Page 70 of Prince of the Northwest Forest
“Nothing.”
“Oh, now you have to tell me.” He stretches his arms out to rest on the side of the spa, his dark tan nipples on display.
I’d be drooling if I weren’t so busy staring. “I really want to touch you,” I admit.
“You can.”
I shake my head. “Not in the way I want.”
He sighs, sounding resigned. “Then wash my hair. You can do that.”
“In here?”
He points to a set of toiletries off to the side. They seem clearly intended for use in the spa. So maybe it’s just a whirlpool tub.
Washing Justice’s hair might be torturing myself.
I want nothing more. I gesture for him to come sit between my legs. As I spread my thighs, his ass snuggles up against my groin, and I stifle a moan.
On the list of bad ideas, this is the worst idea.You have a princess to find, I remind myself. I need to focus on shampooing his hair. Not on how his wet, warm, tattooed, muscular back is almost brushing my skin.
I take the heavy bottle and pour a dollop into my hand, then rub my fingers together to make a lather. The shampoo smells like winter mint. I work it into his wet hair, my thighs coming together so my legs are touching his.
His hair is short and soft, and I run my fingers through it. He wiggles his ass, and we both groan.
“Playing with fire, Justice,” I murmur.
“Good thing we’re in the ice realm.”
I can’t help but press my dick forward, wanting relief. “I know you heard me in the tent that first night,” I whisper.
He trails a finger down my forearm. “It was so sexy. I figured you heard me, as well.”
“Yes.” I want to bite his shoulder. Instead, I use a cup to pour warm water on his hair, and I watch the suds stream down his back.
I want to thrust into him.
I can’t. I shouldn’t.
“Your turn,” he says, and he shifts around so he’s kneeling before me.
Looking down, I see his hard cock jutting proudly out from him. I want to suck it.
Instead, Justice reaches up and washes my hair, his face inches from mine. “Fucking love your hair, Kalle. It’s so damn sexy.”
“I just haven’t gotten it cut in a while.”
“Don’t. I like it long.” He grins. “You could even get away with a man bun. I think you’d look good with one.”
All his tattoos are on display. A vintage boxer. A ship. A heart with “Mom” across it. That shield over his heart. All tattoos a sailor from the 1940s might have.
“I really want to kiss you,” I admit.
“You can.” He sighs. “But I know you won’t.”
I shake my head. “I don’t know where the line is. Maybe we’ve crossed it already. I feel like I have, emotionally. But I can’t physically cross it. Touching you naked is dangerous.”
He nods. “All I want to do is suck your cock.”
