by Amy Andrews
“In my shower,” she said quickly. “By myself. Not this one. I have one. Of my own.” She pointed down the hallway, where the two bedrooms were located. “In my en suite.”
He didn’t say anything, just nodded, clearly amused, before disappearing into the bathroom.
Em didn’t stick around, whirling on her heel and scurrying to the kitchen. She flattened her palms on the central bench and took some deep, steadying breaths.
Christ. Was it possible to have babbled any more?
She vaguely heard the shower turn on and shut her eyes as images of a wet Linc with spiky eyelashes and cold, erect nipples came back to taunt her. Except they wouldn’t be cold now, would they? The water would be hot, probably steaming hot.
Every part of him would be warm and supple and tactile.
She sighed just thinking about it. Thinking about running her tongue over male nipples and her hands over his chest, feeling the bumps of his abs and the give of his biceps. Tracing her fingers over the words tattooed on the broad flat of his pectoral muscle.
She shivered, opening her eyes. Pull yourself together, woman. Soup. Shower. Show. And do not, under any circumstances, think about a naked Lincoln Quinn.
In her shower. All alone…
…
Linc was cold to the bone as he stepped into the shower cubicle, but it didn’t last long. The aromas of her enveloped him on a cloud of steam. The other night it had been champagne and strawberries, but right now it was coconut and something else that was richer, spicier. It was intoxicating, and he shut his eyes, dragging the smells deep into his lungs.
His eyes fluttered open again, coming to rest on a bra and a pair of panties slung over the top of the fixed glass portion of the sliding door. She’d obviously washed them and left them out to dry.
“You’re fucking kidding me,” he whispered.
Was the woman trying to kill him?
The overhead light shone on the fabric and he could see the lustre of it—some kind of satin in a dark blue colour. There wasn’t a lot to the panties. It wasn’t a thong, but they didn’t look like they’d cover much, either, and he could picture them riding high on the cheeks of her ass. There was a little silvery bow at the midway point in the front where it dipped into a little V.
Jesus. Blue and silver? It had to be the Smoke colours?
The bra was no better. It was obviously a matching set, with padded satin demi cups. Fuck, he loved demi cups. Given how much lingerie he saw, Linc was an expert.
Hell, he was a connoisseur.
A little silver bow nestled between the cups. It didn’t take any imagination to picture the firm, high swells of her breasts presented like sweet fruit in those half cups.
And they were just hanging there. Taunting him. Putting all kinds of pictures in his head about naughty school teachers wearing sexy lingerie beneath their prim and proper work clothes.
Miss Newman.
That’s what the boys had called her today when she’d joined them and said hello as she’d handed over his coffee. Miss Newman. And every time he’d heard it, it had turned him on a little more.
Miss Newman. Of the sexy lingerie.
Had she been wearing something like that today under her sensible teacher clothes of loose dark grey trousers and long-sleeved plain red blouse?
There was no way he was ever going to look at her again and not think about her wearing the colours of his team. Like his own personal cheerleader bouncing up and down, her skirt high on her perfect thighs.
He didn’t feel cold anymore. He felt hot. So fucking hot. And it had nothing to do with the water running over his body.
He dragged his gaze off the lingerie and glanced down at his cock—predictably out and proud. Hard as a rock, his balls tight and tense, begging him for release.
Now that would make an impressive dick pic!
He shut his eyes against the temptation of a little hand relief. He was in her shower, for fuck’s sake.
That was all kinds of wrong.
He forced himself to relax back against the wall of the cubicle, a shiver running between his ass and his shoulder blades where they’d made contact with the cold tiles. He hoped it would cool his jets as he thought about plain white cottontails. Granny undies. Teacher panties. Sensible. And practical.
But it was no use. The lure of the hanging lingerie and the demands of his own sex drive had his eyelids fluttering open and his fingers curling around the solid weight of his erection.
