Perfectly sculpted abs in isolated free-standing muscles drew her gaze down to a silky thin line of water-slicked hair just under his navel. This wasn’t the soft body of an artist; what Jose owned belonged to a warrior. Heaven help her, desire bathed her in a hot sheath of want. Her skin was on fire, her nipples were so hard they hurt, and the moisture that crept between her thighs made her face burn with sudden shame. He was the entire package—a decent human being, listening ear, soldier at the ready, generous of spirit to share his family, a man with integrity who had saved her life.
She turned her head like she’d been slapped when he swathed himself in a towel, but she noticed that he just stood in the tub, breathing in slow, paced sips.
He willed his legs to move, but they didn’t cooperate. He begged his eyes to go back to an appropriate place, but they wouldn’t listen. The finest woman he’d ever seen was leaning on his grandfather’s sink in a white cotton nightgown that her wet hair had made cling to her. Nipples hard, dark brown hair making the gown sheer in all the right spots, curves unconcealed beneath the fabric. Just slap him. Adrenaline and the whole drama were clearly making him stupid. This woman trusted him and depended on him, but por dios, she was fine.
“You look much better after the water hit you,” she said, trying to make a joke of their previously grimy condition.
“I’m a Pisces,” he said, his laughter strained. “What can I say? Water is my thing.”
For a moment she didn’t answer, processing the comment a number of wicked ways. “I’m a Cancer,” she said with a shy smile. “Water is my thing, too.”
“Moonlight doesn’t do too bad on you, either, moon child.” He smiled and glanced at the window and then at her.
He stepped out of the tub and was standing two inches from her. She tried not to glance down at his towel or the hard length it shielded and fixed her gaze on his eyes. He was standing so close that their bodies almost brushed.
“Any sweats or anything in there that I can throw on?”
“I think so,” she whispered, and then pulled her gaze away from him with great effort.
“Give me a second; then I’ll go find you something to eat.”
Him for dinner was a viable option. She turned around quickly, wishing that the steam hadn’t claimed the mirror so completely. She peeked but turned away and simply suffered at hearing him drag on the soft fabric.
“I’m decent,” he said in a low murmur.
She turned to face him again, smiled, and stopped breathing as his body made a definitive tent in his gray sweats.
“You hungry?” he asked in a quiet, sensual tone that released a new flow of thick wetness between her thighs.
She nodded and swallowed hard.
“Me, too. Been a long time since I had anything good.”
She stared up at him as he closed the distance between them and allowed his body to brush hers to get a towel to dry his hair. The sensation of his naked torso sweeping against her breasts almost made her gasp. Her stomach clenched, and his erection grazed her thighs, making her want to open them.
About to hyperventilate, she clasped the edges of the sink with both hands behind her. She’d never felt a man’s body against hers, had never been touched so gently in an accidental rake of bare skin against cotton. Her nipples pouted with the urgent need for one more pass, one more feather-light contact Even in the dense, steamy heat, gooseflesh had risen on her arms. But he simply stood inches from her, drying his hair, staring at her.
“Can I tell you something?” he finally asked, reaching past her again to slip the towel on the edge of the sink, his chest gently touching hers again when he did so.
She nodded quickly, his caress sending shards of lightning between her legs. “Yes,” she breathed out. “What?”
“You are so beautiful that I really wanna kiss you, but I’m not trying to freak you out, after everything you just went through.” He swallowed hard. “It’s just that, I’m so glad you weren’t hurt, so glad to be alive… and can’t get the fact out of my head that we’ve been dreaming the same dream—and before tonight I didn’t even know you.”
She couldn’t move or take her eyes off his as his finger softly traced her cheek and then found her ear to move her wet hair behind it.
“I don’t want you to think I’m trying to take advantage of you, because I’m not… and it ain’t like I’m trying to look for some payback for the ride. I don’t roll like that.”
It was the stone-cold truth. His actions were driven by none of those things. She was simply beautiful, a heaven-sent gift. A phantom beauty in the mist, sipping air, making his skin burn beneath too-tight sweatpants, making him remember how alone he was in the world—no touch, no mouth to hunger for his, no hands or body to make him know life was worth living.
