Desire Unmatched: 4 (Coded for Love) (16 page)

“So we are moving in together?”

She stuck a finger in the stream of water, checking the
temperature. “Not today, but soon.” Her answer seemed to satisfy him. He held
out a hand for her to use while she stepped over the small barrier into the
shower stall. He followed her right in.

His large body blocked most of the spray from the shower and
she was getting chilly. She stepped into his space and wrapped her arms around
his torso, absorbing the steamy heat pouring off him.

“How can we have sex like this?” he asked loudly over the
noisy spray of water.

Her hand found his erection and squeezed before she
answered, “Have faith, honey. It’ll work.” She moved her arms to loop around
his neck and leaned up to kiss him. Hot water misted their faces as their
tongues dueled. Water droplets clung to his beard, then fell between their
bodies, landing in the well where her breasts connected with his torso.

His hard cock squeezed between their bodies, branding her
belly. She didn’t have to play the instructor. Xander’s instincts took over and
he backed her the short distance to the wall. Her spine pressed into the cold
tile and she was sandwiched between it and his wide, hard chest.

His mouth lowered to plant wet kisses on her neck and chest.
His beard tickled her skin as her fingers twined in his hair. Her hips rose to
meet his as their wet bodies rubbed against each other, the friction causing
their desire to multiply.

“Still not sure how to do this,” Xander muttered against her
ear.

She clung to him tighter and laughed. “Put your hand between
my legs.” She moaned as he complied. She knew he was finding her wet and
slippery. His fingers played in her folds, getting her ready for him. He didn’t
need any help with his erection, but she held him firm anyway. She loved the
feel of his length in her palm. She’d never been a penis girl before. It was a
means to an end, but she could honestly say she was a huge fan of Xander’s. It
was a perfect length and felt right in her hand. If it weren’t obscene, she’d
make him walk around naked all the time.

The thought of him pattering around nude did good things for
her already ramped-up arousal. With her free hand, she guided him to hold her
thigh wide, curled against his hip.

She had to stand on tiptoe to get into position for him to
reach her entrance. Once he figured out what she wanted, he lifted her enough
for his cock to nudge its way in, then lowered her.

They groaned in unison. He began to thrust. She had no
leverage to move and could only cling to his body as he pounded pleasure into
her. The hot water flicked from his body to hers, heightening her sensory
overload.

Xander didn’t speak as he gripped her skin hard and his
thrusts grew more frenzied. He arched into her and came with a shout. She clung
to him, planting kisses against his wet chest.

“I’ve had a thousand orgasms in this shower, and not one
came close to this one,” he said roughly. Her heart melted to a soupy puddle.
“Did you come?” he asked, still holding her tightly against the wall.

She shifted to get her leg free from his grasp and when her
foot was again planted firmly on the beige tile floor, she spoke. “No, but it’s
all right.”

He stepped back into the shower spray and frowned at her.
“No it’s not.”

She pushed against his granite chest. “Yes, it really is.
Women don’t always have orgasms. It doesn’t mean the sex wasn’t good.” Yet
another lesson he needed to learn.

“But the first time we had sex, you didn’t come, and you
said I was the worst lover ever.”

“Because you gave me no foreplay and ran out on me.” She
ducked under the spray to reach for a narrow white bottle of shampoo on a ledge
behind him. She stood and squeezed some into her palm. “Bend toward me. I’m
going to wash your hair.”

He remained standing, knees locked, glaring down at her.
“How the hell am I supposed to know if I’m a good lover or not if you’re not
going to come every time?”

She stood on tiptoes and slapped the shampoo into his dark
silky hair. Now he complied and bent his knees so she could rub it into a good
lather. “As long as you care about my pleasure and try to give me an orgasm,
you’ll be the best lover I’ve ever had.”

He didn’t respond, but she thought she heard him mutter
something about confusing females under his breath. The steady beat of the
water made clarity difficult. He didn’t give her any more lip about orgasms and
let her give him a scalp massage as she cleaned weeks of grime and basement
dust out of his hair. She was careful not to touch his healing wound. If he’d
been a cat, she’d swear he’d be purring against her chest. When she stopped
scrubbing, he stood and ducked under the full wrath of the spray, and she stood
back admiring his body.