He groaned low and needy as his hand slid up and down the length of it, a surge of electricity coursing from the bundle of nerves circling his tailbone to the base of his skull. His cock bucked at the sensation and his lids fluttered shut again as an image appeared in his mind’s eye, so real, so close.
Miss Newman in that damn bra and panties on her knees in front of him, her mouth slightly parted, water cascading over her curls and her shoulders, running down her back and into the cleavage of her bra, their gazes locked as she leaned forward and opened her mouth, taking him right to the back of her throat in one interminably good, slow slide.
Linc groaned as his hand mimicked the movement, impossibly inadequate but wholly exciting all at the same time. He opened his eyes, breathing raggedly, his knees threatening to buckle from the intensity of the sensation.
Wanking was never as good as the real thing, but surrounded by the sights and the smells of her, he’d never had such a vivid stimulus before. No porn movie or girly mag had ever made him as hot as that damn lingerie. Hell, even the image of her ear today peeking out from under her curls and the pale wedge of neck had given him a hard-on.
And then he saw her. The door must have not clicked shut and swung open a little, enough to afford her a good view of the shower. She had a bundle of folded towels in her arms, and was standing frozen like a rabbit in headlights.
Or like a naughty little girl caught with her hand in the cookie jar.
Fuck!
He froze, too, his fingers still gripping his cock, water running over his wrist and down his hand. His breath crashed to a halt in his lungs, his heart thundered to a stop in his chest.
Jesus.
This. Was. Not. Good.
Her gaze was glued to his cock, her mouth open slightly. Just like it had been inside his head. Was she shocked? Horrified? Revolted?
Nice one, dude. What the fuck were you thinking?
A spot of self-flagellation was definitely warranted, but right now he had more urgent concerns. Like getting his hand off his cock. And taking a breath at some point.
“I’m…sorry,” he said, slowly uncurling his hand.
“No.” She took a step closer, a hand reaching out in a stopping motion, her eyes wild now as they stared at his dick. “Don’t.”
Linc stopped, his fingers frozen mid-uncurl. Don’t? His heartbeat kicked in again, slamming inside his ribcage.
“Don’t?” His voice sounded rough, alien to his own ears. The air was like soup. “Don’t what? Stop…?”
Dick pics out, live visuals—yes, please?
She nodded, dropping her hand. “Yes. Don’t…stop.”
His cock surged in his hand at her soft but definite instruction. It should have deflated the second he’d been sprung. Ordinarily it would have resulted in an instant soft-on. But it hadn’t. And it sure as hell wasn’t about to with Em looking at it like she wanted to dip it in bronze and mount it on her wall.
He wrapped his fingers around it again. Her eyes widened and her whole body seemed to lean. He should be embarrassed to be caught with his hand on his cock, but he wasn’t.
Not now.
Not with her lips parted, looking at it intently, like she wanted to devour it. He knew female desire when he saw it, and she was in its thrall.
His pulse hammered at his temple, and he swallowed hard as the tension in his balls cranked up. Keeping one hand wrapped firmly around his dick, he slid the door open. “Why don’t you join me?”
Her startled gaze flew to his face, and she shoo
k her head vehemently as she took a quick step back. “No. I just remembered I hadn’t put the towels in and—”
“It’s okay,” he assured her quickly, quietly, his fist tightening around his cock and stroking up and down a couple of times. Her gaze narrowed in on his hand again with all the heat and intensity of a laser, her tongue running absently over her parted lips.
Christ. He’d kill to have that tongue running over his dick right now.
But he sure as hell wasn’t saying that—he’d already spooked her enough. She obviously just wanted to watch, and he was fine giving her whatever she wanted as long as she kept looking at him like that.
Like she couldn’t get enough of him.
“Its fine,” he murmured, his voice soothing, his hand soothing, too, easing back and forth along the granite girth in his palm, ratcheting the tension in his groin and gut and ass as he forced himself to relax into the tiles at his back, to take it steady, slow and easy, not rip one off like every breath, every beat of his heart, every cell in his body was demanding.
