Girl Gear 1: All Tied Up (10 page)

Disappointed, Macy debated her next move. Whipping up an omelette bribe? Standing her ground and demanding answers? Taking off her clothes and sliding her bare soapy skin over Leo’s, getting a closer look at that spread of belly hair, an eye-level look at the wash of soap and water slicking that hair to his skin, an up-close-and-personal look at everything bold and male between his legs?

She took a deep breath to dispel the image of the last option, which held so much appeal. What was it about a wet naked man? A wet, soapy naked man? So much clean skin in which to bury her nose and breathe, in which to dart the tip of her tongue and taste.

Inhaling the steamy, soapy-skin-scented air was no less arousing, she decided as, eyes closed, she inhaled all she could of Leo.

“Macy? Are you cooking yet?”

If he only knew, she mused, surfacing from her wet dream to find her fingers fiddling with the tiny white buttons running from V-neck to waist on her pajama top of hot-pink flannel covered with hot-orange flames.

“I was thinking of bringing a couple of eggs in here and poaching them in this steam.” She waved her hand in front of her face to clear the air that was fogging her view of the shower stall’s door.

Leo blew out a gusty huff. “If that’s your idea of
cooking, I think I’ll take my chances with the courthouse cafeteria.”

Macy frowned. “I know perfectly well how to cook.”

“I haven’t seen much evidence so far.”

“You’ve had my fajitas. My fruit salad.”

“Fast food.”

“Fast food? I don’t think so. And what’s wrong with fast food, anyway?”

“Nothing.” He paused, moving beneath the water, shooting droplets over the top of the door that hit Macy in the face. “If you’re into instant gratification.”

She lifted her face for more. “And you’re not?”

The shower stall opened a crack; Leo’s dark wet head appeared in the opening. His grin was white and wicked and extra appealing for its rarity. His eyes flashed beneath spiky clumps of wet lashes.

“If you tell me you are, I’m going to be more than a little disappointed in you, Macy Webb,” he said, then disappeared behind the closed door.

Well, she couldn’t have that, now, could she? “I suppose you’re right. But you can’t tell me that a quick…bite now and then doesn’t have its advantages.”

All movement in the shower stilled, as if Leo’s mind was traveling the path of Macy’s last remark. Following her mental meanderings into a territory made more dangerous by the fact that he was wearing no clothes and she could be out of hers at the snap of his fingers.

She ran the palm of her hand over the mirror to check her reflection, just in case he started snapping. “I mean, sure. It’s nice to linger over a meal. But, really. Who has the time?”

“You don’t think it’s worth it to make the time?”

“I suppose I’m more the spontaneous type.” Putting her body in motion always helped her think, so she
paced the small room. “I don’t tend to plan many of my…meals in advance.”

“And here I thought you were a connoisseur of fun.”

She stopped and frowned. “Obviously we disagree on what makes a good time. My appetite is hardly being short-changed just because I carpe diem.”

“Does your mouth water?”

Macy’s heart skipped a beat. “Excuse me?”

“In anticipation. While looking forward. At the prospect of what’s to come.”

“Sure. Why not? The same way it waters when I’m not even aware of being hungry until I come across what I want.”

It took him a minute to respond, and his voice verged on husky when he asked, “How do you feel about appetizers?”

Foreplay? Was that what he’d said? “Uh, appetizers?”

He opened the door, poked his sopping head out and repeated, “Appetizers.”

And then he was gone, leaving her scrambling for an answer and reaching for his towel to dry her arms. “I wish you’d quit doing that. You’re making everything out here wet.”

Again Leo’s movements stilled. Macy replaced the towel and moved closer, into the direct path of Leo’s steam. She leaned one shoulder against the warm black-and-red tile that abutted the shower stall’s door.

“This is a bathroom,” Leo said. “The word itself implying water and the probability things will be getting wet.”

“Sure. In the bath. Or, in this case, the shower. Where the water belongs.”

“Then maybe we should be having this conversation in here.”

Macy’s heart kicked a hard beat against the knot of breath caught in her throat. The stall door’s silver handle drew her gaze. Her fingers flexed; her nails scraped her palms.