He smiled a half smile. “Maybe I should have taken a cold shower instead. I’m sorry.”
“I’m not,” she whispered, her soft voice holding him for ransom. “Maybe we both should have.”
The way she turned her head, bit her bottom lip, and gripped the edge of the sink tighter did something to him. He knew it was foolish, to go for it under the circumstances, but if he didn’t touch her, he’d lose his mind.
Ever so slowly, he took her mouth, testing for acceptance as he closed his eyes and his tongue met hers. The warm, moist yielding of her soft lips drew his body nearer, yet he took care not to crush his to hers—he didn’t want to offend her or scare her off. But the sensation of her satiny skin in patches against his made it necessary to swallow a groan. He deepened the kiss and allowed his palms to slowly slide up her rigid biceps, closing the small fraction of space between them until his pelvis welded with hers.
The sound of her voice trapped in their mouths made his tongue more aggressive, but he took great care not to move against her like he so desperately wanted to. She had sanctioned a kiss, had only said yes to that. She’d never been with a man and had almost lost her life. Her momma had put her out, or some variation on a theme. It wasn’t about working on Juanita while she was in a vulnerable, messed-up mental state. Yes, he wanted her, but not like that in his grandfather’s house… tears the next day, recriminations, no.
Yet his hands kept gliding up and down her arms and on each pass edging nearer to the side swell of her breasts. He couldn’t help it. She tasted so good, smelled so sweet, his body ached for touch so badly, and she had turned him on so thoroughly. When her hips slightly lifted to press her mound against him harder, he allowed his thumbs to caress the sides of the breasts, gently tracing the heavy lobes that rose and fell with her shallow inhales.
She broke from the kiss, breathing hard, but didn’t pull away. He loved how she stared up at him, a question in her beautiful brown eyes. His thumbs never stopped moving against the sides of her breasts. He never took his eyes away from hers. Compelled, his thumbs grazed her nipples, and she closed her eyes with a shiver. That was all he needed to witness. Permission granted to explore how far she wanted to go.
This time when he took her mouth, his lazy thumb roll back and forth became a quick flicker of attention that made her gasp. Her hands left the sink and found broad shoulders to hold. A man she’d just met on the back of a bike in a deserted street was between her legs, moving hard against her, making her cling to him, making her moan, making her ready to grab his back, making her lean her head to touch the medicine cabinet mirror.
Hot kisses along her neck stole her breath. Male hands both rough and gentle at her breasts made a whimper escape and fuse with the steam. It felt so good, so wonderfully, terribly good, as his body now created an insistent pulse, like he was trying to climb inside her, simply pull himself through the fabric, and God how she wanted him to do that.
Yet from some very remote place in her mind she’d been called out of her name, a vile word delivered by her mother that gave her pause. His family had offered them both trust and asylum, and an old Indian woman had kissed her cheek. Yet this man was coming out of his pants, the
friction wearing loose the drawstring, wearing down her resolve, wearing a hole in her brain while wearing her out, hiking up her gown, making her bud ache with such agony that she almost cried and begged him to touch it.
“Your grandparents,” she gasped in a rush as he suddenly bent, dipped low, and pushed her gown up to French-kiss her navel.
“They’re cool; they’re gone for the night,” he said in a ragged whisper against her belly. “I’ll be gentle.”
He was on his knees on the bathroom floor, whispering promises with kisses against a place that only her fingers had ever touched. Her thighs parted without her rational consent. But she couldn’t help it. He had spoken truth and torture against the swollen wet lips between her legs, finding spots that made her shoulders collide with mirror glass. If he didn’t stop, she would lose her mind; if he stopped, she’d slap him. She covered her mouth to stifle the sound creeping past her larynx, but her hand fell away and her voice rent the room, echoing, bouncing off the tiles, a wail that she couldn’t hold.
