Page 58 of Feed Your Fiends

“Now, are you going to wash my hair or not?” I sit straighter, waiting.

His smile is sweet. Toosweet.

Elle

He grabs one of the thin, mini shower heads from the wall before slipping onto the bench behind me. His fingers slide beneath my breasts as he pulls me into the cradle of his hard thighs, then onto them so that his dick is splitting my ass and the slippery head presses against my clit. But he doesn’t push and break my barriers. He’s so thick that it almost hurts, in the best way.

“Lean back, dove.”

I do, falling against his chest as he runs the gentle stream over my head, avoiding my face. The pressure’s just enough to tingle my scalp, then my breasts, then my nipples. When the water trails to my stomach, he hooks his feet around my ankles and pulls my legs apart.

“Oh!” I jump when the stream hits my clit but the second it does, I notice something I hadn’t noticed in the car through my stockings. An annoying, fuzzy coat of ginger hair.Fuck.Shaving had been the last thing on my mind at the hospital and Libellule, where I spent every waking hour helping with renovations and pampering my feet.

Heat that has nothing to do with the steamy water or his cock growing slicker by the second beneath me rushes through my veins as I try to close my legs.

“What are you doing?” he asks, spreading me as wide as my legs will allow.

I catch sight of us on the opposite, shiny glass wall. Though our water-splattered reflections are faint, I can still see how crass it looks. How…erotic it looks and feels when he drips the water over my clit again, and this time the sensation is twofold because I’m more exposed.

I grab at his triceps, that flex beneath my hold. “Me? What are you—”

“I’m washing you, Dove. How can I lather you if you’re not wet first?” he says darkly. “Don’t tell me you’re soaked already?”

The pressure, not just from the shower head but in my core is coiling so tight that I’m going to—I squirm and buck against him but his legs are like fucking lead weights, his calf muscles, so built from ballet flexing as he keeps me pinned open.

His fingers part me, and when he pulls them away a second later, I can see that it’s not water coating them. Not water that stretches between them as he pulls them apart pointedly.

“I—” A sharp intake of breath cuts off my words.

“Youwhat?”

I dig my nails deeper into his muscles. “Stop! The pressure is—”

“Building, isn’t it?”

But the second a wave of ecstasy begins to roll through me, he moves the shower head innocently away.

“Wait!” I grab his wrist, but he lets the head rattle to the floor a second before his foamy fingers are massaging my scalp. It’s so gentle compared to the intensity a moment before, that I can almost drift off to sleep if my clit wasn’t still pulsing, crying at the loss of sensation.

“You told me to stop. Or did you not mean it? Do I need to hearSimon saysfirst?”

I glare into his eyes, which are filled with mirth and haziness that isn’t from the steam.

These stupid fucking games of his.

Like a pouty brat, I ram my head into his chest, which rattles with a deep chuckle as he continues to lather me. It's so soothing that I almost relax.Almost, because then he's stroking down my body, his fingers curling around my neck and ticklishly tracing my collarbones. He works soapy bubbles over my nipples, rolling them between his fingers, and squeezing me tight so that my breasts push together like two slippery balloons about to pop.

His chin digs into my shoulder to watch as he circles the peaks and traces the deep creases underneath before trailing to my belly. The position he has me locked in makes another roll appear in my stomach, much to my humiliation because, of course, he has none. But any embarrassment I feel over my stomach dissipates when he tries to touch my slit again, and his fingertips drift into that fuzz.

I grab his wrist. “I can do that.” I try to dislodge him, but he curls his fingers, causing me to whimper in pain as I tug the hairs, too.

“I’m good at shaving,” he says lowly. “I do it every morning.”

“Like I’d trust you with a blade.”

“You should.” He grabs it off the ledge, and the bright silver gleams beneath the shower lights. It’s not the cheap kind that I buy in packs of three from the corner shop. It’s the kind you need a stone or strap to sharpen. The expensive kind I’d never used before. “Because it’s incredibly sharp. One flick and you could sever your clit. Have you used a straight blade before?” he asks, grazing it down my stomach.

I recoil at the cool touch, suddenly petrified, but since he’s behind me, I only sink further into him.

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