Page 55 of Lash
He helps me slip out of the ferry logo jacket—the hat I discarded in the junker car the moment I sat down; I hate wearing hats. Next, he kneels and unties my boots, loosens the laces, and helps me out of my boots and socks. My heart pounds with increasing vigor as he stands up and reaches for my shirt, I lift my arms over my head. He peels my shirt off, tosses it aside. Unzips my jeans, frees the button. Tugs them down, crouching to lift one foot and then the other to tug the legs free. Now I am shivering in front of him in a rather unsexy pair of black briefsand a white sports bra, goosebumps pebbling my skin, nipples hard, breath coming in short, nervous pants.
He twists the shower on and turns it to hot, and within seconds the stream is steaming.
He rubs my arms. "Cold?"
I nod.
He searches my face. “Nervous?"
I shrug, hesitate, and then nod. "I don't know why."
"There's nothing to be nervous about, sweet, beautiful, courageous Tatiana Juric. It's just you and me. Whatever you feel comfortable with and no more." His voice is gentle, his touch soft as he rubs my arms.
"I'm not nervous as in scared," I say, taking his hands in mine. “More nervous just because we're finally alone. Not nervous, I suppose, just…nerves."
Steam swirls in the small bathroom despite the drone of the vent fan. Lash slides his hands down my arms one more time, and then to my waist. Hesitates at my back, below my bra strap. His eyes meet mine, seeking my consent. My answer is to lift my arms—my breath catches as he peels the undergarment off, and my breasts ache, heavy and turgid, my nipples erect and sensitive.
He kneels in front of me, pressing kisses to my belly, my diaphragm. His hands caress over my bottom and then hook in the elastic at my waist. His beard is ticklish, and soft and scratchy at the same time. I cup his face as he slides my underwear off, leaving me naked and shivering and breathless.
“So fucking beautiful," he murmurs, almost to himself. He curses so rarely that it's almost shocking to hear it.
“You don't curse very often," I say.
He shrugs, sitting on his heels as he gazes at me, taking in my curves, my bare flesh, his hands raking up my belly to cup my breasts. "No, I do not."
"Why?"
A shrug. "Habit?" A frown. "It is more than that, I guess. My parents were devout Roman Orthodox Christians. They never cursed and were adamantly against me cursing. I suppose I choose not to curse as a way of honoring them, even all these years later."
"It's a simple but beautiful way of remembering them, Lash."
He smiles, standing up. "You are shivering. Get in, get warm."
"Not without you," I say. "I am not so tired that I don't want my turn."
“Your turn?" he asks, smirking.
"Yes, my turn. You've seen me in varying stages of nudity already, and I have barely gotten to see you shirtless. It's my turn."
He holds his arms out to the sides. "I am yours to command and control, in that case."
"Command and control, is it?" I say, feeling the rippling of desire surging through my body, searing away the exhaustion—temporarily, at least.
His only answer is to wait silently for me to decide what I want to do.
Shirt first, obviously. And my god, the man is ripped. Smooth brown skin wrinkled and rippled with scars telling the story of a lifetime of violence, and the heavy, lithe muscles of a trained predator. Anvil-slab pecs, brawny arms, thick, veined forearms, shredded abs. My mouth goes dry at the sight of him, all the moisture in my body traveling south.
He kicks off his boots and socks, and then I open his black jeans, lowering the zipper. The organ I had such a woefully brief encounter with springs into the V of the opening, pressing against the fabric of his underwear. I help him out of his jeans; such is my impatience to see all of his glorious body nude thatI can't wait for him to toe off his jeans before I shove his black boxer briefs past his hips.
The cock that is revealed leaves my sex aching with anticipation—it's the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Long, thick, and straight, straining, veins standing out…
"Lash, my god," I whisper. "you're incredible."
He seems uncomfortable with my praise, only shrugging in response. "Tatiana, I—"
I step into the shower, hissing as the scalding water streaks onto my shoulders—I adjust it to a temperature living creatures can withstand. Once it's piping hot but tolerable, I move under the spray and pull Lash in after me. He closes the curtain, and now the world shrinks down to just the two of us, the stream of hot water, and our naked bodies.
Nerves, fear, exhaustion, everything fades. All that matters is him.