by Vanessa Page
I think Jace is shaking, too, or maybe I’m just shaking so hard he looks like he’s shivering along with me. The second the water is hotter than my body temperature, I step into the stall and under the spray, not even bothering to remove my clothes. I moan under the feel of the water warming my skin.
Jace doesn’t speak, doesn’t move. He just stands awkwardly in the middle of the room, looking everywhere but at me. As my chill subsides and my tense muscles relax under the flow of warm water, I’m finally able to see just how hard Jace is shaking. He’s trembling like a wet yorkie, even with his arms wrapped tightly around himself. I feel for the guy, but I haven’t even begun to chip away at the mud streaking my hair and skin, and I’d kill before I’d give up the much-needed heat the shower is providing me. No way am I stepping out so he can get in. But… I am still fully clothed.
“Come on,” I call to him. “You need to get warmed up and get the dirt off you too.”
He looks at me in surprise, then around the bathroom unsurely. Finally, his eyes do a quick rove down my body and back up to my face. I don’t miss the hint of color in his cheeks. “I… c-can w-w-wait,” he bites out.
“Wait? You can’t even talk.”
He doesn’t answer, just shrugs.
“Get in this shower right now,” I order him the way I would order a petulant child. “I’m not going to be responsible for your hypothermia.
His eyes narrow at me, but he nods and moves toward the shower, steps in. The space is a million times smaller with him in here. A million times more intimate. Suddenly, the shower isn’t what’s warming me, but the nearness of him. I can feel him surrounding every part of me. We’re breathing the same air. I suspect he feels it, too, because he takes a step back, presses himself against the shower wall.
Every inch he places between us makes me want to move that much closer to him. The idea that I’m making him uncomfortable sends a little thrill through me. His normally unflappable persona is cracking, and I’m finally getting under his skin. Who knew all it would take was a dunk in a mud puddle followed by a warm shower.
When Jace’s gaze dips to my lips, I lick them and have to bite back a smile when he mirrors the action.
Spurred on by his discomfort, I make a show of displaying my disgust with the rivulets of dirty water running from my clothes to circle the drain. “Tradesies,” I announce and step forward, out of the spray of water. I motion for him to take my place under the shower head, and when he does, I reach for the waistband of my leggings. He has his back turned to me, letting the water pour over his head, down his face. While he lets the jets wash the leftover mud from his hair, I slip my pants over my hips, down my legs, and kick them into a corner of the shower stall.
I’m just reaching for the hem of my shirt when Jace turns back around, wiping his hands over his eyes to clear the water before opening them. A strained noise pushes breathily through his lips when he catches sight of me in my T-shirt and panties and nothing more. “What are you doing?”
“My clothes are disgusting.” I grab the hem of my shirt and pull it upward. What I had hoped would be one smooth motion is clumsy and stilted due to the wet material. The fabric sticks to my upper arms, leaving me struggling with my arms above my head. “A little help here?”
He takes longer than he should to move, almost like he’s debating not helping me at all, debating just leaving me like that. But eventually, he does close the distance between us and raises his hands to help. He looks at the shower wall the whole time he’s disentangling me from my shirt, and that makes me want to push more. As he pulls the cotton fabric up my arms, I take a half-step forward. That’s all it takes to press my chest against his, bringing my stomach flush with his waist.
Jace hisses in a breath and steps back as though burned from the press of my skin. He holds my shirt in his hands; my arms are free. I lower them to my sides and move back toward the water. Jace is careful to keep the entire distance of the shower stall between us, shimmying around the outer edges of the space to avoid me as I cross it. He watches me warily, like I’m a danger to him. And maybe I am.
I’ve always been too busy bickering with him to think about him romantically, but something is definitely stirring now. Maybe I’m responding to the intimate setting of the half-dark bathroom and the warm shower. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m half naked in front of him. Or maybe I’m remembering the way he pulled me out of the cold water and huddled me to him as though I was the most precious thing in his world. Whatever it is, I want to explore it, and I think he wants it too. I decide then to go until he says stop.
