Page 132 of You, As You Are

Drawing them apart, Iain stepped up into the shower and closed the glass behind him. He’d already had one not even an hour ago, but if Maisie wanted to see him shower then he would fucking shower. He wanted her nice and ready to take him in whatever way, and if that meant turning her on the way she wanted him to then he was more than willing.

So he twisted the dial and let water rain down over him, the temperature already set permanently to how he liked it. He shook his head under the spray, wetting his hair, and looked back to find Maisie’s lip curled between her teeth, her eyes on his arse. He spun like a model on display and gave her a show, before leaning his shoulder blades against the solid, cold tiles.

Maisie padded backwards and sat on the edge of his bathtub, anchoring her feet apart. This whole moment felt like a dance, him giving one move and her taking the next. She spread her legs and showed him what his base urges wanted, making his cock twitch in desperation to have her hands wrapped around him. He still remembered the achingly perfect way her thighs had squeezed around him last Saturday night.

Her fingers traced up the inner of her thigh, each stroke leaving Iain mesmerised.

“I could prepare you much better if you were in here with me, Daff.”

Maisie shook her head. “Take the shower gel. Lather yourself up.”

Iain obeyed. The cedarwood scent filled the air with the steam that escaped out over the shower. He used a cloth and spread the suds across his chest and over one shoulder, eyes glued to where Maisie’s fingers travelled across her stomach, dipping under the high waisted emerald satin.

His soapy hand drifted to his?—

“Ah-ah—No touching.”

Iain dragged his hand away from himself, exhaling a burdened, strangled sound. “This is torture, woman.”

“You’re not done.”

It truly was torture to be so far away, unable to touch her, to feel the slickness of her getting herself wet. Iain watched her knuckles move under the shiny emerald material, knowing just what she was doing to herself. It should behishand there making her thighs twitch, her hips roll, the red flush coming out on her cheeks.

“Does it turn you on to be this bossy?” he demanded to know. “To tell me what to do?” It wasn’t like her – the woman he’d witnessed bending to everyone else’s will was finally taking something for herself.

Maisie rolled her lips together in smug satisfaction.

Iain tipped his head back against the wall, scrunching the wet cloth in his fist. “Show me your fingers,” he said. Maisie drew them out of her underwear, two digits glistening in the light, and his cock jumped again. “There’s my answer.”

He brushed the shower cloth across his chest, foamy suds dissolving and rolling down his body. “Use them properly, Maisie.” She dipped her fingers inside herself, and a tinywhimper left her lips. “That’s it. I want you as wet as I am right now.”

Maisie shrugged her shoulder, letting his robe that she’d stolen, fall.

In a snap decision, Iain shut off the water and stepped out of the shower, dripping all over the floor.

Standing, Maisie’s outstretched hand met the centre of his abdomen and stopped him from getting too close. “You should probably get dry.”

Iain unhooked a towel from the radiator and held it out. “Do the honours then.”

For a millisecond, her eyes protested from the deviation to whatever she’d planned – she wasn’t the only one who could be bossy for the sake of getting themselves off – but then she took the towel and pressed it to his chest, then each shoulder. Droplets ran down his spine, and Iain was far too turned on to not be excited by the way they tickled his skin as they rolled. Maisie brushed down one arm and then the other, her lip firmly between her teeth as she dabbed at his abdomen.

“Lower,” he husked.

Lifting her gaze up through her lashes, she let the towel slide through her fingers, and he was so damn hard for her that it hooked on his dick. His body lurched as she two-fisted him – literally rubbing him dry.

Iain breathed in deeply and closed his eyes, forcing every tiny fibre of control he had over his body into submission to not ruin this too soon. Butfuckit was impossible.

Maisie dragged the towel all the way to his tip and urged it all the way back down. Iain’s nose exhaled sharp breaths that sounded a lot like frustration. He was too hard for this. Too ready to let her see just how much she affected his every sense.

“I should dry your hair too,” she said, giving one more exaggerated pump.

“Go on then.”

Maisie hummed. “I recall you saying something about getting on your knees.”

Iain nudged her wrists to move away, sinking to his knees on the cold tiles in the pool of water that’d gathered at his feet. Never once did he take his eyes away from the beautiful freckles on her cheeks, the bright streak of green in her eyes. Maisie put the towel to his head, and he felt her nails scratching through the fabric as she massaged his hair dry.

He was on his knees in the space between hers, looking up at all of her,almostall of her, at her mercy for the way she made his blood pump harder than any sprint on the field to the goal line. She didn’t cower from his sight – the form of her from this angle looking so beautifully full.

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