Page 24

In my rush to find the restroom, I don’t spare a glance at the mirror behind the double sink, but the second I step out of the water closet, it’s got my full attention.

Holy shit, what a hot mess! Smudged mascara, bird’s nest hair, swollen lips—how had Dalton not thrown me out of his bed this morning or at least laughed is beyond comprehension.

Like hell I’m going downstairs like this.

He may not care, but my ego does. Turning on the tap, I manage to wash off most of the raccoon eyes, but no matter how much I tug at the tangles, there’s little that can be done about the sexed up hairstyle.

Only a good wash and conditioner soak can tame the unruly beast.

Snagging Dalton’s downy soft white robe off a hook, I head over to inspect the shower.

Not only is it bigger than the king sized bed we fucked all over last night, there’s a stupid amount of knobs, like more than a professional espresso machine.

After trying a few, getting sprayed in the face by some random jet, I eventually manage to turn on one of the rain heads protruding from the ceiling.

When I head back to the doorway, soft music is playing from downstairs, accompanied by the clank of dishes.

“Change of plans!” I shout, keeping out of view from the kitchen. “Shower first!”

“Clean towels are in the tall cabinet!” Dalton shouts back.

Much like the robe, the towels are softer than anything I’ve ever owned. If this was a hotel, I would be temped to slip one into my bag and sneak out with it, despite being way to chickenshit too actually steal it, of course.

The glass is steaming by the time I step in and it feels miraculous.

I’m so caught up in relishing the way the water soothes my aching muscles that I don’t notice Dalton’s arrival until there’s a tap on the glass, making me jump.

Instinctively, my arms bend to cover my breasts.

Which is stupid since his eyes, hands and mouth were all over them last night.

I let my arms fall back down. This isn’t an average awkward morning after a one-night stand, even if our time is almost up.

Being naked with Dalton feels so… nonjudgmental.

He’s standing on the other side of the glass door.

One hand is raised to shield his eyes, the other holds up a plate of fresh fruit.

While he’s not currently looking at my naked form, I have to wonder how long he was enjoying the view before knocking.

The slight upturn of his lips tells me it was for at least a minute.

“I thought maybe a breakfast-tizer to go with your shower.”

“Breakfast-tizer?”

“Yeah, like a breakfast appetizer.” He hoists the plate up higher, in case I hadn’t noticed.

I crack open the door, letting out a cloud of steam. “What’s with the blinders, scared my Medusa hair will turn you to stone? It’s tamed now.”

“Just thought you might want some privacy. I didn’t want to barge in on you like some ogling creeper.” Dalton’s lips spread into a toothy grin. “And I liked the hair. You looked like a woman well satisfied.”

“That is a true fact.” I laugh, then reach for the hand covering his eyes. “But you’ve already seen all the goods. Might as well enjoy them before our time’s up.”

I lower his hand and Dalton's eyes are quick to sweep over my naked form before settling back on my face. “It’s the best damn view I’ve ever seen in this ridiculous apartment.”

“Join me?” I ask boldly. Normally, I would have given all the GTFO signs, but there’s something about having a deadline with Dalton that makes me want to spend every last second I can with this man.

His eyes widen for a beat, and then he’s got one foot in the shower before realizing his sweatpants are still on.

“Shit, pants.” He starts to pull back, glancing around for a place to set the plate down. Before he can pull from my grip, I tug him into the steam and warm water. My bare chest presses against his. Both the plate and his pants, now soaking up water, are forgotten.

“You’re right, fuck the pants. They’ll dry. This is far more important.” Dalton leans down, placing a kiss on my lips that tastes like strawberries. I pull his lower lip between my teeth and he groans. “Do you want me to throw this plate on the ground and kiss you properly, or are you hungry?”

I almost say fuck the plate like he did with the pants, but I can feel the low rumble of hunger rippling through my stomach. Dinner was so long ago, and we burned some serious calories last night.

“Hungry,” I say with one last gentle nip of his lip.

“Save room for dessert,” he says with a wink. Dalton offers me the plate, then pads to the wall of knobs, turning a few I had little success with. The second rain head turns on, along with a steam valve that emits a plume of warming mist that fills the shower.