Was he serious? Or only tossing out the challenge as a tease? Did he expect her to make the first move? To pull open the door and boldly step inside?

“Macy?”

His voice had dropped to a level made even more suggestive by the fact that it was her name he had spoken while he was naked and they shared the same steam.

“What’s the matter? Afraid of how wet you might get in here?”

She closed her eyes at his dare, took a deep breath and promised a quick murder-suicide if she screwed this up. Her hand was halfway to the stall’s metal handle when the magnetic latch clicked and the door eased open.

It was then she got her first unintentional look at Leo’s body. A quick flash of skin and dark body hair only, before she jerked her gaze away and to his face.

The devil’s face. The face of an arrogant beast, wearing a grin that wasn’t a smile but an expression of ego and conceit. The brief look she’d caught was enough to confirm he had good reason.

Besides, at the moment, she was willing to forgive him just about anything. Water streamed down his face, dripping from spiky lashes, matting his hair to his head with a boyish charm.

The complete picture destroyed her resolve and she stepped into the shower, pajamas and all. He went straight for her buttons, the pressure of his knuckles pin
ning her to the warm tile as he opened her top, top to bottom.

He took hold of the lapels and parted the edges, baring her skin as he lowered his head. His mouth covered hers. His chest pressed against the skin he’d bared and he was wet and he was warm and he was delicious, rubbing, as he was, dragging the edges of her parted top over her nipples.

The friction of the thin layer of flannel, now wet and no barrier between his eyes and her skin, between his skin and her skin, between his wide concave palms and her skin, or his tongue, which had moved from her mouth to flick at the tips of her breasts, his lips, which drew both nipple and pajama top into his mouth, where the material scratched and his tongue soothed…

Oh, good orgasmic grief. She couldn’t even finish her original thought.

But she didn’t care. Splayed the way she was against the wall, her head thrown back, her hands flat on the tiles beside her hips, her legs barely managing to keep her upright, because now Leo had lowered himself to his knees and had raised the hem of her top, giving himself permission to drink the water from the skin of her belly.

His hands nearly circled her rib cage completely and his tongue pressed to her navel, then lower, as his palms slid down her sides. His fingers curled around the elastic waistband of her pajama bottoms and slid them down. She wasn’t sure if she’d had on panties, but now she was bare to her knees. And her brain still refused to work.

And really, she should have cared, but she couldn’t, not when Leo’s fingers had moved between her legs and spread open her sex so he could find her clit with his tongue. Which he did. Oh, he did.

She moaned, her hands holding his head, because she was afraid she would fall, the way she was standing, moving up on her toes, and down, opening her knees when Leo slid the length of a finger through her folds and found the entrance he’d been seeking.

His finger was thick, the second was thicker, his tongue was a butterfly flitting, tickling, tiny soft touches that weren’t enough. She reached down with two fingers, pulled back her own skin to expose the tight center of nerves in ardent need of a harder, faster pressing stroke to match the motion of his fingers as he turned her inside out.

“Oh, Leo,” she moaned. “You’re making me come.” And she did, in sharp spasms that tightened her around his fingers. He stayed where he was until she finished, and even then she had to hook her fingers over his shoulder and pull him to his feet.

He kissed her immediately and she tasted herself, tasted the water, tasted him. She placed her hands flat on his chest, slid her palms down his abdomen, reaching into the thatch of hair and below, taking the weight of his balls in one hand, the thick shaft of his penis in the other.

He was tall and she was short. But who cared about physics and logistics and geometry when he was full and throbbing and ready and she couldn’t wait for that first filling thrust? She lifted a leg. He lifted his mouth.

“Macy, I need a condom.”

She grimaced. “Where? I’ll get it.”

“No. I will. In my things.”

“Wait.” She stopped him from reaching for the stall door. “This is Lauren’s bathroom. Look in the medicine cabinet.”

He paused for only a second, and she could only
imagine him wondering if he’d find condoms in the bathroom off her rooms. But he didn’t ask, so she didn’t answer. She only waited, nerves raw and on end, as he stepped from the shower, leaving the water to beat her into a mindless mess.

