Part 21 (1/2)

Harris seemed to recognize all of this. He pushed me so my back was against the wall, the water beating against my front. He had a bar of soap in his hand, and proceeded to scrub me with it, all over. He started with my face, telling me in a gruff whisper to close my eyes, then washed my face and rinsed it carefully. He moved to my neck and shoulders, tugging me forward to wash my back while kissing me between my b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Then he roamed over my b.r.e.a.s.t.s with the soap bar, and G.o.d, that was s.e.xy, intimate, tender...too much to handle. I closed my eyes and let him wash me. Thighs, core, a.s.s, all over, kissing me clean everywhere. I was breathless by the time he was done, and tried to take the soap from him, but he just knocked my hands away and pulled me under the water to wash my hair. He had bottles of complimentary hotel shampoo and conditioner, and used them both on my thick, curly black hair, working them in one after another, ma.s.saging my scalp.

I was finally clean, head to toe.

I reversed positions with Nick, and did the same for him, was.h.i.+ng him from head to toe, but I made sure to avoid his erogenous zones at first. Meaning, I washed his hair first, and then ran the soap over his lean, hard, toned body, only touching his c.o.c.k at the end. By this time his erection had subsided to a drooping semi, but I made short work of this sad fact. I lathered soap onto my hands and then worked it onto his c.o.c.k and b.a.l.l.s, ma.s.saging gently, just was.h.i.+ng him at first, and then as I rinsed him clean began stroking him to full erection.

G.o.d, the man had a lovely c.o.c.k. Seriously. I've seen and handled a lot of c.o.c.k, and his was-objectively speaking-the best I'd ever gotten my hands on. I mean, it wasn't about sheer size. I'd seen bigger. But there is actually such a thing as too big, in my opinion at least. It's more about overall shape, for me. Size factors in, clearly, and Nick had size in spades. He wasn't hung like a horse in any literal sense, which was perfect for me. I could tell as I explored his d.i.c.k with my hands that he'd fill me enough that I'd feel pleasurably stretched. Big, thick, long, but just perfectly shaped, mostly straight but with a very slight curve, and that curve...I s.h.i.+vered with antic.i.p.ation-when he was inside me he'd hit me just right, and I was looking forward to it.

Like, a LOT.

I may have gotten a little carried away, stroking him in the shower. The water had gone cold, but I didn't care. It felt good, the cool water on my skin. I had both fists around his c.o.c.k and was stroking him, not trying to get him off, just...playing with his length, pausing now and then to cup and ma.s.sage his heavy b.a.l.l.s, rolling them in my palms. No mouth, this time, I just touched. Learned. Explored.

And he let me. He watched, head leaned back against the tile, hands on my shoulders, thumbs circling on my skin in idle affection. And that idle touch, it was enough to make me almost panic, because it was unconscious, the kind of touch that means so much, more than any s.e.xual touching. It was like the way he had of brus.h.i.+ng his thumb across my lips. Tender. Affectionate. Meaningful.

When I had him breathing hard and had his hips fluttering with the smooth, slow strokes of my fingers around him, Nick lifted me to my feet, shut off the water, and indicated with a push that he wanted me out of the shower. He made quick work of drying us both, and then hauled me into the bedroom. Hot humid air immediately coated my skin. Nick's eyes roamed down my body, and his lip curled up in a hungry smile.

”Now we're both clean. No more excuses.”

”Excuses?” I asked.

He didn't bother answering. He just pushed me up against the bed. Before he bent me forward, however, he pressed himself up against me, erection nestling between the heavy globes of my a.s.s, pulled me backward so my head rested on his shoulder, and kissed me, traced my lips with his thumb. He bent at the knees, his hand cupping my throat, holding me against him, and his c.o.c.k nudged against my entrance.

”Oh G.o.d. Nick...”

”You want it, don't you?”

I nodded. ”Jesus, yes.”

”Say it, Layla.”

”I want your c.o.c.k inside me, Nick. I want you to f.u.c.k me.”

He kissed me once more, and then his c.o.c.k filled me with one hard thrust, and a scream ripped out of me.

Oh holy f.u.c.k.

This was going to be incredible.

13.

f.u.c.kED.