I reach for the shampoo on the shelf next to me and poor a generous amount into my hands. I lather it through my hair. Then I tip my head back to rinse, doing my best to effect what I hope is an alluring stance. The last thing I want is to look goofy when I was going for seductive. I peek a glance at Jace through mostly closed eyes. He’s watching me openly now, unaware that I’m watching him. His eyes travel the length of my body, stopping in all my favorite places: my breasts, my hips, the space between my thighs. How see-through are my bra and matching panties? I don’t want to give myself up by looking down to see for myself, but I have a sneaking suspicion the baby pink cotton is pretty translucent now that it’s soaking wet. And if the bulge in Jace’s jeans is any indication, he’s liking what he sees. Fighting against a self-satisfied smile, I close my eyes and continue to scrub my hands through my hair.
When the shampoo is fully rinsed out, I open my eyes to find Jace looking away from me now. He’s managed to adjust himself to better hide the evidence of his arousal, I notice with a quick glance below the belt. Time to kick things up a notch. “You just going to stand there, or are you going to get cleaned up?” I ask, motioning to his clothes.
Jace swallows hard before responding. “I can just wait until you get out.”
Like I’d let that happen. “That’s stupid. What are you going to do, stand there in your cold, wet clothes for the next fifteen minutes?”
“Fifteen?” He levels a skeptical look at me.
“Uh yeah, I’m going to need at least one more shampoo before all this mud is out of my hair. Not to mention the rest of me.” I collect my wet hair and ring it out in the space between us to prove my point. The water that rinses out isn’t dark with dirt like before, but it’s not completely clear either. “Here, get out of those disgusting clothes and take the water while I shampoo again.” I step aside to allow him access to the spray, but he’s slow to accept.
Even after he accepts, he waits until he’s under the water, with his back turned to me before pulling his shirt over his head. Unlike me, he has no trouble getting his shirt off. The move reveals smooth, dark skin and corded muscle. His back is tense, his spine straight leading down to the waistband of his boxer briefs peeking over the top of his pants.
“Ick!” I exclaim. “The pants, too, buddy. I won’t be able to get my feet clean if I have to stand in the grossness coming off of them. He looks down at the shower floor behind him as if he needs to see proof that what I’m saying is true. It might be a convenient reason to get him out of his pants, but that doesn’t make it any less valid. The water coming off his jeans is still a dark shade of gritty yuck. He sighs and, a moment later, his pants drop to his feet, leaving him in only thin, gray cotton boxer briefs. The material is molded to his backside like it’s painted on, and I have to make an effort not to reach out and trace the lines of water sluicing down his back and over the round globes of his ass.
“Shampoo, please,” I request sweetly as I kick his pants to the corner next to mine.
He pours himself some shampoo, then passes the bottle over his shoulder to me. I take my time scrubbing the shampoo through my wet tresses, watching him lazily as he washes. The show would be so much better if he would turn around, but this view doesn’t suck. When I’m finished, I slip up behind him and reach my hands around to rinse them. He stiffens, but doesn’t move away from me. And when I pull my hands back, he doesn�
�t turn to face me, choosing instead to look at me over his shoulder. His dark eyes are serious, boring into me with an intensity that sets my pulse racing.
“I need the water,” I tell him, blinking up at him innocently.
Without an excuse to face away from me, Jace dips his head in embarrassment and shuffles to the side, freeing up the space directly under the shower head for me. I pretend not to notice the way he uses both hands to cover the front of his boxer briefs, more specifically the tent there.
Once again, I make a show of rinsing the soap from my hair while Jace does his best not to look at me. When the streams running off my hair flow clean and clear, I reach behind me for my bra clasp without even really deciding to. My desire to completely disrobe is more about washing away all the muck and mire that is collected there than it is about getting a rise—pun totally and ridiculously intended—out of Jace, but I’d be lying if I said part of me isn’t a little interested in seeing how far I can push him, how this will play out.
“Krys…” Jace sounds choked as he whispers my name into the small space. “Maybe you should leave that on.”