His gaze locked on her breasts. On that sensible red blouse of hers. Her nipples were two hard pebbles on display for him, and he could see the agitated rise and fall of her chest.
Did she have some satin and lace going on today? Had she been rocking lingerie as she’d sat in the bleachers and watched him so prim and proper like? When she’d smiled at the boys who’d called her Miss Newman.
If he were to rip it open, the buttons pinging everywhere, what would he find underneath?
“Were you…”
Her voice was croaky and she didn’t take her eyes off his cock as she paused, wetting her lips with her tongue, flicking it out, spiking his heart rate further.
Linc stilled momentarily, surprised she’d spoken. But glad she had. “Thinking about you?” he asked, as his hand got busy again.
She raised her eyes to meet his. “Yes.”
Their gazes locked. “Yes.”
“H…how?”
“On your knees. In that demi-bra and panties that’s hanging up in here with me.”
Her throat bobbed as her gaze flicked to the lingerie before dropping again to his hand action. Linc stroked himself, long and slow, encouraged by her parted mouth, revelling in the pull in his gut and the heat suffusing his pelvis.
“Have you thought about me before? When you…touch yourself?”
If he wasn’t masturbating in front of her, Linc might have made a joke over her innocuous description of what he was doing. But the innocence mixed with the eroticism grabbed at his gut.
“Yes.” He was panting now as his hand picked up the pace of its own volition, matching the jungle beat pounding through his chest and his groin and his ears. “I’ve been fantasising about you for months, Miss Newman. Ever since the gala.”
Linc thought he heard her whimper, but he wasn’t sure over the sound of running water. His balls drew in tight and the urge to rock his hips bit hard.
“Did you think about me the other night?” he panted, the warm water an erotic lubricant as his hand picked up speed. “After the wedding…after the kiss.” He swiped his thumb over the plump purple head with each pass of his hand, the sensation arrowing all the way down to the root of his cock. “When you lay down on your bed and got yourself off?”
She definitely whimpered this time, her knuckles whitening around the towels she still had clutched to her stomach. “Yes.”
“How?” His voice was gravel in his throat. His hand a velvet glove.
“Straddling you…in your car.”
“And tonight when you’re in your bed?”
“A blowjob in the bleachers,” she said, no hesitation, two high spots of colour staining her cheeks. “With you all soaking wet. In just your shorts.”
Linc’s dick surged and he groaned out loud, gripping hard. Had she been thinking about blowing him for those two hours she’d sat and watched him today from the shelter of the bleachers?
The first stirrings of his orgasm pricked at nerve pathways buried low and deep, and his ass clenched as his hand clamped down hard on his cock. His gaze dropped to the two hard points at the front of her blouse.
“Take your shirt off,” he said.
It was more ragged demand than polite request but fuck that, he needed to see her. Her gaze snapped to his face. Her eyes clouded and she looked like she might be about to flee, but he was getting close and there was no turning back.
“Please,” he groaned. “I want to see you.”
She didn’t hesitate then, just dropped the towels, her gaze returning to his cock as she made quick work of the buttons. She didn’t shrug out of the blouse, but she did open it wide for him to see.
Linc groaned again. “Holy fuck.”
Just as he’d speculated. Another demi-cup, the same colour as her blouse, decorated with tiny black polka dots and edged with black lace. The upper swells of her breasts were exposed to his view, so pale and perfect, and he wanted to taste them so fucking bad. He wanted to squash them together and thrust his dick between them right into her waiting mouth.
Were her nipples a pale pink to match the alabaster of her complexion, or were they darker, like the butterscotch of her curls?
A glistening diamanté winked between the cups, goaded him.
Christ. She had been sitting in the bleachers all prim and proper on the outside and red polka-dotty sexy underneath.
“Fuck yes,” he panted, gripping his cock harder, his hand flying, tugging convulsively now as his balls drew impossibly tight and his orgasm hit warp speed. “You’re making me come.”
