Page 82 of Recklessly Rogue

A glance at the clock tells me that Henry either realized or got a text telling him that he didn’t need to pick up cinnamon rolls and deliver them to the bar this morning. April stayed over at Mandy’s. Will always goes and picks up Charles, so Mandy probably gave April a ride to Dick’s with the cinnamon rolls sitting on the seat between them.

I stretch and contemplate joining Henry in the shower.

I only contemplate it for about a minute. Why would I not do that?

I get up and pad to the bathroom door. It’s not latched and just as I reach out to push it open, I hear the unmistakable sound of a low, husky male groan.

That doesn’t sound like a groan of pain or illness. I’ve heard that groan before.

I quietly nudge the door open another inch. I hear the groan again and then my name.

“Ruby.Fuck.”

Oh, I know exactly what’s going on.

And while it is very hot, I can’t believe he’s doing that without me.

I push the door open further and slip inside.

Steam makes the air a little hazy, but even without that, I wouldn’t be able to see him.

Unfortunately, we live in an older house that has not been renovated in the past twenty years. If only we’d had the money to put in an all-glass panel shower. Becausethiswould be a very nice sight.

As it is, Henry is on the other side of a plastic shower curtain covered with seahorses, and I can’t see anything.

But I have a very good imagination, and I have committed every inch of this man to memory.

I lift myself up onto the bathroom counter as he groans my name again. I’m only wearing a long T-shirt and panties, so the countertop is cold against my ass and bare thighs, but I don’t care. I cross my legs, brace my hands on the counter, and grin.

“Ruby. Fuck, just like that. That’s my girl.”

Sounds like I’m doing a great job.

“Yes,yes.”

I’m imagining him with one hand braced against the shower wall, water sliding over all of those sculpted muscles, headhanging, his big right hand wrapped around his thick cock, pumping the length rapidly.

Is he imagining me giving him a blow job, or is he fucking me in this fantasy?

My thighs clench in response to both images.

He groans again, and I uncross my legs. I move my hand between my thighs, over the silk of my panties, pressing against my clit.

Why should he be the only one having fun? He could’ve invited me into the shower with him. Or he could’ve stayed in the bedroom and woken me up. Or he could’ve just waited until I woke up, and we could’ve done this in the bedroom. Or he could’ve carried me into the shower.

He’s the one who decided to go solo. So…

I slip my hand inside my panties, my middle finger sliding over my clit. I pause and circle, imagining it’s Henry’s tongue. I slide my fingers lower, teasing my entrance, then sliding first one finger, then another inside.

I’m so wet from just listening to him and imagining what he’s doing.

I can definitely get myself off right here and now while he’s doing the same on the other side of the shower curtain.

I let my head fall back, and I slip my other hand under my shirt and up to cup one breast.

Suddenly, the shower curtain slides open.

“What are you doing, Gem?”

---