He had weeks to go before he gained back the weight he’d
lost during his captivity, but he still looked damn good to her. When the water
ran clear off his scalp and he’d soaped himself off, she grabbed him and
orchestrated a tight turn to place her under the water.

She didn’t even have to ask before he grabbed the shampoo
from the ledge and started reciprocating the favor. Her eyes closed as she
absorbed the pleasure of his large hands rubbing circles around her scalp.

“Your hair is blonder than I remember,” he said.

“Salon services wasn’t one of the amenities available at
Paulson’s luxury prison,” she said, eyes closed, head back in the hot water. “I
prefer to be a blonde, and now I am again.” She lifted her head and looked at
him. “Which way do you like it?”

Her lips quivered at his deer-in-the-headlights look.

“I…I don’t care what color your hair is, Emma. Don’t ask me
that kind of shit.” He reached around her to switch off the water without
asking if she was done. He at least had the courtesy to climb out first and
hold out a towel for her to step into. Ah, her Xander. He’d never be a poet,
but she’d always know where she stood with him. There’d be no mystery, no
games, and she could live with that.

He might not have cared about her hair color, but he did
care about her physical health, because he disappeared from the tiny steamy
bathroom and returned a minute later with a black fleece hoodie. He wrapped her
up in it over her towel. “I don’t want you to get cold,” he muttered.

He didn’t seem too worried about his own chill factor and
stepped to the counter clad only in a towel wrapped low on his hips. A men’s
electric razor lay in wait. She shut the lid to the toilet and sat after
shrugging her body into the hoodie. The snuggly warm garment could’ve wrapped
around her body twice.

His gaze met hers in the mirror. “What are you doing? I’m
gonna shave now.”

“I want to watch you.” She waited, tensing slightly and
hoping he’d accept the intimacy.

They kept watching each other in the mirror for another
minute until he shrugged and got to work, starting on his face, then moving to
his hair. He carefully moved the razor around the already shaved spot on his
scalp. With every second that passed, tufts of hair fell to the counter and
Xander the captive disappeared, making room for hard-ass GI Joe Xander. A lock
of hair fell her way and she rubbed it between her fingers. She’d likely never
see Xander as hairy as he’d been five minutes ago, and she wanted to treasure
the memory. To her it symbolized the Xander who became her lover, her match.

Within fifteen minutes the soldier she’d first met was back.
He placed the razor on the counter with a metallic
click
and watched her
warily in the mirror. He seemed to be waiting for something. She didn’t know
what, so she went with instinct. She rose and squeezed her way between his
large body and the counter.

Deliberately letting her chest rub his, she reached up to
brush her palm over his shaved scalp, moving down to his clean-shaven cheek.
He’d gone shorter on his hair than she’d ever seen him do before. Maybe a
reaction to having it longer than he’d wanted.

“You like?” His voice was gruff and his expression revealed
nothing as he stared down at her.

“I like you no matter how you have your hair.” In truth, she
liked his hair a shade longer, but she’d never tell him that. At least not in
these early stages of their relationship. He’d lived under a controlling father
for thirty years, one who likely dictated everything from hair length to shirt
color. She wasn’t going to add to it. She wanted Xander to take back control.

He surprised her with a shy smile and a kiss that quickly
grew deeper. She was getting into the kiss when he pulled back. “Gotta do
something about this hair,” he said, gesturing the pile of dark hair pooling on
the counter and his feet.

“Do you have a broom?”

He shook his head. “There’s a cleaning supply closet on
every floor. I’ll go grab the vacuum.” He left the bathroom, then scooped up a
pair of sweats from the bed.

“And then you’re going to rest,” she called at his back. She
didn’t expect a response and she didn’t get one. She didn’t get her way either.
They spent the next few hours holding court in her small apartment. It seemed
as if every resident of the Program needed to see and speak to Xander to verify
his health. He might claim they called him Terminator, and he might not be Mr.
Popular as Chase was, but he had a large following of admirers.