Linc’s heart punched hard against his ribs as he fought to heave air into his chest, fought to keep his head from falling back against the tiles and his eyes from closing as everything coalesced inside him, boiling up, wanting out.
He wanted to watch her watching him come.
“Yes.” He gasped as it hit hard, exploding from him like he’d been celibate for a year.
“Oh God.” Her tawny-gold eyes wide as she watched the hot spurt of his come.
“Yes.” He groaned, taking in the round O of her mouth, the heat in her gaze, the agitated pull of her breath and the swells of her breasts as he pumped and pumped. “Yes. Yes.”
In the dying moments, he obeyed the dictates of his body, his eyes closing on a surge of ecstasy as he jacked harder, ringing the last bit of pleasure out of his orgasm, chasing the last dying ripple.
When he opened them again he was utterly spent and she was gone. His head fell back against the tiles, his breath huffing out in a deep ragged sigh.
Fuck.
This. Was. Not. Good.
Chapter Six
Em wished she’d put on her industrial grade, big girl panties instead of her leopard print thong as she loitered in the hallway, trying to summon the nerve to face Linc after their rather…unconventional…incident.
God. An incident…? What a wholly inadequate thing to call—whatever the fuck that had been.
An episode? An event? An…occurrence?
She snorted softly. None of those quite encompassed the earth-shattering nature of it. Nor the earth-shattering embarrassment and remorse that followed.
A brain explosion, that’s what it had been.
And very nearly a vagina explosion as well. Whilst standing passively in her hallway. With her shirt unbuttoned. And a pile of towels at her feet.
Bloody hell. She’d only been going to leave the towels outside the door. She’d realised not long after he’d gone in that they were still sitting folded in the living room and not in the bathroom as she’d told him. But then the door had been partially open and…
Christ. What was she doing? This was all kinds of fucked up. Up until now, apart from a lot of very hot fantasies about him, she and Linc had only kissed. And even then, he’d rejected her, gallantly pulled away in deference to the champagne she’d indulged in and told her to go inside.
But today, they seemed to have skipped about a dozen or so steps.
What had she been thinking? She should have been embarrassed to catch him like that. And she had been. But she hadn’t been able to look away, either.
Which was what she should have done.
She should have averted her gaze, turned her back. Hell, she should have run.
But there were no words for how damn hot he’d looked all wet and naked, his knuckles white around the long, hard jut of his cock, water running over the tattoos on his chest and arms.
The image had stopped her in her tracks.
He’d been art. All beautiful, hard male body in a moment of self-love, and she’d been riveted. Unable to tear herself away.
It had been so damn…base.
She’d been a witness to his casual sexuality that night of the wedding, with his bow tie undone, and today at the coaching camp, she’d been privy to his pumped up, energetic sexuality. But this had been different again.
This was Linc at his most elemental. This was caveman stuff. Potently male. Potently virile.
Hot. As. Fuck.
And she’d encouraged it. Stood there gawking at him like she’d never seen a naked man in her life. Encouraging him. With her deer-in-the-headlights impression. With her words. And her deeds.
Exposing herself like that.
She’d been as much to blame over what had happened as he had, so she had to go in there now, take the bull by the horns, and face the consequences…
Linc had his back to her, standing in front of the television, watching the news, hands in his pockets, when she entered. He was in funky tan trousers, a trendy green and purple paisley-patterned shirt stretching tight across his big, broad shoulders, his matching tan jacket slung around one of the stools that lined the far side of the central kitchen bench.
She noticed his empty bowl and some scattered crumbs littering the Caesar stone benchtop where he’d obviously devoured his soup and several bread rolls.
“Hey,” she said, feeling embarrassed and awkward and just plain dumb as he turned around.
Part of her was struck by how damn sexy he was, and her breath literally froze in her chest as a wave of sexual attraction swamped her. The other part wanted to shrivel and die.
It was like meeting that person you’d had a hot one-night stand with and hadn’t seen since.