He stepped back into the shower already sheathed. And he wasted no time, his hand sliding over her hips, his fingers digging into the backs of her thighs as he lifted her off her feet. He pinned her to the wall with the strength of one arm. His other hand made sure she was ready.

She wanted to laugh and tell him not to waste his time, but his fingers played her so nicely that she let him have his way. And then he buried his face in the crook of her neck, buried his cock in her warmth.

She pulled in a whimpering breath and groaned.

He shuddered to a stop. “Did I hurt you?”

“Not yet. I’ll let you know when you get it right.”

He shoved himself deeper. She gouged encouraging fingers into his taut backside and he moved just so, his hips rotating, grinding, using the motion to press the swollen base of his shaft high and hard to her center.

She gasped.

And he asked, “Am I hurting you yet?”

“Oh, yeah,” she managed to answer, feeling the stretch of her body as she adjusted to accommodate the invasion of the beast.

Animal lust. That’s all this was. A raw primal mating. Bodies doing what bodies for eons had done.

Steam swirled in wet ribbons. Water spilled in a fall of erogenous heat. Soapsuds slipped from Leo’s neck and shoulders and seeped between the press of chest to chest.

Macy moved and rubbed, swept up in the sensation
of skin on skin, of skin in skin, of hands and fingers exploring, of mouths mimicking the fiery passion of spearing thrusts and reluctant retreat.

She couldn’t get enough of Leo, couldn’t feel parts she wanted to feel without releasing parts she wanted to hold for as long as he was willing. She wanted to feel Leo come. To take in his shudder and know his vulnerability.

But then he slowed his movements and stopped, hitching her legs higher around his waist and holding her impaled and suspended. His legs were shaking, his muscles beneath her drawn and taut.

She hated the thought of having to move. “If I’m too heavy, you can let me down.”

“Such a generous offer.”

She adjusted an arm, flexed a hip, caught him deep inside and groaned. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you…finish.”

“Oh. I intend to finish.” He rolled his hips one way, then the other. “But I should warn you.”

“Warn me?” He moved again, both hands holding her backside as he slid nearly all the way out. She shuddered. “Warn me about what?”

He eased his way back in. “I never come first.”

She rolled her eyes, in part because of his arrogant claim, primarily because of the pleasure rendering her incapable of conscious thought. Barely cognizant as he bit and nipped at her collarbone, she rushed to admit, “You won’t be coming first this time, either.”

His mouth found hers again. “I want you to come. Again. Trust me. I’ll get mine.”

Who was she to argue with his logic? She lost herself in the act, the mating of tongues and of intimate flesh.
Her breathing once again grew shallow; her blood rushed with the powerful beat of her heart.

Then she came, the release drawing forth a loud cry. Her neck arched, her head bumped the tiled wall. And what she felt next—the tension in Leo’s body, the loss of the control he’d kept close and tight…the sensation blew her away.

He buried his face in her neck and let go.

Macy closed her eyes and held on for the ride.

W
HAT IN THE WORLD
had she just done?

Macy stood in the shower stall, empty now but for her soggy pajamas and her even soggier mind. After an awkward few minutes of sharing soap and shampoo while neither one spoke, Leo had left her to sort out her thoughts and her clothes.

But all she could think about was how she longed to feel him again deep inside her body.

She wanted to better experience the fit of their tangled limbs and the friction of skin on skin. What she didn’t want was to open the door and find him gone, but she braced herself for the probability.

She cut off the water, pushed open the stall door and grabbed a towel for her hair. Bending at the waist, she twisted the towel into a turban and straightened, stepping out of the shower…

…and in range of Leo’s reach. She was wet and naked and he hadn’t even bothered with a towel while he’d been waiting, and modesty was obviously no issue because he was once more boldly erect.

Oh, but he was beautifully made. And she shivered, both from the chill and from the fever in his eyes. A fever of desire and expectation and the desperation to continue what they’d begun.

His impatience burned with a heat Macy knew well. He took her by the wrist, pulled her from the bathroom directly to bed. Nothing about his actions was hesitant. Neither did he ask. What he did was pull off the towel and replace it with his hands, holding her head for his mouth.