Page 25 of Car Wash
“Nice day, isn’t it?” he says. He walks to the mailbox. He picks up the newspaper on the lawn. The suburbs suit him.
“It certainly is a nice day,” I reply with a smile tugging at the corners of my lips. “Even more now that my man is with me.”
The sun is shining and there isn’t a cloud in the sky. It’s warm and the sunlight beating down on me feels heavenly.
He steps close and grabs my waist, pulling me against him. His hands slide up my back, slow and warm, before tracing along my jaw. I melt into the kiss — deep, wet, slow. His tongue slides over mine and I whimper against his mouth.
“I wish I could get closer to you,” I murmur, dragging my fingers across his chest. “Turns out baby bumps make that difficult.”
I bend down to grab a bucket. Some water sloshes out when I grab the sponge from it. I give the sponge a squeeze and plop it down on the hood of the car.
He bites his lower lip. God, that is the move that makes my clit do a cartwheel. With his lip between his teeth, he looks like something is moving through him, shoving away all of the decorum and light-hearted good nature of the guy who cheers for his kid during a talent show and replacing it with the pure, hot, primal instinct that gave us this family in the first place.
I shove a bucket into his arms.
“Are you helping or not?”
He chuckles and takes it. “I’m helping.”
He walks to the other side of the car and sets the bucket down as he grabs the second sponge. He glides it against the windshield. All of his thick muscles flex and pulse as he works. His tattoos, once fading, are still fading. He has a few new ones that look fresh and bright.
I watch with every little grunt he makes. Every little movement of his muscles, every breath, it all mixes together and makes me feel like my head is in the clouds.
He shouldn’t be able to show his forearms in public. They need to be hidden. Every time he goes out in public with a short-sleeved shirt, I wonder how many women save the mental image to think about whenever they want a jolt of excitement.
The sunlight is highlighting every little movement he makes. I’m completely swooning over the sight of him.
His gaze drifts to my eyes and he gives me a huge, broad smile.
I must have been staring. Staring at my own husband. Mooning over the man who’s already locked me down.
My cheeks blush and I look away.
He tosses his sponge onto the back window and rounds the car, skulking toward me, green eyes flashing.
He takes my face in his hands and presses a long, deep kiss against my lips.
“What are you doing?” I gasp, laughing. “We’re in the middle of something!”
“Exactly,” he says. “And it would be fantastic if I could get your ass on the hood of this car and fuck you right here and now.”
“Hmm,” I moan as I pull away. There’s an intense, dark streak in his gaze. I can feel it pulse through me, peeling back layers of good judgment and tact. “I’d like nothing more than that, but I think we might get arrested for indecency.”
He scoops me up in his arms. My feet are off the ground before I have the chance to say anything.
Inside, he kicks the door closed and carries me straight upstairs, not stopping until he’s dropping me onto the bed and stripping off his shirt in one smooth motion.
He leans over me, slow and heavy, his hands sliding under my shirt, lifting it inch by inch until my breasts are free. He kisses along my neck, my collarbone, down to the swell of my chest. His lips close around my nipple and I gasp, fingers sinking into his hair.
I’m already soaked.
His fingers trail down my belly, past the curve of it, and into my shorts. He finds the heat immediately, stroking softly, then firmly, then not nearly enough.
“Get these off,” he growls, tugging my shorts and panties down in one motion.
“I thought you wanted to get me into the shower,” I say.
“Not yet,” he says. “I’m intending to do more dirty stuff to you and I’m not getting you clean until I absolutely have to.”
