by Shari Copell
“I get that men are visual, but you’re entirely too focused on seeing me. It’s embarrassing. Get in the shower and turn your back first, and I’ll get in with you.”
The goddamned water had been running for ten minutes, making the bathroom as hot and steamy as a sauna.
Stone tilted his head. “Okay, but if you chicken out on me, I’m coming out to get you. I’ll hold you down and strip every stitch of your clothing off myself if I have to.”
She grinned. “That sounds like fun, but you won’t have to. Get in the shower, Jensen.”
It took every bit of strength Stone possessed not to seize her and throw her in the shower ahead of him. He’d deal with her jeans once he got her in there. Well, maybe not. Wet jeans were notoriously stubborn to remove.
He sighed softly, taking care not to let her hear his frustration. He was just going to have to be patient.
“Okay, I’ll get in. But if you don’t come in with me, I meant what I said. I have no problem throwing you over my shoulder and giving you the caveman treatment.”
“I heard you the first time.”
“Here I go. Watch me.” He cupped his hands over his hard cock as best he could, turned, and slid the frosted glass shower door open. With one last look at her, he stepped inside.
He shivered as the warm water hit his back. After a moment, the rustle of clothing could be heard over the hiss of the water.
He smiled as he stared into the corner of the shower. He didn’t think she’d back out. She wanted this as much as he did, but underneath that concrete-and-nails exterior, she was quite shy. There was that trust again, and it made him love her even more.
The shower door slid open. He closed his eyes and bit his lip. She was just seconds...inches... away from him. He’d dreamt so often of this day, yet never dared to believe it would happen.
He held his breath as she stepped into the shower. She hadn’t touched him yet, but he reacted as if she had, cringing, bumping against the wall.
The peaks of her breasts pressed against his back first, the nipples crested in the warm water, brushing him gently. His cock reacted as though it had a mind of its own. He reflexively put both hands over it again.
The rest of her was soon pressed along the length of him. Her mons tickled the top of his thigh, her smooth, taut belly curved against one of his butt cheeks. She was hot, even hotter than the water that cascaded over their bodies.
He glanced down and back, at her tiny bare feet on either side of his larger ones. She really was in here with him. He wasn’t hallucinating.
His balls contracted up, nearly into his throat, when her hand skimmed along his waist and over his belly in the front, one finger playing in the dark line of hair that went from his navel to his... Oh dear God, her hand was only two inches from the head of his cock.
He couldn’t stand it any longer. “Jesus Christ, Nicks! How long do you intend to torture me like this?”
“You can turn around now.” He didn’t know whether to laugh or be pissed at the mirth in her voice.
He took his time doing it, though he was burning with impatience. He was about to lay eyes on the woman he loved, naked, for the first time. Moments like this needed to be drawn out, made to last as long as possible. He wanted to remember it always.
She released him from the embrace as he spun around to face her. Her eyes were alight with rich tones of brown and sparkling gold, like copper coins lying in a barely sunlit alcove. He saw love there...and a little fear.
The thought struck him like lightning: This is going to be your first time too, Stoney. This wasn’t a quick jump with a groupie in the back seat of a car. It wasn’t merely a physical release for him. Making love to her would be a sacred mingling of souls and hearts, and when it was over, they would belong to each other.
Silly stuff. Knock it off. It certainly wasn’t very macho of him to get all sentimental and gooey-eyed over her. He was pissing all over the Rock God Code of Conduct with that kind of thinking. It wasn’t how male musicians behaved.
I don’t care. I don’t want that kind of life anymore.
He brushed a wet thumb across her cheek as a sizzling current of emotion hit him right in the heart. Being with Nicks tonight would finally make him a man.
“What are you thinking?” she whispered as she studied his face.
“Lots of things. How much I love you. How freaking lucky I am to have you. How perfect we are for each other.”
“Really?” The hesitation he’d seen in her eyes suddenly vanished.
“Uh huh.” He bent his head down to hers so that their lips nearly touched. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking you’re the only man who has ever gotten this close to me. And it feels right. I keep trying to find a reason why I should stop you.” She gave a little puff of breath against his mouth. “And I can’t think of anything.”
“Don’t stop me, Nicks. Please…” Nearly mindless with need, he claimed her lips with his own.
Her knees buckled slightly; she fell against the side of the shower. He followed her with his body, gripping her right hip and left ass cheek with tense fingers, pulling her to him even as he crushed her against the wall. He kissed her hard, so hard he bruised his own lips against his teeth. So much for his promise to be gentle. He was trying, but he just wanted her so damned bad.
Fighting to get a grip, he backed away and stared. The expression on her face was a blend of What the fuck was that? and Do that again!
“We need to wash up and get out of here before this ends in the shower.”
“I agree,” she said breathlessly.
He turned to retrieve the soap from the shelf molded into the wall. Soaping up a wet wash cloth, he turned back to her. “May I?”
“Yes.”
Running the wash cloth over her golden-rose skin, he studied the fine bone structure of her shoulders. He was struck dumb by her throat. She reminded him, not for the first time, of a sculpture you’d see in a museum. The delicate muscles surrounding her Adam’s apple pulsed as she swallowed.
