Page 41

Rhys

W e fall asleep sometime during episode four, and when I wake up Netflix has auto-played several more episodes. I get the streaming and TV situation straightened out, and then I consider what to do about the woman sleeping on my couch.

I could leave her there. Cover her with a blanket.

But that’s not what I want to do.

And I’m tired of resisting impulses where she’s concerned, so I don’t.

I scoop her up and carry her into the bedroom. I strip off her shoes and jeans while she protests sleepily but doesn’t actively rebel, and I tuck her in under the covers. Then I climb in next to her, wrap my arms around her, and go back to sleep.

I wake to light streaming through the window and a heavy weight on my chest. It’s Eden; she’s draped herself over me so that her head rests in the crook of my shoulder and her arm pins me to the bed.

I tug her closer, and she stirs and snuggles her face into my chest. Then she lifts her head, gives me a sleepy smile, and says, “Good morning.”

“Good morning. Want to come with me to Rush Creek Bakery for a stuffed croissant?”

“ Yes, ” she says, her eagerness making me laugh.

“You want first shower?”

She bites her lip. “We could share .”

“We could.”

“You’ve seen everything already.”

“I definitely have. And I’d happily see it again.”

It feels early for a shared shower. I don’t think I’ve ever showered with someone before the first time we fucked.

But it also feels right with Eden, companionably shedding clothes, laughing about the fact that she’s wearing panties from our road trip, her eyes stuttering and getting stuck on my cock for a long time, until I teasingly say, “Eyes up here,” and even then, she keeps staring.

“You can touch, too,” I say. By now my cock has responded to the admiration by standing up and saluting her, and when she reaches out and touches me, it twitches under her hand. Her exploration is curious and slow and lazy, not going anywhere, and it feels amazing.

We step in, and I can’t remember the last time a shower felt so good—not only the hot water, but the heat and slip of her skin as we move to stand under the water together.

I soap her body, admiring every curve and all the slick satin skin, and she does the same to me, her hand coming back to where she left off, stroking me, fisting.

My fingers find their way between her folds, and we match each other’s rhythm, my thumb on her clit, my fingers thrusting in and out of her as she works her fist tight around my shaft.

“Wait for me,” she says breathlessly.

That makes me smile. “You’re closer,” I tell her.

“Am not.”

“Let’s make it a contest, then,” I say. “I bet I can make you come before you can make me come. Loser buys breakfast.”

“Mmm,” she says, tilting against the tile wall, eyes half closed. “You’re on.” Her arm snakes out, and she reaches for a bottle.

“What are you doing?”

“Employing all the tools at my disposal,” she says, dispensing conditioner into her palm and resuming her work.

And holy shit, she has my number, her hand as tight as before but way slicker, sliding over my swollen flesh, working the base of the head with her thumb as her palm passes along the shaft.

“I didn’t realize tools were fair game,” I grit out, barely able to string the words together, my knees going weak as blood surges into my cock and energy coalesces at the base of my spine.

I know the worst thing I can do is thrust into the tight grasp of her fist, but I’m having trouble helping myself.

“All’s fair in love and war,” she says, and the only thing that keeps me sane is that she sounds as close to the edge as I feel. I focus all my efforts on not coming, encircle her with my arm, and reach for the detachable showerhead.

“You said it, not me,” I tell her. I part her labia with my fingers and let the spray from the nozzle fall right on her most sensitive flesh; she gasps and arches and a flush spreads up from her chest, and that’s it for me—I’m gone, coming all over her hand again, but if I’m going, she’s coming, too, and I lean to take one of her nipples into my mouth, and she comes with a shout that’s half pleasure, half victory.