Page 96 of The Revenge Game
“I should probably go back to my apartment at some point, change my clothes, charge my phone at least,” Drew finally says, and I hear the reluctance in his voice. “Maybe take a shower.”
I tighten my arms around his waist, nuzzling into his neck. “Do you want some company?” I ask.
He turns to look at me, quirking an eyebrow. “Are you thinking I can’t walk the forty feet to my apartment without an escort?”
“I was thinking more that we haven’t had shower sex yet, and your shower is bigger than mine,” I say.
He grins. “I like your thinking.”
“Come on then.” I get to my feet and pull Drew up with me. “Let’s get you home and cleaned up.”
“You make it sound like I’m a stray dog you found in the park.”
“Well, you did just eat all my food and make friends with my cats.”
The forty feet between our apartments has never felt longer. Drew fumbles with his keys, probably because I can’t stop kissing that spot behind his ear.
“You’re not helping with my coordination,” he says.
“I’m providing motivation for faster key usage.”
We finally make it inside, but Drew barely has a chance to plug in his phone before I kiss him again. His breath hitches as my hands slide under his shirt.
“What happened to shower sex?” he asks, but his hands are already working at my buttons.
“We’ll get there. Eventually.” I capture his lips with mine, swallowing whatever clever response he was about to make.
We finally make it to his bathroom, leaving a trail of clothes that would probably make my usually meticulous self cringe if I wasn’t so distracted by my mouth on Drew’s collarbone.
It appears London plumbing isn’t designed with urgent make-out sessions in mind because the shower takes forever to heat properly, but I barely notice because Drew, naked and soapy, is possibly the most incredible sight I’ve ever seen. Water droplets cling to his eyelashes, and his hair is plastered to his forehead in a way that makes him look younger, more vulnerable.
“You’re staring,” he says, pushing his wet hair back.
“Can you blame me? You look like a very sexy drowned rat.”
He splashes water in my face. “Such a romantic.”
But he doesn’t offer any protests when I press him against the shower wall, claiming his mouth in a kiss that tastes like water and desire. His hands slide over my wet skin, finding all those spots he’s already learned drive me crazy.
Shower sex turns out to be even better than I anticipated. Drew keeps making these incredible sounds that echo off the tiles, and the way the water makes everything slick and smooth between us drives me absolutely insane.
Afterward, we wash each other’s hair, trading lazy kisses under the spray.
We eventually stumble out of the shower. I wrap a towel around my waist, unable to resist pulling Drew in for one more kiss. Water drips from his hair onto my chest.
“I’m thinking you need some more nourishment.” I nuzzle his neck, tasting shower water and Drew.
“Good luck finding anything edible in my kitchen,” Drew says.
“Hey now, I’m sure there’s at least one unexpired condiment packet in there,” I say, and Drew laughs.
We leave damp footprints on the carpet as we head to the kitchen, trading kisses and funny ideas of what kind of fusion cuisine we could cobble together from his fridge.
We’re so caught up in each other that, at first, I don’t notice we’re not alone.
When I do spot the guy standing in Drew’s living room, the sight hits me like a bucket of ice water, shocking every system in my body into high alert.
What the hell?