“Dare I go lower?” Checking with her before making a move was an absolute must. Tonight needed to totally be on her terms. He didn’t want anything he did to make her uncomfortable.
“Yes.” She straightened in front of him.
He lowered his eyes to her breasts and thought he was going to pass out. High and round, smooth and curvaceous. Not too large, but not too small. A generous handful, way more than a mouthful. Faint tan lines where she’d been out in the sun in a very skimpy bikini. Her dark rose nipples were tight beads atop lighter rose areolas. Dear Lord, give me strength.
He slid the wash cloth down over her upper chest, stopping just above her right breast. She exhaled slowly and closed her eyes.
Reverently, gently, he moved his cloth-covered hand over the mound of her breast then decided the damned washcloth was just in his way. He dropped it to the floor of the shower and moved his hand up the curve of her waist. Cupping her breast gently, he lowered his head and drew the nipple into his mouth.
“Holy fuck!” She gasped and swayed slightly.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. “Beyond anything I ever imagined.”
“My God, that feels good. Don’t stop.”
He was happy to comply with her request. Her breast was heavy in his hand; the nipple taut against his lips. “I hope you don’t mind me asking—do you ever touch yourself?”
She opened one eye and gave him a slight smile. “Sometimes. Not usually there though.”
He straightened and kissed her neck. “Do you ever stroke your clit?”
“Hell, yes.”
He caught his breath. His secret wet dream was to watch a woman touch herself. “Will you show me?”
She hesitated for a moment then moved her hand downward. The tip of her right middle finger disappeared within the folds of her pussy, right beneath the neatly trimmed patch. He stopped breathing as her finger moved in slow spirals over a clit he cou
ldn’t see.
“It feels awesome when I’m wet.”
“Are you wet?” he asked. Her eyes were glassy, languid. Maybe there was even a little desperation there.
“Soaked.” She played for several minutes as he watched her, so close to losing it he had to think about restringing one of his guitars to pull himself back from the edge. She was pure sensual pleasure wrapped in warm skin. It should be against the law to be so damned sexy.
His self-control nearly shattered to atoms when she arched her back, moaned, and shivered against him. “Come, baby. Come for me.” She obliged him beautifully. More than once.
Breathing heavily, she collapsed against the side of the shower. When she recovered a bit, she took him by the hand. “You do it now.”
“Do what?” Surely she wasn’t asking him to jack off in front of her!
“Touch my clit.”
It would be my pleasure!
He held her gaze as he sought and found her center. He smiled when she forced herself against his hand. She wasn’t kidding—she was soaked. The small bump of her clit slipped between his fingers. Dipping into her wetness, he stroked her lightly.
“There?”
She jerked forward. “Uh huh. Right there.”
“Your pussy is at least two hundred degrees.”
“Uh huh.”
“You like that?”
“Uh huh.”
Her eyes were closed now. She gripped his shoulders with both hands, gasping as he played. Was there anything softer and sweeter than a woman’s pussy? Not in this life. He ran his fingers lower, along the smooth outside of her slit. Moving still lower, he found her slick entrance and pushed a finger gently inside her.
She lurched forward against him. “Jesus!”
“You don’t do this to yourself?”
“Not very often. I get everything I need when I spank Minnie Pearl.”
“Really? We’re getting out.” He turned toward the door, but she stopped him with a hand on his arm.
“But I didn’t wash yet!”
Damn women and their need to be fresh as freakin’ daisies! He picked up the soapy cloth and gently washed between her legs.
She parted them slightly to make it easier for him. “Let me fix this moment in my mind forever. Stone Jensen standing in my shower, washing my V. It’s a crazy world, isn’t it?”
Stone barely gave Nicks time to dry off before he swept her up in his arms and carried her to the bed. He laid her down so slowly it felt as though she were suspended in mid-air for a few seconds. Every move he made seemed to tighten the knot of sexual tension inside her.
Half-crazed, he gripped the towel she’d used to cover herself in a tight fist, yanked it hard, and flung it to the floor.
The flickering light from four candles made her room feel like a fantasy world. She couldn’t take her eyes off his face. With his long, wet hair, dark eyes, and clenched jaw, he put her in the mind of a fierce Pagan prince about to claim his bride. She bit her lip to keep from smiling. The revolving litany of scenarios she used when she pleasured herself just happened to include a prince that looked exactly like him. She didn’t have to conjure him up from the depths of her imagination anymore. He was standing right in front of her with an absolutely massive hard-on.
Speaking of which…she hadn’t yet had the chance to inspect him while he was naked. She let her gaze trail away from those warrior’s eyes, down over his chest.
A man comfortable in his own skin and sexy as hell. His arms were muscular and well-defined from years of loading and unloading band equipment. The rest of his body was all rock star. Long torso. Lean and wiry. Barely defined abs. Not a hair to be found anywhere on his chest. It started below his naval, a narrow line of soft, dark hair that blended into his...
He was hard as hell, not incredibly long but quite thick. Full testicles nestled into the junction of his muscular thighs. A wave of tickles hit her right in the clit.
It still seemed unreal. This man was going to touch her, make love to her. His cock would soon be in her and then...
