man. I’ve watched you do some pretty nasty things, and yet you’re so nice.”
Without taking his gaze from her foot, he raised an eyebrow. “Nasty and nice can’t coexist?”
“It’s unexpected.”
“Ready?” he asked, holding up the cloth in front of the bottom of her foot.
“Oh, God. I’m going to squeal like a piglet. Had a pedicure once, and you would have sworn the woman was trying to kill me from the amount of noise I made.”
“I’ll be quick. Brace yourself.”
She closed her eyes and wrinkled her nose. Her hands clamped hard on the tub as he began to rub the terry cloth in circles on her feet. Air hissed between her clenched teeth.
“Not so bad, huh?”
“Torture,” she gritted out.
“Really?”
“Hell, yeah,” she grumbled. “Besides, I thought I was going to be delightfully debauched tonight, not tickled to death.”
“Debauched? Does anyone even use that word anymore?”
“Depends on what you read, I guess.”
“Romances?” he asked, rooting in the water for her other foot.
“Don’t make fun of me,” she said and then gasped as he began to rub the cloth along her instep.
“I wouldn’t dream of it. I thought I did a pretty good job of keeping a straight face earlier today.”
She pried her eyes open. “That’s just mean. You know I want to forget that ever happened.”
“How did it happen anyway?” he asked, sliding the soapy cloth up her calf. “I’ll admit it was the most unusual rescue I’ve ever made.”
“It was all your fault, you know,” she said, paying close attention to where he stopped—at her knee. Then he dropped the cloth into the water, soaped his hands, and began to knead her thigh with his bare hands.
“How’s that? My fault, I mean,” he said, continuing like he didn’t know she was on the edge here, hoping he’d rub closer to what ached. “Was I there in your kitchen when it happened?”
“No!” She groaned when his fingers dipped below the water to skim the crease between her inner thigh and labia. “But you were pulling into your driveway. I got a little distracted.” Just like she was now.
“You were spying on me again,” he said, squirting more soap into his palms and working a lather into her other calf, smoothing his hands in broad caresses up and down her leg.
God, what were they talking about? Spying? “I can’t help myself,” she gasped, gripping the edge of the tub again.
“I don’t mind you watching. But I like this better.” Both hands skimming her thighs disappeared into the milky water and slid up the insides to slide along the twin creases and then caress her labia.
Amy closed her eyes. Her mouth pursed to blow deep breaths between her lips. As he massaged her sex, she swallowed hard, trying to concentrate. “I like this better, too. I wondered what it would be like. Just didn’t think you’d be so persnickety.”
“Persnickety?”
He glided his fingers down, past her lips, entering new territory. The sensation—slippery soap, thick, water-softened fingers—was amazing, while his direction rang alarm bells. But she couldn’t manage a protest. It felt too divine.
“Is that even a word?” he asked softly. “Don’t tell me, another one of those romance-novel words.”
She shook her head. “No! One of my grandma’s words. Means I didn’t know you’d be so worried about cleanliness.”
“Baby, this isn’t about cleaning you up. It’s about getting you accustomed to me handling you. However I want. Touching you wherever I please.”
And it pleased him to glide his fingers over her puckered hole? Jesus.
“Did you do this with Sarah?” she blurted.
“Why are we talking about her?”
“I just wondered.”
“Sarah’s my friend. She’s Joe’s woman. His problem. I don’t think I’ll be intimate with her again.”
“Because you’re done with her? Or just because she’s Joe’s? Don’t get angry, I just don’t understand. You had sex with her. Just the other night.”
“And you can’t comprehend having sex just because it’s fun? Or because there’s a need?”
“I guess I can understand the need.” Yes, she could because his intimate ministrations were unleashing a maelstrom of need. Who knew she’d love everything he did, even this?
“I guess you do understand,” he crooned. His hands withdrew. “Put your legs over the side of the tub.”
She gripped the tub harder because she knew if she didn’t do this right she’d slide right under the water, and she didn’t want to give him a reason to laugh, didn’t want his expression to lose its heated tension.
She lifted one leg and placed it over the edge; then she lifted the other, opening herself. Her ass floated up from the bottom of the tub. Her nipples peeked from beneath the milky surface like cherries floating on a bowl of cream.
Again his arms descended, and his hands clasped her buttocks, delivering a gentle squeeze that did nothing to ease the anxiety and arousal growing inside her.
Then, with one hand supporting her bottom, fingers traced the crevice dividing her bottom. They drew downward, touching her tender, puckered hole and then circled on it.
She closed her eyes tightly. Again, because she didn’t want him to see the emotion sure to be swirling in her eyes—and because his expression had grown too intense, too frightening for her to handle.
