“Don’t you dare hold back.” His words are muffled, but I hear him. I feel him.
He nuzzles my clit with his nose while sliding his tongue inside me, and I’m lost. My hips jerk and rock, and all that heat and tongue and pressure down there feels so good that everything else slips away.
I lean back on my hands because it brings me closer to him, closer to the strokes of his tongue and the pleasure of his kiss. By the time he slips a finger inside me, I’m already halfway gone, and his lips wrap around my clit and send me over the edge.
When Nate stands, he’s breathing heavily and his eyes are all over me. I scramble to right myself, but he steps between my legs before I can hop off the counter. He cups my face in his hands and kisses me—long and slow and steady. My disintegrated nerve endings fire to life again, one by one.
If I had any idea that letting a guy kiss me between my legs would feel like that, I might have gotten over my insecurities and let Max do it when he asked. “You’re always making me feel so good, Hanna. Let me return the favor. I’m dying to kiss you there.”
I kiss Nate harder and thread my fingers into his hair as if I need to hold on to him—to the here and the now—to keep the memories at bay.
Between kisses, I find the hem of his shirt and pull it over his head. The sight of him takes my breath away. He’s not as built as Max, but he’s still gorgeous—a date tattooed above his right pec, the glinting blade of a sword tattooed up his left side, the Hulk tattoo he mentioned in the bar on his shoulder. I promise myself I’ll explore them all later.
My hands drop to the waistband of his jeans. I unbutton them and shove them down his thighs. I slide my hand inside his boxer briefs and wrap my fingers around him. He draws in his breath in a hiss that shoots something electric through my veins and emboldens me. I’m insecure about my body, but I know I’m good at this.
He sweeps his thumb over my shoulder. “You’re cold.”
“I’m fine,” I promise, but he sheds his briefs and leads me into the shower.
The water rains down on us as he draws me against him, my back against his front. He lathers soap between his hands and slowly washes my body. His fingers knead small circles down my belly, slip between my legs, and trail back up. When his hands cup my breasts, I close my eyes and let him toy with my nipples.
“I could do this all day,” he murmurs against my ear. “I love the way you respond when I touch you.”
As I turn in his arms, his cock juts out between us, long and thick. I drop to my knees under the spray.
“Hanna.” He reaches for me.
Before he can say anything else, I draw my tongue up the underside of him, from root to tip. I focus on the salty taste, the way he mutters “Jesus” and slides his hands into my hair, the memory of him touching me outside the bar, moving his fingers inside me, and making me come with people milling around the corner not ten feet away, the still-tender skin of my inner thighs marked by his stubble. It all compounds and gets my mind back where it belongs—on this man, this night, and the way he makes me feel.
I wrap my hands around him and squeeze, stroke, squeeze, stroke. Then I part my lips and taste the head of his cock, licking it, and then opening to take more of him in.
He leans back against the tile and tugs lightly at my hair. “Fuck, angel, I could come just looking at your lips stretched over my dick like that.”
His words tie a knot of pleasure between my legs, and I suck him deeper. He’s a big guy, and I use my hand to stroke the part of him I can’t take. With my other hand, I gently cup his balls, and a long, pained groan rips from his chest.
All my life, I’ve had this need to please others, to do for them instead of myself. It’s a characteristic I’ve cursed many times, but it made me damn good at this. Right now, being good at bringing Nate pleasure is the only thing that matters. I love the feel of his hands tightening in my hair when I pull him deep, love the taste of him on my tongue, the way his hips buck forward and pull back when I suck. He’s struggling to hold on to his control, and that knowledge only makes me hungrier for him, for this, for what will come after.
“Hanna.” His voice is rough, a painful scrape of control against pleasure. “Get up here, baby. I’m—”
I relax my throat and drop my hand, taking nearly all of him, farther than I thought I could. But I’m so turned on the discomfort barely registers. I add pressure to his balls, massaging them until he loses hold of that control and lets his hips rock toward my face. The movement pushes him deeper, and I swallow, knowing that the pressure will squeeze him. His hips jerk again, and I’m so turned on by what I’m doing that I moan, and the vibration of my lips and mouth pushes him over the edge. I swallow as he comes in my throat, his hand fisting almost painfully in my hair.
I withdraw slowly, and he draws me up until I’m standing, my needy and trembling body leaning into him.
He loosens his grip on my hair as he kisses me, long and thorough and a little rough. He bites my lip before pulling back. “I didn’t think you could taste any better than you did.” He presses another kiss to my mouth and growls. “But tasting myself on you… Jesus, Hanna, there’s nothing as sexy as that.”
“Hmm, I like the way you taste.”
It’s my turn to take the soap. To let my fingers explore his body while I clean every inch of him. He watches me through thick, dark lashes as I lather his shoulders, his pecs, the flat of his stomach.
I’m struck by the intimacy of this act—of how vulnerable we are when bathing. It’s more intimate than what he did to me on the vanity. And here I am, sharing it with a man I just met. Showing him and giving him more than I ever gave Max. Because there’s a security in knowing that this is just one night. If Nate doesn’t like my body, or if he’s disappointed that I can’t do some yoga-inspired position in bed, I don’t lose anything.
How many times did Max invite me to shower with him? I always declined because I passed on anything that involved getting nude with Max. I didn’t want him to see my painfully imperfect body. I was afraid he’d realize I wasn’t as beautiful as he thought.
I’ve circled around Nate and begun washing his back when he turns to me, takes away the soap, and rinses us both.
“I need more, angel,” he murmurs.
I’m not sure what he means, but when he takes my hand and leads me out of the shower, I follow him. He dries me with a soft towel and pulls me into the bedroom.