“I don’t think you understand how dirty I feel right now.”
His eyes widen at my words, and I realize the double entendre, which was nothing more than a happy accident, completely unintended. I continue fidgeting with my bra clasp, but my fingertips are pruned and clumsy, and I can’t manage the task.
“I’m having a little trouble,” I tell him and hold up my hands to show him my wrinkled fingers. “Can you help me out?” I don’t allow him a chance to answer before giving him my back so he can get the job done.
I wait for him to pull the fabric away from my skin and unclasp it, wait to feel his fingers against the sensitive skin of my back.
I wait.
And wait.
Finally, a million years later, give or take, the softest of touches lands at the curve of my shoulder and, in a painfully slow measure, moves my hair away from my neck, away from my back. Jace lays my hair over my opposite shoulder before going to work on my bra. He’s not in any hurry, though. His hands are gentle on me, almost reverent. I expected him to let go, to step back into his corner when he finishes, but when my bra finally loosens and slips away from my skin, he stays. With care, he glides his touch up my back, following the path of my bra straps up to my shoulders, then slides the thin straps down my arms. I let the garment slide off me and fall unceremoniously to the floor.
Jace isn’t just a spectator anymore. He’s participating now, an active player in this game. And that’s a hundred times more exciting than just pushing his buttons.
I turn to face him, looking him straight in the eye, daring him to either fold or make a move. He does neither. He doesn’t back away from me, but neither does he touch me. Determining to win our little staring contest, I slip my thumbs into the elastic waist of my panties and guide the fabric down, giving a little shimmy to work it over my ass and past my thighs. The movement causes my chest to brush his stomach, and he sucks in a shaky breath. But he doesn’t break eye contact.
In answer, I reach blindly toward the shelf next to me for the body wash, my fingertips fumbling for a moment before locating the bottle of peach-scented soap. I pour a handful into my palm, then run my hands together to build up a good lather.
His eyes go heavy lidded when I glide my hand up my arm to my shoulder, to my neck, to my chest, leaving a sudsy trail over my skin. My hand brushes over first one breast, then the other. I slowly wash down my stomach, my sides, my upper thighs. Then, on a stroke of inspiration, I set my hand between my legs and run just one finger through the folds there. And he breaks. His gaze dips, follows the lines of shower water washing the newly applied soap from my skin, and comes to rest where my hand is settled at the juncture of my thighs. His chest heaves with a heavy inhale of breath, but he doesn’t move. So, I do. I stroke that same finger along my fold again.
When he looks back into my eyes, there’s a question in his. I answer his unspoken inquiry by removing my hand and setting it on his chest, and he immediately covers it with his own. Before I can even draw a breath to say anything, Jace is surrounding me, pushing me back through the spray of water against the shower wall, his body holding me prisoner in the most delicious way. His hands settle at my bare hips and stay there as he presses his body into mine.
When his lips land on mine, I feel like I’ve been waiting for this moment for a thousand years, like every kiss that came before this one was a pale shadow in comparison. His lips are warm and soft and adoring, and I can’t remember anything ever feeling so good. Jace’s kiss tingles my nerve endings everywhere his mouth touches mine, but the resulting sensations are a whole-body, all-consuming pleasure. I finally understand what people mean when they say butterflies in your stomach, and the sensations don’t stop there. Warmth travels in a shiver down my spine to settle as a deep ache between my legs. I’m suddenly feeling so empty there, and I clench my thighs against body’s response.
Jace must feel the movement because he breaks the kiss and groans low in his throat, a deeply male sound of both pain and pleasure. Then he moves his hand down to where my thighs are pressed together and pulls them apart, sets his legs between them.
His erection is long and thick and hot against my stomach, and I can’t help but wish I were tall enough to rub myself against him to relieve this ache I feel for him. As if he can hear my thoughts, he sets a hand on each of my ass cheeks and lifts me up, pinning me against the shower wall with his body, and now our bodies are aligned perfectly. I wrap my legs around his waist, and his hardness presses boldly against my opening, the only barrier his soaked boxer briefs.