One short, hard thrust, and his c.o.c.k was fully seated inside me, filling me, stretching me. Still standing up, his hand gently gripping my throat to keep me in place-as if I was trying to escape-I was rendered helpless. Totally helpless. I couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't think. The only thing that existed in my whole universe was Harris, big and hard and hot behind me, his d.i.c.k inside me, his hand on my throat, the other strumming my nipple like a guitar string.

He didn't move. Time stood still, and the only sound was my ragged gasps and his steady breathing. His lips touched my temple, and I trembled.

What the f.u.c.k was he doing?

To kiss a body is s.e.xual, to press lips to chest or hip or c.o.c.k or p.u.s.s.y or belly, that's s.e.x. To make out, that's s.e.x.

To kiss one's face, one's cheek, one's forehead, a temple, a jaw...that is intimate and personal.

I didn't do intimate.

I didn't do personal.

To quote a certain fictional phenomenon, ”I f.u.c.k. Hard.” I didn't connect with those particular characters on any level, except for the intimacy factor. Even with Eric, my one real serious boyfriend, the only man I ever lived with, the only guy I ever let see even a hint of my true inner self, even with him I didn't really do intimacy. s.e.x was s.e.x. Eric and I f.u.c.ked. We boned. Don't get me wrong, I liked Eric. A lot. I dated him for a long time, and lived with him. But I didn't do intimacy with him. There was no pillow talk. There was no kissy-face hold me afterward and tell me your deepest thoughts and share your most tender emotions.

He never kissed my temple.

Harris kissed my temple, one brief, slow, and utterly confusing touch of his lips to the side of my skull, and I was lost.

Not like, falling in love lost, or drowning in his touch lost, but the what the f.u.c.k is happening and where am I and what's going on kind of lost.

And then, wildest of all, my body betrayed my heart. My hand reached up and back, and my palm cupped the nape of his neck and my head twisted to the side and my mouth sought skin and my heart was cras.h.i.+ng and thundering and cracking and twisting and my mind was rebelling, but my body was in control. My body had hijacked the rest of me.

My lips sought skin, and found it. Found his jaw. His cheekbone. I clutched the back of his head and trembled like a dry leaf in a long wind.

And still he wasn't moving. Seemingly content to just hold the pose, both of us standing up facing the bed, his shaft buried deep inside my slit, my body boneless and without strength, leaning with total trust against Harris's chest.

A breath left me in a broken sigh, and I sank down, letting my weight fall just a bit, pus.h.i.+ng him deeper. I couldn't take the motionlessness, couldn't take the shredding intimacy of his breath on my cheek, his wordless possession of me. I couldn't handle the memory of that kiss to my temple. I needed...more.

”Nick...” I murmured.

”I know,” he said, and pushed me forward.

Willingly, gladly, I bent over the bed, spread my feet shoulder-width apart, braced myself with arms straight, elbows locked, hands on the mattress. I waited. Breathless with antic.i.p.ation, with bated breath, with every other cliche you can think of, I waited.

And Harris, he kept me waiting. Didn't give me what I wanted, didn't do what I expected. Instead of thrusting hard, pus.h.i.+ng into me, he leaned over me and pressed his lips to my spine, right at the center of my back, ran his palms up my sides. I shook so hard I had to clench my teeth. What the actual f.u.c.k was he doing?

Another caress, downward this time, from armpits down my sides to cup my hips, then his palms circled my a.s.s cheeks. He pulled back, withdrawing. I bit my lip, waiting for the rough slam...

He pushed in gently, slowly, and I sagged, at once defeated and exhilarated. So good. So f.u.c.king good. The feel of him, moving in me. The sweet wet slide of his c.o.c.k pus.h.i.+ng into me, I groaned with delight.

He leaned over me as his hips pressed flush against my a.s.s. His lips touched the sh.e.l.l of my ear. ”Rough...or slow?”

”Rough,” I answered immediately.

He bit my earlobe. Hard.

I shrieked in surprise and twisted my head to look at him in shock, and he just grinned as he straightened behind me, running his palm down my spine to grab a handful of b.u.t.t cheek. ”Rough?”

I nodded. ”Rough.”

”How rough you want it, Layla?”

”f.u.c.k me hard, Nick.”