Page 65 of Reaper Unhinged
Until today.
It clanks and clunks but nothing more. No water. Not a drop.
Fuck.
I stride out of my room and smack bang into Dean. He grabs my shoulders to steady me.
“You okay?” His rumbling voice sends shivers down my spine.
“My shower won’t work.”
“Use mine.”
He makes it sound so easy, but to me, it means being naked in his room. Okay, so it’s in his bathroom, but still. