her taste. Or even better, to paint it over her nipples and then suck them clean. His cock flexed and he held back a groan. He was on the precipice of losing his control. This had been a bad idea. If she could push him to this point with him simply touching her, he was in trouble.
He reached out and turned off the shower. Her eyes fluttered open, the daze of orgasm still heavy in her expression. Her hands slipped off the bar and she pushed her sopping hair away from her face. “Wow, that was…I don’t usually…”
He smiled, though the effort was strained from his own keyed-up state. “Feel better?”
“So much better. Thank you.” She pushed off the wall and reached for the nape of his neck. He watched the play of desire move over her features, loving the way her fingers tightened against his skin. He found himself contemplating how easy it would be to loosen that towel, bind her arms with it, and take her right there against the shower wall. Her look said she would let him. But before he could truly lose all sense of right and wrong, she lifted up on her toes, her face moving toward him. Panic zipped through him like an electric bolt when he realized what she was going to do, and he instinctively moved his head to the left, dodging the kiss.
She blinked up at him, surprised by the quick movement, then she registered what he’d done. A cold mask crossed over her features.
“Charli, we can’t, I can’t—”
She grabbed the top of her towel, which was now sagging with the weight of all the water, and held it tight, not looking up. “Right. I get it.”
“Charli,” he repeated.
“No, really. It’s fine. I got off, and that’s what I asked for. Much obliged. You can go now.”
He wanted to explain, to reach out and fix that wounded expression. But the damage was already done. And having her think he didn’t want to take this anywhere was for the best. Max didn’t send his sister here so that Grant could get her into his bed. And hell, he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d had vanilla sex with anyone. This had been a mistake all around. She was everything he didn’t look for in a woman.
Too bad his dick didn’t give a damn about any of that.
He stepped out of the shower, his wet boots leaving puddles on the floor. “I’m sorry, Charli.”
She turned her back to him. “Shut the door behind you.”
He did exactly that, heading out of the house and leaving a wet trail behind him.
And the asshole award goes to…
The air outside had turned cooler and chilled his clothes against his skin as he made his way back to his cabin. Served him right for losing control like that. He should’ve walked straight out that door in the first place. If she had needed a release, she could’ve handled that herself. She didn’t need him to come in and save the day. The move had been selfish on all levels.
By the time he reached his place he was cold, pissed, and tired. But unfortunately, the miserable walk back to his cabin and a heaping pile of guilt hadn’t been enough to quell the hard-on from hell. He was now walking with a full hitch in his giddyup. The sound of Charli’s sexy sighs as she came was burned into his brain.
He could head back to The Ranch and find someone to scene with for the night. But he’d never been a fan of fantasizing about one person while you fucked another. When he was with a submissive, he wanted it to be all about that woman. Otherwise, what was the point?
So as soon as he kicked his door shut behind him, he stripped out of his wet clothes and headed to his own shower. Charli would probably still be taking hers, sans towel—water running in rivulets down her freckled skin, soap sliding over her perfect handful breasts and along her belly, suds creeping down between her thighs where the lips of her sex would still be swollen and pink from orgasm. He imagined stepping in behind her, taking the soap, and washing her backside. She would yield to his touch, beg for it. He could cup her ass and press the ridge of his cock against her, tasting her neck.
The hot water hit him with a blast, and he let it envelop him for a moment as it chased away the chill, and he got lost in the fantasy. He leaned back against the tiled wall and reached for the soap, creating a lather that he wished he could rub on Charli. But instead, he moved his hand down and grasped his cock, coating himself in the slippery liquid and stroking. A hard shudder went through him as he imagined his own grip was really the hot clasp of Charli’s body around him.
He moved up and down the length, sparing any finesse. He liked to give it rough, and he liked to get it the same way. His fist went on autopilot as his mind continued to weave images of Charli against him, around him…tied up for him, begging him, those green eyes drunk on pleasure instead of wine. The sound of soap against skin filled the shower, mixing with the steam and the pounding water. His knees tried to buckle beneath him as the pressure built low and fast.
He splayed his hand against the side wall, hanging on, and then sensation exploded through his system, shooting down his spine and radiating outward. Charli’s name sat full on his lips as his hard, pulsing release splashed against his abdomen and the shower wall.
He leaned his forehead against the shower door, his breath rasping out of him as his cock went soft in his hand. The water turned cool long before he had the desire to open his eyes to his always-empty cabin.
Charli pulled her hair into a twist and kicked up the volume on the small radio in the cabin’s bedroom. This place was too damn quiet, especially at night. And who would want to stay anywhere without a television?
Serenity made her antsy. She’d had better luck relaxing by riding roller coasters or learning to kickbox. Things that turned the adrenaline up and her mind off. Things like getting pressed up against a shower wall by a fully clothed cowboy and riding his hand until her brain exploded.
That had been a pretty big adrenaline rush—well, up until she’d realized she was the only one into it. That the mere thought of kissing her had made him recoil.
God, what had she been thinking? Talk about making a fool of herself. Nothing like coming across as desperate and sex-starved.
And drunk.
She couldn’t forget that part.
Nice job, Beaumonde.
She sat on the edge of the bed, trying to shake off the memory, and booted up her iPad so that she could catch SportsCenter and her own station’s end-of-the-day wrap-up show. The sports radio was not cutting it. And after her long day of purposely avoiding Grant and then an evening chasing down a lead that didn’t pan out, she was ready to relax, watch the night’s highlights, and get to bed. Plus, the network was going to introduce Blondie as the new sidelines reporter on-air and for some reason, Charli felt compelled to watch it.
The screen came to life, but when she tried to access the Internet, she got the no signal message. “You’ve got to be freaking kidding me.”
When