Women threw themselves at men like Stone Jensen. Nicks wanted to make sure this night was burnt into his brain. She wanted to make sure he never looked at or thought about another woman again.
Shifting her gaze back up to his face, she was amused to find him perusing her body the same way. “What’re you doing up there?”
“Same thing you’re doing down there.”
“I’m cold.” She rolled off the bed, turned down the comforter, and climbed back in. “C’mon. Get in here.”
He slid in beside her then rolled on top of her. She sucked in air, totally unprepared for the way his bare skin felt against hers. Like a warm velvet blanket.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing. You’re just so warm. And you’re much softer than I thought you’d be.” She smiled and added hastily, “In a good way.”
“You’re pretty soft too,” he whispered. His hands traced up her ribs and wandered over her breasts. “I’m not going to ask permission to touch you anymore. I’m assuming, since you’re naked in bed with me, that you want me to touch you. Okay?”
“Okay.” She closed her eyes as he buried his face in her neck, sucking and biting and licking. Dear God, that tongue was amazing. “I hope this doesn’t hurt.”
“What?”
“Doing it for the first time. I’ve heard yes, and I’ve heard no. You seem awfully…large. I just wondered.”
“I really don’t know.” He pushed himself up on one elbow and smoothed her hair back with his other hand. “I am going to do everything in my power to make this an enjoyable experience for you. I’ll try to be gentle, but if something makes you uncomfortable, you need to stop me. I never, ever want to hurt you.”
The only way she was going to stop him is if the house were on fire.
She was crying, for God’s sake. And for the most ridiculous reason.
Nicks rolled over. Her naked Pagan prince lay facing her, knees drawn up slightly, his face relaxed in sleep. Moonlight coming through the blinds threw a soft glow over his shoulder, illuminating his sharper features. He was so beautiful.
If she was unsure about Stone being a keeper before, she had no doubts at all now. The poor man had been at the limits of his sexual endurance—he’d told her several times through gritted teeth that he just wanted to bang the hell out of her—but he’d taken his time with her. He’d been so very gentle that it brought tears to her eyes.
She replayed the memory of their lovemaking in her head. The feel of his fingers brushing across her nipples, his kisses, the way he smelled. The way it felt the first time he’d pushed into her. Oh, my God, you are the sexiest man.
She especially loved the way he’d groaned deep in his throat when he came. All three times.
“No going back, Jensen,” she whispered to the sleeping man. “We belong to each other now.”
“Nicks!”
It was one helluva way to be pulled from the depths of sleep. Nicks shot up from the bed, prepared to shove her fist down Stone’s throat for screaming in her ear like that.
Except he wasn’t in the bed beside her. He was on the floor, swearing a blue streak.
“What the hell is the matter with you?” She gripped the sheet with a fist as she glared at his head, a shadow bobbing in the dark.
“What’s the matter with me? Why is your father home already?”
“My father isn’t home. What are you talking about?”
“Then who the hell screamed ‘Stone’ in my ear?” He shook his head. “I’m half deaf now.”
Nicks got her first feeling of foreboding. “He didn’t say ‘Stone’. He said ‘Nicks’. In my ear.”
“I sure as hell know the sound of my own name.” He rose to his feet and got back into bed with her.
“I’m not going to call you a liar. But I heard him say my name. Just inches from my ear.”
“Well, I heard him yell mine. Loud enough that it blew me ou
t of bed.”
Everything went still for a heartbeat. Then Nicks spun to her side and snapped on the lamp. Her gasp brought Stone up behind her to peer over her shoulder.
“What is that? Where did it come from?” She blinked and stared at the green spiral-bound notebook lying on the nightstand.
“Uhm... a notebook?”
“I can see that. It wasn’t there when I blew out the candles.”
“Well, it didn’t show up out of thin air.”
She turned to him. “Are you sure about that?”
He took a few moments to answer. “I guess not.” He sat up behind her. “Bring it over here and let’s have a look at it.”
“No way. I don’t want to touch it.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, it’s just a notebook.” Stone rolled across her, snatched the notebook from the nightstand, and sat back.
She followed it with her gaze, hoping it wouldn’t sprout fangs and eat them both. “Yeah. A notebook that showed up out of nowhere. Like those three picks.”
He gave her a pensive look. “It says Rock’n Tapestries on the front, so it must be...”
“That’s my mother’s handwriting.”
“Then it must be your mother’s.” He smiled at her. It was meant to reassure, but it fell short. Disembodied voices screaming in your ear. Shit materializing out of nowhere. No amount of smiling was going to make her feel better about that.
She ran a hand through her tangled hair. “That still doesn’t explain where it came from. Stone, I’m telling you...I’ve never seen it before. It wasn’t there when we came home last night.”
“I have to agree with you. I didn’t see it either.” He opened the cover of the notebook. Lying inside against the white paper was a gold, heart-shaped locket on a chain. The letter C was engraved on the front.
“It looks like a journal of some kind.” Nicks leaned over for a closer inspection. The page beneath the locket was filled with her mother’s handwriting. My name is Chelsea Whitaker was written in large block letters at the top of the page.