Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Reaching around her, he turned on the shower tap, while she closed the door as if someone might hear the water running.
“I don’t want to get my hair wet,” she said.
“Your hair is not where I want to make you wet.”
Then he pulled the last few pins out of her chignon, waves the color of garnets falling over her shoulders.
“You’re so bad,” she whispered as she stepped out of her shoes.
He pulled her into the shower and didn’t get her hair wet. Not yet. “If you won’t let me wash your hair, I’ll have to soap you everywhere else.” He pumped body wash onto his palm.
“But I already took a shower today.”
He smiled wickedly. “This has nothing to do with anything that happened before that first kiss.” Soaping her breasts, he ran his fingers around the peaks, watching them tighten all over again. “Your skin is so soft, so smooth.”
He pulled, tweaked, and she gasped, holding on to his shoulders as if her knees were weak without him.
Plastering her against him, he slid his hands around to her spine, his fingers trailing down her back to her bottom, soaping her, molding her to him until she had to feel how hard he was for her already.
She groaned. “But I have a meeting.”
“Screw your meeting,” he said, burying his face against her neck, nibbling her sweet skin, biting her lightly until she arched into him.
He followed the curve of her hips and slid his hand between them to find her center. With his mouth to hers, he whispered, “I told you there were other ways I wanted to get you wet.”
“Ransom.” His name was a moan on her lips.
He stroked her until she whimpered with need. With all the soap washed away, he slid his hands down her thighs and went to his knees before her. Pushing her back against the wall, he tasted her. Christ. She was ambrosia on his tongue. He didn’t care that the water plastered his hair against his head. He simply wanted her moans, her sighs, her pleasure. He wanted her.
“Ransom. Ransom.” She fisted her hands in his hair. “Oh God.” Then twisted her fingers as he brought her closer to the edge.
But he needed to go deeper, so much deeper, and he pulled her leg up, her thigh over his shoulder, and filled her with his fingers while he played her with his tongue.
“Ransom, please, oh my God, please, Ransom.”
His name hadn’t been on her lips in the throes of ecstasy in fifteen years. And the words stroked him like her fingers on his skin.
He gave himself up to the sensual taste of her, the feel of her, the scent of her as her shuddering climax rippled through him. Her cries melted away with the steam.
Finally, she pulled him up to tower over her, then down to take his lips with hers.
They parted just enough for her to say, “I want you inside me. I need you.”
Her need caressed his soul, but all he could say was, “I don’t have another condom.”
“Then I want this.” She wrapped her hand around him, and if he was hard before, he was like steel now.
She went to her knees.
“Your hair’s getting wet.”
Before she took him between her lips, she murmured, “Screw my hair.”
* * *
His taste was the nectar she’d dreamed of for years, even if she’d never wanted to admit it. His skin was smooth beneath her fingertips, his muscles taut against her palm. Groans of pleasure rained down on her, and he was a hard jewel in her mouth. Fingers in her hair, he gave her the sweetest massage as he guided her. A sound rose from her throat, came out as a moan around him. And his legs trembled.
His taste, his feel, his musky male scent—it was all like waking from a dream. While all they’d done had been dazzling when she was twenty-one, it was as if they’d only been practicing for this.
She didn’t care about the water raining down on her, didn’t care about the meeting she’d be late for, didn’t care that Naomi would have heard the lock turn or the water running.
There was only this—his granite hardness in her mouth, his muscles bunched beneath the hand she steadied him with, and those delicious sounds that fell from his lips.
She felt him throb and wrapped her hand around him, stroking him while her mouth took him. His legs quivered beneath her touch.
He growled, “Goddammit. I’m so ready. I can’t stop.”
She heard the warning but didn’t stop, loving him between her lips. When he climaxed, she took all of him, needing it, wanting it, glorying in his salty-sweet taste.
He was delicious beyond her memories, beyond her imaginings, beyond anything she’d ever tasted. Beyond her wildest desires.
When she’d taken his essence, every last drop, he pulled her up to wrap his arms around her, capturing her lips in a kiss that tasted of them both. He took her mouth ravenously, kissed her with a passion she hadn’t known since the last time with him. Kissed her with the promise that it would only get better.