The scent of ready woman was all in his nose, had penetrated his sinuses, was in his mouth, and lit the back of his tongue to ignite his groin on autopilot. Damn… this was the one. Right here on the bathroom sink. Butter-soft thighs tensing and releasing, hot flow all over his face. Her tight, round ass lifting, hips jerking under his hold… sweet virgin essence washing his face, her voice a moaning plea for something more to quench her that only he had. Oh yeah… he’d be gentle but firm, would take her spilling tears of pleasure. Her hands had found his hair and had become fists—he knew exactly what she was trying to say.
He didn’t need a bed; a bathroom floor would do. The wall, whatever, oh, baby… yeah… just let it go like that when I’m inside you.
It was impossible to catch his breath as he pulled her down to the floor with him. Her mouth fought his for more tongue, a deeper kiss, her hands seeming as though they couldn’t touch enough of his skin fast enough. Her breasts begged to be suckled, and he obliged as he slid down his pants and nestled himself between her legs. Tears made her eyes shimmer in the lifting steam.
“I won’t hurt you; I promise,” he whispered, finding her slick entry point.
She looked up at him with eager, trusting eyes. “Just don’t get me pregnant, okay?”
Her voice was so small and tight, just like he knew she’d be, that it split his conscience in two. “Okay,” he said on a ragged whisper.
She closed her eyes; the rational side of his brain shut down with them. He entered her slowly, easing in just the head, and dropped down on his elbows to cradle her skull in a gentle grip.
“Take a deep breath,” he said quietly, watching her expression. “Don’t tense up, all right?” Agony clawed at his groin until it felt like his sac would be drawn up into his abdomen with each inhale.
She nodded quickly but kept her eyes closed.
” ‘Nita, look at me,” he whispered, kissing the bridge of her nose and waiting until she did. “Trust me. It won’t hurt in a minute. Don’t take your eyes off mine,” he said, allowing more of him to fill her.
She arched and he reached down with one hand to hold her hips steady, careful not to press his full weight down on her.
“It… oh God… it feels so good, but hurts a little, too.”
He nodded, unable to speak for a moment, his eyes sliding shut as the sensation of a near convulsion swept through him. “I kn-n-n-ow,” he stammered, then nestled even more of him within her. “Let me put it in slowly, then you get used to it, before I move.”
A hard shudder claimed him as she stroked his chest, her graceful, soft fingers grazing over his nipples. When her hands slid over his ass, he was barely lucid. Every impulse within him hovered on the very shaky border of moving in hard-driving jabs, yet her tear-filled eyes held such trust that he had to open his, stare at hers, just to remain nearly sane.
In slow increments he entered her deeper, watching her writhe beneath him, the suffering of want becoming hot need as he lowered his weight on her fully and kissed her hard. Her thrashing, her touches, her soft moans that he swallowed, the tight, slick, contracting sheath she pumped against him in urgent mini-upthrusts, broke him. His hands found her wet hair once more, his tongue diving at hers the way he wanted to move inside her. Short, even strokes soon became longer thrusts bordering on desperation. He stopped when she cried out his name and spent hard, his burning forehead pressed against her shoulder.
“Why’d—”
“I have to stop. Now or never.”
He clung to her, trembling, begging her with his mind not to move, lest he explode and accidentally fill her with his seed. But pulling out was going to be painful, worse than having dental work done without Novocain. He lied to himself, trying to make it seem rational that he’d pull out in a moment, as soon as that got easier to do. Never happen. It was gonna be a bitch no matter what.
He tilted his head, took a deep breath, and squeezed his eyes shut and withdrew with a hissing inhale. “Oh, shit…”
Her caress found his face and her arms held him closer to her. “Papi, I’m so sorry I’m not on the pill.”
“Shush,” he whispered into her hair. “Don’t call me sweet names while I’m in a way like this. Let me get myself together.”
“But you let me over and over again.” She hugged him tighter. “I never thought it could be like this.”
Didn’t she understand that she was making him crazy, making him rethink his position, lying between her spread thighs, his member pulsing, so close but so far?
“Baby—”
Her kiss stopped his words; the heat of her hand stole his breath.
