Authors: Meghan March
Graham couldn’t help that his dick was now rock hard. He had the girl’s tit in his hand. And she didn’t have a bad rack. Actually, she felt pretty fucking good, all slippery and wet, and definitely bigger than a handful. Which was saying something given the size of his hands.
When he’d heard the chair scrape across the floor, Graham had known exactly what was happening. What he didn’t know was whether it was heaven-sent or hell-bound. He couldn’t stop himself from turning around at the sound. When he saw her falling, that deliciously rounded, heart-shaped ass heading for the shower floor, he’d reacted. Simple as that. Which brought him to now, with her tit spilling out of his palm, and the rest of the slippery, wiggling woman in his arms.
“I got you. Hold still.” If she didn’t quit moving, she was going to have her naked ass pressed up against his hard on. She froze.
“Finally, she listens,” Graham said, more to himself than to her. “Okay, sweetheart, I’m going to sit you down.” Graham hooked the chair with his foot and dragged it back toward the spray that was soaking them both. Chair back into position, he lowered her into it. Graham was just barely able to restrain himself from squeezing that luscious handful. Man, she was stacked. And they were one hundred percent real. He’d bet the ranch on it.
That train of thought was not helping his erection deflate. Predictably, she didn’t turn when he stepped out of the shower room. Unpredictably, she also didn’t say anything.
“Don’t reach for the soap; I’ll bring you some.” Graham would’ve kicked himself for not thinking of grabbing her a bar of soap and some shampoo before, especially if she’d hurt herself falling, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret it at that moment. First off, she’d been stripping and tossing her clothes to him like his own personal striptease. Even if he didn’t get to watch, he had a damn good imagination. And secondly, it was pretty obvious—he got his hands all over a wet, naked woman. Nothing to regret there. With only two female residents on the ranch—Allison, who was married to Jonah, and Grace, their five year old daughter—there was no action happening for him or the eight other unattached guys who called the place home. If they’d had advanced notice of the apocalypse, maybe they all would have considered attempting real relationships rather than just hook ups. Although that was debatable.
Graham snagged a bottle of Allison’s homemade shampoo and a bar of soap out of the locker filled with Grace’s bath toys. Neither Grace nor Allison would mind. Graham headed back to the shower, trying not to stare at the girl as she wrapped her arms around herself, covering all of the goods.
“Here.” Graham called upon what little shred of gentlemanly nature he possessed and looked away from her when he got close enough to hand off the soap. “Take it.”
Feeling her grab the soap, Graham barely resisted the urge to turn his head. He forced himself to head back to the locker room. He thought he heard a quiet “Thanks,” but he wasn’t sure.
“Just holler when you’re done. I’ll hand you a towel, and you can dry off.”
This time he definitely heard the clipped, “Thank you.”
Graham sat down on the bench and waited. And tried not to recall exactly how fucking perfect she’d felt in his arms.
Ro could only imagine what shade of red her face must be. Without a mirror, it was hard to judge whether she was tomato red or fire engine red. Seriously.
. Ro tried to push aside the feeling of Conan’s hand cupping her breast.
Sweet baby Jesus
This was bad. As in, not good. Very bad. Because while she should hate the guy who’d manhandled her and pissed her off with every word he spoke, she could only think about how good his callused palm had felt as it grazed her nipple. Which, Exhibit A, was still hard. Ro forced herself to calm down and study the bottle she held in her hand. It was clear, and the contents were a creamy white. Sort of like semen. She flipped open the cap and squeezed it into her hand and tried not to picture stroking Conan’s cock until he came in her hand. Ro froze and forcibly shoved the thought from her head.
Seriously? One boob grab and she was fantasizing about giving him a hand job? Bad, Ro. Very, very bad.
Maybe she really was a slut at heart.
She just had a very active imagination.
Mental tongue-lashing over, Ro lathered her hair. The scent of lavender infused the steam. The shampoo was better than the ridiculously expensive crap Ro bought at the ridiculously expensive salon she had frequented in Chicago. Where she’d never go again. Which was most likely out of business and probably had already been looted. Okay, that was incredibly depressing and got her mind off sex. With Conan. Almost.
Recalling that she should be hurrying this up because she didn’t want to use up all the hot water they were generously sharing with her, Ro moved through the rest of her shower at warp speed. The lightly scented bar of soap felt amazing on her body and face. Thank God for laser hair removal, or Ro’s underarms and legs would be looking a little shaggy by now. And going for the full Brazilian had seemed to be a bold choice at the time, because what if someday she wanted a landing strip? But Ro was definitely appreciating her decision now. She gently soaped up and rinsed her sprained ankle before rinsing the suds out of her hair. Surprisingly, whatever was in that shampoo had left it fairly tangle-free and smooth. Which was no easy feat given Ro’s long and unruly curls. After shutting off the water she just had to let Conan know she was done so she could cover her naked self with a towel. And get dry.
Ro tried to sound unaffected, and somewhat polite, when she called out, “Could you toss me a towel, please?” No reason to act like she’d been raised without some manners. It was amazing how much her mood had improved after she’d gotten a little (unintentional) action and was able to indulge in a hot shower with good smelling soap and shampoo. The simple things in life, indeed.
“Here.” A towel brushed up against Ro’s arm. She looked at Conan, to see if he was checking out her nakedness, but no, he was looking away. Arguably like a gentleman. Or something.
Ro grabbed the towel. “Thanks.”
“When you’re done drying off, wrap yourself up in the towel, and I’ll carry you out so you can get dressed.”