She alternated between pretending to study and facilitating
conversation between Xander and his well-wishers. He accepted the guests with
equanimity, but didn’t seem to know how to make them feel at ease or answer
their inquiries with platitudes. Most gave up after a few minutes and made
excuses about pressing matters elsewhere on campus.

At five minutes to four o’clock, he stood and turned to her.
“I gotta go.”

She plopped her heavy textbook in her lap from where she’d
been curled on the futon, pretending to read. “Where?”

“Told the crew from last night I’d teach them some Krav
Maga.”

“Krav whata?”

“Krav Maga,” he said slowly. “It’s an Israeli form of
fighting. I’m the only expert in it at the Program.”

“Do you think it’s a good idea?”

He paused halfway to the door. “Sure. The more fighting
styles the guys can employ, the better.”

“Xander,” she said, striving for patience. “I wasn’t
remarking on the tactical strategy. I was commenting on your ability to run a
training session. Since you haven’t rested as the doctor recommended.”

His brow furrowed. “I’m fine.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Don’t believe me? Come with me.”

“I’m studying.” She held up her book.

“No you’re not. You haven’t turned a page in the past hour.”

He was correct, and she shouldn’t have been surprised he
noticed. He was observant, her enhanced soldier.

“Come with me,” he said again. “Then you can take care of me
if I start to feel ill.”

She tossed the book aside and started toward him. “As if
you’ll let me assist you,” she muttered.

He scooped up her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. “You
help me by being near me.”

Their gazes met and she tried to restrain her smile, but he
was truly irresistible. “Wait.”

He paused in the act of turning the doorknob. “What?”

“Can I learn this Crab Magic stuff too? Shall I change into
my exercise kit?”

“Krav Maga,” he said with a smile. “Sure. Change. I want you
to learn some self-defense.”

* * * * *

They were ten minutes late getting to the gym. He hadn’t
meant to interfere with Emma getting changed, but when she’d stripped her top
off and maneuvered her breasts into a snug exercise bra, he’d been helpless not
to assist. They’d shared some hot kisses and he’d filled his hands with her
breasts until she’d reminded him he had people waiting on him.

That had shaken him back to reality, but Emma’s ass in tight
black spandex wasn’t helping. He’d have to run this training session with a
sparring pad in front of his waist to prevent the others from seeing how
affected he was by his match.

He managed to cool himself down somewhat by the time they
made it into the gym and greeted the small group of young men waiting around
for them. If they were annoyed by his tardiness, they didn’t comment. They also
didn’t comment on Emma’s presence.

He nodded at them. “Before we start, can I get your names?”
He felt bad he didn’t already know them, but better to get it out of the way
now than continue training them and not know them.

“Sure.” The blond one who’d asked for the training in the
first place stepped forward. “I’m Daniel.”

“Emmett.”

“Mark.”

“Sam.”

“Cool. Let’s get started.” He tugged his shirt over his head
and tossed it to the side. He paired them off and started demonstrating some
moves, talking about the philosophy behind the discipline. He knew he was
likely droning on, but no one seemed bored. He was glad, since it was a topic
he loved. Soon it was time for sparring, and he faced off with Emma. Krav Maga
called for taking hits, even during sparring, and he knew he wouldn’t be able
to touch her.

She didn’t have the same problem. He took a blow from her
that had him wincing and grinning. His girl was a spitfire. He could take it.
In fact he liked it. He wanted her and loved that she was strong both
emotionally and physically. They circled each other slowly. Their gazes locked,
though distantly he felt the others stop their own sparring and form a ring,
watching them.

“Take him, Emma,” one called.

“He’s mine,” she called back, keeping her eyes locked on
him.

Taunting her, he crooked his finger, daring her to bring it
on. He barked a laugh when she returned the gesture. He was going to take her
down, and when he got her on the mat, she’d be at his mercy. They completed
another circle with him playing along for fun. They both knew she wasn’t a
physical match for him, and the most she could do was scratch his skin. It was
fun pretending, though, and he was getting turned-on thinking about wrestling
her, especially in her skintight outfit.