“That’s not fair,” she whispered against his ear, her hand moving swiftly up and down his slick, engorged shaft.
In no position to argue, he grasped her around the waist tightly, convulsed with a low sonic-boom moan that bounced off the tiles, and collapsed, breathing hard.
Dawn crept through the windows, adding pink and orange paint to the white ceramic tiles around them. Only his deep pants chasing hers echoed within the tiny space.
“I think we need to take another shower before my grand-pops and abuela come home.” He’d spoken without opening his eyes but could feel her nod and sweet acceptance with a kiss before she struggled to get up.
“Yeah, Jose, I’ll die if your grandparents ever see me like this.”
Chapter Four
As he helped Juanita to her feet, after-the-fact guilt gnawed at him. Just seeing the slightest wince flit across her pretty face let him know he should have waited. A woman like this didn’t deserve to have her first time be a heated rush on a bathroom floor. Damn, what had he been thinking?
Jose cupped her cheek. “I’m going to run into the kitchen for a second and will be right back, then—”
“No. You promised you wouldn’t leave me,” she said, holding him tightly, her eyes growing wide.
“How about this,” he said softly. “You sit on the edge of the tub, hold the rifle, I’ll leave the door open and will talk real loud—nonstop—so you can hear me. We’ll keep talking during the thirty seconds it’ll take. Then I’ll wash you up in the shower.” He held her face with trembling hands and kissed her gently. “You trust me?”
She begrudgingly nodded and loosened her grip on him. “Do I have to hold the rifle, though?”
“No, just stand by the door, then, and leave it open. Talk to me while I walk the short distance. It’s only like twenty-five feet down the hall.”
“What are you gonna do?”
“I’m gonna go get something that’ll make you feel better.”
He swept her mouth with another quick kiss, opened the door, and began talking loudly as he dashed through the house. “So, what are you in the mood for? Breakfast, a sandwich, maybe some soup?” he hollered as he yanked open the freezer, grabbed an ice tray, and ran back toward the bathroom.
“Wow, that was fast,” she said, hiding her body behind a damp towel. She stared down at
the tray of ice. “What’s that for?”
He just smiled. “You’ll see,” he said, and turned on the shower water again, closing the bathroom door behind him. He motioned to the tub with a nod. “C’mon. Hop in.”
She gave him a quizzical look but slipped into the spray like he’d asked. The sound of ice breaking filled the tiny room, and within moments he’d joined her in the water with ice in his fist.
“Turn around and face the water,” he murmured against her neck.
She did what he’d asked but had questions. “What are you going to do?” She gazed at his fist, trying to keep her face out of the spray.
“Relax and lean back against me,” he said in a gentle command, sliding one palm across her belly as he lowered his ice-filled fist near her mound. He kissed her shoulder. “Open your legs… I know it’s tender there, like a friction burn.”
When she complied, he cupped his hand against her, allowing warm water to blend with the ice and pour a cool, soothing stream of relief over her bud, the swollen lips of her delicate flower, and where he was sure it hurt the most.
“Oh God… that feels wonderful,” she whispered, melting against his chest the way the ice was melting in his hand.
“Bueno,” he whispered against her ear. “All I ever want you to feel with me is good.”
He applied a gentle caress to the fragile haven that had taken him in, and could soon feel a different slickness from just water spilling against his fingers as the ice disappeared. The sensation made him want to move against her again, but he’d already done enough.
“Hand me the soap,” he ordered quietly. “Let me wash you off.”
With her leaning against him, eyes closed, the spray pummeling her breasts, he lathered his hands and then gave her the bar of Ivory soap to hold. He took great care in sudsing her delicate throat, her collarbone, her arms and shoulders, and then allowed his hands to revel in the varying textures of her breasts, the soap a slickened glide over her soft skin. Her quiet whimper of pleasure made him focus on her nipples perhaps longer than he should have, but he couldn’t help it. That part of her required special attention. A dull ache burning him again, he slid his hands away and simply kissed her neck to regain his focus.
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