He thrusts against me, and my clit throbs in response even has he groans in pleasure. He does it again, and I close my eyes, throw my head back. Jace’s lips settle just below my ear and blaze a heated path over my chin, down my neck as he continues a languid rhythm of his hips rocking into mine. Pleasure builds at my core. I could come like this, and I could do it soon.
But I want to feel the smoothness of his skin against me, not his scratchy underwear. I slip my hands down his sides, crossing over where my legs are wrapped around him, and I grab on to the heavy cotton material, give it a tug, but it’s stuck on his erection. So, I try a different tack. I walk the fingers of one hand to the front of his boxer briefs, briefly brushing my palm over the tip of his cock on my way to his waistband. He moans and thrusts against my hand, but I don’t linger long enough for him to do it a second time. Instead, I dip my fingers beneath the elastic band and pull it away from his body, stretching it over his erection and down. Once I’ve freed his cock from its fabric cage, I return my hands to his hips and give the fabric another good yank. Success! His underwear give way and drop to the floor, leaving nothing between us but this raging lust I’m feeling. Judging by the way his cock throbs hard and ready against me, he feels it too.
I wrap my arms around him, digging my nails into the soft flesh of his back, and he arches against me. His hardness presses solidly against my core, and the movement creates a delicious slide through my folds. The combination of shower water and my wetness only adds to the sensation as his cock rubs my clit, rubbing, rubbing, rubbing.
“Jace,” I gasp his name. I’m so close to coming like this, without even trying. It’s not that coming is difficult for me. I can get myself off in under a minute. But normally, with a guy, I have to concentrate, really put my mind into it. But Jace is making it impossible not to orgasm. I don’t think I could stop my release if I tried.
“Hmm?” He answers against my neck as he licks and nibbles and places the softest of kisses there.
“I’m… gonna…” My words come out in a breathless whisper, and I can’t even get the sentence completely out. “Oh, fuck, Jace,” I cry as my body hinges on the precipice, teetering at the point of no return. Any second, I will fall over the edge into oblivion.
“Holy fuck, really?” His voice is awed at first, and he stops kissing my
neck to look at my face, to watch me, like he can’t quite believe he’s brought me to orgasm like this and so quickly. But he keeps going, his movements against me never faltering. I press my face against the hard muscles of his shoulder as waves of pleasure crash into me, roll over me. As my orgasm crests, taking me over completely, I whimper through the ecstasy, doing my best not to cry out too loudly so our housemates don’t hear us if they’ve come back. “Yeah, baby. Come for me,” he groans against my ear. His words are husky and thick with arousal, and my body shakes in response.
Before my orgasm has fully subsided, Jace stills against me, muscles tight, but my body is greedy, wanting to glean every last ounce of gratification from this moment. I take over the motion, rubbing myself up and down on him as I shudder. He tries to move his hips away, but I lock my legs tight behind him. “Don’t stop,” I beg.
“Oh fuck,” He bites out before burying his face in my neck. “Shit, shit, shit.” His curses are muffled against my skin as his body tightens even more. He gives one last shuddering thrust against me. Then his body stills again, and he releases a long, low moan. He jerks against me, and his moan shakes in time with the movements as the heat of his orgasm lands on my stomach in quick bursts.
When we’ve both calmed, Jace lowers me to my feet and takes a half step back. He sets a hand against my face in the sweetest of caresses and looks straight into my soul with those dark eyes of his. As the haze of my orgasm begins to fade, I realize what we’ve just done. I made out with Jace Harlow, the man who thinks I’m pure drama, and has no issues saying so. The man who has mostly avoided even being in the same room with me for almost two weeks. Not just made out with, I just came while grinding on his cock. And he just came all over my stomach. I feel his cum on me like a brand.
Suddenly the shower is too small, too warm. I make short work of washing the remnants of his orgasm away and step out of the stall, reach for the nearest towel. I’ve barely wrapped it around myself before I flee the bathroom and head for the safety of my room upstairs.