Conan must have seriously overestimated the size of the towel, because although it wasn’t one of those teeny tiny gym towels, it wasn’t a whole lot bigger. But Ro complied, drying off, because honestly, she was starting to get cold, even in the steam-filled shower room. She wrapped the towel around her body and tried to sit on the edge of the seat to avoid soaking it with the water pooling in the middle.
Conan stepped into the shower room. He’d stripped off his wet shirt.
. He was ripped. Cut. Defined. Fucking. Hot. The tattoo of combat boots and a rifle that peeked around the right side of his chiseled abs would have been straight up lickable, except it looked like it was a memorial tattoo. Nothing like death to take her mind off the heat gathering between her legs.
Ro looked up to find Conan’s eyes on her. Her body. Not her face. And even Ro could tell he liked what he saw. His dark brown eyes flared to life with heat and interest.
He swung her up into his arms again, bridal style, but the towel wasn’t quite long enough to cover her generously rounded ass. Ro shivered as she felt both cheeks make contact with the inside of his muscle-corded forearm before she slid and the arm caught her under the knees. He paused, as if cataloging all of the places her naked skin was touching his. Or maybe that was just Ro.
Conan moved more slowly than she would have expected out of the shower room and back into the main locker room. His movements were equally slow as he set her down on the bench, his gaze leaving trails of heat in its wake as it raked down her cleavage, pausing for a moment on the bit of towel stuffed between her breasts to anchor it.
Ro knew she had a decent rack. The double Ds got plenty of attention from the boys. Always had. Most of it not the kind of attention Ro wanted. But Conan seemed to like them. A lot, if the trouble he had breaking his stare was any indication. Ro could feel her nipples hardening further. Was that even possible? She dragged her mind out of the gutter and tried to get back to practical thinking.
Lock it down, Ro.
She cleared her throat and asked, “Could you hand me my clothes?” She tried her best to sound unaffected, but wasn’t sure she’d actually pulled it off.
Conan finally tore his eyes away from her cleavage.
“You sure you want to put dirty clothes back on? It’s your call, but …”
“It’s not like I have a lot of options. You have my bag, and even if you didn’t, my clothes are all just varying shades of nasty at this point.” Ro tried not to sound ungrateful. Because she was grateful for the shower, really. But putting on dirty clothes after said shower kind of sucked.
“Look, just borrow some tonight. They won’t fit, but at least they’ll be clean. We can see about getting your clothes washed tomorrow.” He hesitated, as if actually waiting for her to respond this time.
“Okay. I guess that will work. Thanks. I appreciate it. The shower and everything.”
Graham nodded once and turned away from her to a locker door that read “G-MAN” in black marker on duct tape and pulled out a black t-shirt, gray hoody, gray sweatpants, and white socks.
“Here. You need help getting dressed?” He paused. “Shit, you don’t have underwear.”
“No problem,” Ro said, “I’ll just go commando. That’s what I do anyway when I’m too busy to remember to send out my …” Conan stared at her, and Ro went silent. She couldn’t believe she’d just shared that little tidbit. She just needed to shut up. Maybe forever. “Thanks again, though. I can handle it from here.”
Graham grabbed a dry shirt for himself and then turned toward the shower room so his back was to the girl. He had just about talked himself down from his hard on when she dropped the bomb about going commando. Jesus. Now all he could think about was the fact that her naked pussy was going to be rubbing all over his sweatpants. And her tits were going to be braless under his shirt. Graham was doubly glad that he’d opted to give her his clothes rather than Alex’s, the smallest of the crew. And by small, he meant the fewest inches over six feet. Graham didn’t even want to think about why that made him happy. He just needed her to hurry up and get dressed so he could bring her to the clinic, have Beau wrap her ankle up, and find an ice pack for her so he could go take care of his raging hard on. He was a man with priorities.
He heard the clothes rustling and tried not to think about it. But it was impossible. Graham forcibly turned his thoughts to the three men he had out in the field at that very moment. Graham told himself that he had only sent the team out to confirm the girl’s story. To see if she was lying about how she ended up less than a hundred yards from their fence line. But he’d already decided she was more than likely telling the truth. She was way too ... open ... or something ... to actually be a good actress. Or she was a fucking phenomenal actress and Graham was still thinking with his dick. But Graham was pretty confident. His instincts about people had always been better than average, and his six tours, four as a Recon team leader, had only sharpened them. He might act like he didn’t give a fuck what anyone thought, but Graham liked to think he had a decent handle on what people around him were thinking. Which brought him back to the real reason for sending out the team: if there was another woman not far from his backyard whose life was seriously in danger and had probably already been irrevocably damaged, Graham couldn’t ignore it … and Zach sure as hell would never let him. He knew he couldn’t save everyone, or he’d have eleven other men living on the ranch and not just nine. If he could save a life, it would at least be something. Penance, he supposed.
Graham’s attention shifted abruptly when he heard her say, “I’m all set.”
Graham turned and froze. The impact of her fresh-faced beauty was startling. She looked young, and without dirt smeared on her face, he could appreciate her smooth, ivory skin and wide dark eyes. Her dark hair was long, and Graham could tell that it would dry into a wild tumble of curls. All but drowning in his clothes, he couldn’t help but picture her naked. In his bed. She’d rolled up the sleeves of the hoody multiple times, but they still hung over her hands. She must have rolled the waistband of the sweats down, but the crotch still hung too low. Damn. She was straight up beautiful. He tried not to mentally gloat about the fact that he’d seen her naked and Zach hadn’t. Regardless of their preference for sharing, they’d always been competitive with women.