Keeping the plate out of the spray, I pop a blackberry in my mouth, then almost choke on it, looking up.

Dalton’s hair is pushed back, water beading on his locks, darkening them to near jet black.

Rivulets trickle over his shoulders and down those sculpted abs.

The weight of the water has tugged his sweats indecently and exquisitely lower, exposing the entire V at the base of his stomach.

My fingers tingle with the urge to touch him, to follow the lines all the way down.

He must notice my stare, because he hooks a thumb in the waistband, so they slide down a few more centimeters. I pop another blackberry in my mouth to keep my hands busy and to myself. But Dalton refuses to be ignored.

“May I?” Dalton closes the distance between us and plucks a strawberry from the plate, holding it just within biting distance. There’s a twinkle in his eye I’m starting to recognize as a challenge. Oh, two can play this game.

Keeping my eyes on his, I take the entire thing in my mouth, letting my lips brush his fingers before dragging back to bite it off at just shy of the base. The way his throat bobs, eyes widening before narrowing, is like being handed a winning trophy.

“Water safe foods?” I ask, glancing down at the plate I hold between us that is now beading with droplets.

“And finger food.” He says, plucking a grape and popping it in his mouth. But there’s still desire in his eyes and the front of his pants is straining more than they were a moment ago. I offer him a strawberry, which he nips off with implied motions of where he’d rather have his mouth.

We’ve both drifted back to the falling water streams, standing closer together to let it run down our shoulders, but not soak the plate.

With each pass of fruit, we seem to inch closer until the plate’s edges are digging into my breastbone and the top of his abs.

Last night comes back in crashing waves of pleasure, and God, do I want my hands on him, my lips claiming his again.

The next blackberry I place between my front teeth, tilting my head in offering.

Dalton dips down, pressing his lips over mine and using his tongue to sweep the fruit free.

His forehead presses to mine, hand finding my waist, fingertips pressing into the soft flesh in a way that turns me molten.

As soon as he swallows the berry, he asks, “Fuck the fruit?”

“Fuck the fruit.” I agree.

His hands are lightning, sweeping the plate away and depositing it on a ledge. Then they’re on me. His thumb caresses a nipple, the other hand pulling my hips against his. Dalton’s lips take mine, and it’s intoxicating. I crave more.

Last night was all about me, not that I’m complaining.

But I also want this adventure of ours to be about him.

Our entire date was amazing. I wouldn’t have had those experiences if he hadn’t first bailed me out on the egregious bid, then also woke up early so I couldn’t back out.

My fingers trace over the lines and ridges of his abs before following the V down to the front of his barely hanging on sweats.

If it weren’t for his raging boner, they’d have slipped off already.

He stills under my touch as I pause, enjoying the tremor it elicits.

“You don’t have to,” Dalton says against my lips, mistaking my hesitation for unwillingness.

“I know. I want to.” I want to make Dalton feel just as good as he made me feel last night.

Reaching in, I grip the full, hard length of him. Then stroke from root to tip, before running the pad of my thumb over the head. Dalton twitches, releasing a groan as his head tilts back. “Damn it, that feels good.”

His one hand is still kneading my breast, but I want this to be about him. Shoving his pants down, I free him, giving me full access and evening the playing field.

“Sit,” I order, pointing to a huge bench spanning one wall in the shower. Dalton shuffles backward, pants still tangled around his ankles, cock still in my stroking hand.

“I’m pretty sure if you told me to climb another skyscraper right now, I’d do it.” He gasps.

I only let go long enough for him to sit back on the solid stone slab.

Placing my hands on his knees, I lower myself in front of him.

The look in his eyes is both shock and pure carnal lust. I can’t remember the last time a man looked at me with such intensity.

I’m almost to my knees when his hand catches my chin.

“Really, Jenna. You don’t have to do this.

This date was supposed to be about you.” The burning in his gaze softens, the corners of his mouth turning down.

I’m shocked to find he means it. Despite the six orgasms he gave me last night, the two times he went down on me, he doesn’t expect me to reciprocate.

I sit back on my heels, using his thigh to balance.