Page 23 of Contingently Yours

As I rush to my room and snag a towel and change of clothes, I can feel a smile creep across my face. Dario’s advice sounds like just the remedy for Lucas’ attitude problem.

“Fucking ignore me,” I mutter, shoving through the patio door and rounding the side of the house.

No one’s in more need of some grabbing than Lucas. As soon as he sees me naked, I bet he’ll be the one wanting to handle meat.

I clear a turn in the path around an Umbrella Magnolia tree that Lucas had babbled on about to the Hepperlys earlier.

It leads to the outdoor showers at the back of the house.

Certainly not a necessity, but we used the fact that they overlook the beach and are next to a hot tub on the property as a selling point for their convenient, quick access to wash off chlorine or salt from the bay.

Not for boyfriends to hide from their man.

Upon finding said boyfriend, I stop in my tracks.

That really is one big bubble butt. Damn. Meaty. Very meaty.

Swallowing, I canvas its circumference, noting the shadowed crease that ends at one tufty sac nestled snugly at the base of his cheeks.

I always just shrug my shorts down my hips and kick them off.

Not Lucas. He apparently has to bend over and delicately slip his feet from each leg hole, exposing his ass to the world.

How in the hell did he disrobe like that in the Army and not come out with a boyfriend? The guy is like a walking invitation.

When he straightens up, I give my head a shake and move toward the picnic table next to him, tossing my things down to make my presence known. That gets his attention.

Frowning, he covers his junk with his hands and glances down at my change of clothes and towel, then back to me. Gracing him with my most pleasant and innocent boyfriend look, I slowly peel my sweaty tank top over my head.

That’s right, big fella. You like what you see, don’t you?

When his gaze returns top side, I watch him try to snuff out the spark of lust kindling in his eyes.

Swallowing, his lower lip pouts for a second. “Can I have some privacy?”

Really? How can a person ogle their incredibly irresistible boyfriend’s chest and then ask for privacy? Sighing, I trail my hand slowly down between my pecs, watching the way his gaze follows.

“You weren’t saying that this morning.”

He tries to scowl at me, but it mostly looks like panic—panic that he knows he doesn’t look scowly at all.

“It’s not my fault you have a dick-grabbing problem,” he blusters.

“It’s not my fault you have a getting-hard-for-me problem.” Wriggling my brows, I dart a glance at his hands and add, “Or is it?”

His jaw drops, but then his mouth snaps shut. “Fuck you,” he mutters, spinning on his heels.

Kicking my shorts off my feet, I snicker, watching his meaty globes jiggle when he stomps up the two steps to the first shower bay. So angry. So in denial.

A commotion to my left pulls my attention away from the furry man-child. I tense for a second, seeing our merry trio filing down the path to the showers. It’s just like an outdoor locker room, though. What do I care if they see what God gave me?

“Ah, shit. Sorry. We thought we’d make less of a mess outside. Are we interrupting?” Mason asks.

Lucas looks like he wants to crawl in on himself, practically cowering with his shoulders hunkered forward, only flashing a brief glance over his shoulder. I should be a good boyfriend and put him at ease. That’s what a good boyfriend would do. Wouldn’t they?

Surveying the open stall on the other side of the waist-high partition, I grin. “No! Not at all. Go ahead. There’s one still open.”

“Nice,” Mason sighs. “I’m sweating my bollocks off. They’re sticking to my leg.”

Gross. TMI.

Walking toward Lucas’ stall like a man confident and proud of his nudity, my feet slap against the wooden planks of the steps. Lucas whips his head around, eyes going wide. Just as quickly, he looks back to the wooden shower wall when he catches sight of the Hepperlys disrobing behind me.

Shit. Maybe this is too much for him.

Sidling up behind him, the cool water from the reservoir tank rains down on my sweaty hair. I brush the droplets off my face and run my fingers through my locks, oddly fascinated with the way the water is trickling down Lucas’ rigid back.

“What are you doing?” he whispers over his shoulder.

And here we go.

“Showering. Pass the soap, will you, lover?”

Nostrils flaring, I can’t see any of the lust in his eyes anymore, just pure, unadulterated, hillbilly rage. That’s so impolite.

“It’s okay.” I smile. “I’ll get it.”