A finger pressed against her tiny opening, the blunt tip pushing relentlessly until she breathed deeply and forced herself to relax. He wanted this. She wouldn’t deny she wanted it, too.
His finger eased inside her, and a tiny mewling cry broke between her lips.
“It’s okay,” he said, his voice tight. “This is all I’m going to do there for now. You’re tight. I won’t hurt you. But, baby, I’m so hard thinking about what it’s going to be like when you are ready for me to play there I don’t think I can wait another minute to be inside you.”
She opened her eyes and met his gaze. His skin was reddening, his cheekbones and jaw etched with straining arousal.
His finger withdrew from her ass, and he lifted her thighs back into the tub. He offered her his hand and helped her up—help she needed because her legs felt like rubber bands.
She stepped out of the tub. He already had a thick towel waiting. He wrapped her in it and then bent and picked her up.
“I’m too heavy for this,” she gasped, flinging her arms around his shoulders because she was sure he’d drop her.
“Don’t worry about me,” he said, his voice grating.
“You’re straining something. Put me down.”
“You’re straining my patience. Let me do this right,” he muttered, turning and walking through the door to his bed. He stood her beside it and pulled back the coverlet.
Her gaze snagged on the sheet he uncovered. Rose petals were sprinkled on the deep cream satin.
Her gaze came back up to his. “You did that for me?”
“You don’t like it?” he said, his expression revealing a moment of uncertain confusion.
“They’re going to stick to everything.”
A frown drew his brows together. “Let me shake them off.”
“Don’t,” she said, grabbing the arm he’d already raised. “I like it. It was just…unexpected. I would have thought…” She shook her head, afraid to say more and insult him.
“I told you. The other things I’d like to do will come later.”
To stop him from frowning and worrying about her less-than-thrilled reaction, she raised a knee and climbed onto the bed. She rolled to her back and then grabbed up some of the rose petals and placed them on her breasts, her belly, her inner thighs, where they stuck to the moisture still clinging to her skin. “I can’t believe you went to this much bother…for me.”
“You keep saying that like you don’t think you deserve it.”
“It’s so romantic. I’ve never had a man want so badly to please me.”
“I’m glad I’m the first.” His gaze raked her body, and his tense expression didn’t ease a bit. If anything, it grew darker. His eyelids grew lambent, his nostrils flared, his chest filled with a deeply drawn breath.
“Why don’t you join me?” she asked, adding a little smile. “Unless you think you’ll look foolish wearing petals, too.”
His eyes narrowed, and he climbed onto the bed, “walking” toward her on his fists and knees like a hungry predator scenting a very tasty meal.
Amy’s heart thudded in her chest, and she opened her legs and her arms, inviting him closer, begging him silently to end the torment swelling her sex and her heart.
He came over her, his knees roughly shoving her thighs wider, his hands landing on either side of her shoulders. Poised above her, he gazed down between their bodies.
She followed his slow glance, watched the tremors shivering across her belly and the telltale jerks of his cock each time her shivers touched him.
“We should talk.”
She dragged her gaze upward reluctantly. “About?” she asked, trying not to wail. She was within moments of easing the ache he’d built inside her, and he wanted a conversation?
“How many lovers have you had?” he growled.
What was the right answer? Given his handsome looks, she guessed she’d hate his answer, but hers was dismally unimpressive. He’d know how unattractive she was. Would he rethink what he ever saw in her?
“Have there been so many you have to think about it?” he asked, his voice roughening.
“No!” she said, fighting for composure that was rapidly deserting her. “Three. One in high school. Two in college. None since I graduated and started teaching here,” she admitted in a rush.
“How long ago?”
“Since I’ve slept with anyone?” she asked, her voice rising.
He nodded sharply.
“Four years. Why?”
“You should be asking me some questions now.”
But she didn’t want to know. She wanted to get
busy
! “How many?” she asked.
“Can’t count.”
“And I already know about your last. So we’re done, right?”
“I didn’t always use a condom with her. With Sarah.”
“Do you have one? Do we need it? I’m on the pill. Periods.”
His eyes squeezed shut, and his cock rubbed against her belly; then he jerked it back. “I’m a fucking selfish prick.”
“Because you don’t want to use one? I get that. And I don’t care.”
“No. I told you I wouldn’t hurt you. Fuck!” He reached to the nightstand and jerked open the drawer, drawing out a packet, which he ripped open with his teeth. The rubber fell onto her chest among the petals still sticking to her skin.
She grabbed it and then thrust her hand between them, wrapped her long fingers around his cock, and rolled it down his shaft.