Leaning forward, I slap a hand on the wall over his shoulder and reach around his other side, effectively caging him in when my hand lands on the bar of soap he set on the wall mount. A gasp leaves his lips, lighting me up with joy. There he is…

Glancing to our right, he sneaks a peek at the Hepperlys, who I can hear stepping under the other showerhead just five feet away. His lips part and…is he fucking mouth-breathing right now? Because of them ? Rude!

Moving my mouth to the side of his face, I murmur, “You like what you see? Shame. Shame. Gawking right in front of me.”

His shoulder rotates backward, bashing into the front of mine as he looks the other way. “Hurry up and get this over with,” he mutters.

Hmm. So he wants it quick, huh? Quick and dirty, perhaps? Is that his style?

Bringing the bar to his chest, I bite my lip when I feel him flinch. The vein in his neck pulses like a big juicy target, a siren’s call in physical form. So, I scrub in circular motions across his pecs, clumsily rubbing the bar over each of his nipples as I watch.

One of his hands goes to the wall, and he inches forward, letting out a puff of breath. Confirmed—Lucas likes nipple action. That vein in his neck is getting bigger from the way his breathing has become so erratic already.

Crap. He’s not a premature ejaculator, is he?

We only need to sell that we’re a happy couple enjoying a shower, not porn. I’d better slow it down.

Grabbing his other hand, I slap the bar into his palm. “Get my back for me, babe?” I ask sweetly, with enough volume that even the fish in the bay can probably hear me.

Fuming, his shoulders tense. That’s what you fucking get for ignoring and lying to me, I want to tell him as I turn around and lean my head back, letting the water sluice over my hair.

I start massaging my scalp, so we still look showerific in case the guys catch sight of us. He won’t do it. He’s too chicken. He’d better at least be soaping himself up so he doesn’t look like a Freshman on his first day in a locker room.

Something waxy and wet touches my shoulder blade.

It’s rectangular and hard. There’s barely any force behind it, but I know it’s the soap.

I let out a quiet snort, impressed. It’s probably more of that stubbornness he’s been living with these past few days, him trying to fly on my level of cool, calm, and collected.

The bar moves slowly across my back, and then I feel something else.

Lucas’ hand.

My smug smile falters at the touch. It’s beefy and warm, flattened against my wet flesh. It glides over my shoulders with a hint of pressure, almost like a massage, spreading the sudsy water across my skin. Lucas is washing me…with his bare hands.

My mouth is suddenly dry for some reason, and my heartbeat feels quicker than its usual rhythm. As his hands move lower to the middle of my back and make slow sweeps over the edges of my ribcage, my abs go taut. My abs and then…lower. Everything seems to be tightening. The air feels thicker, too.

I don’t have to look down to know Andrew Junior is starting to stand at attention.

That’s twice now. I thought maybe last time had to do with some kind of power kink I didn’t know I had when I was trying to get Lucas to admit he wanted me to make him come.

Except, he really doesn’t have to be washing my back right now.

Definitely not with his bare hands. Slowly.

Adoringly. Curious. It feels like he’s making a map, studying me more closely than any romp I’ve ever had, and I’ve certainly had my share.

And the thing about mouth-breathing…you can feel that shit on your skin when it’s wet. He’s panting heavily behind me, like he’s in a trance over the lines of my body. What will he do when he runs out of back?

He hesitates at my hips and then starts a slow trek back up, his fingers softly kneading the flesh as they go.

I shudder like I’m as wanton as he is, and shit, maybe I am.

Terry is never going to find out about this if I have any say in it, but hell, I’m starting to see why he and Shaw are such sluts for each other.

Shifting my gaze, I catch a glimpse of the Hepperlys.

They’re all in the same state of undress as we are.

Keenan is lathering up Mason’s back while Mason and Dario are grinning, laughing over something.

But Dario’s just scrubbing the water across his own chest. It’s definitely more PG-rated over there than here.

Regardless, it’s doing nothing for me. They’re all singularly attractive in their own way.

Three good-looking men. I can easily admit that.

But I don’t want their hands on me the way Lucas’ are right now.

It doesn’t make a bit of sense, considering I never thought I’d want Lucas’ hands on me, period.

Maybe it’s so fascinating to me because I know these hands have gone to war, can whittle the most intricate little knick-knacks out of driftwood, and know how to fix boats, fish, and braid little girls’ hair.

They can do all those wholesome, noble things, and yet, right now, they’re choosing to caress my body.

Me —a very not wholesome, not noble man.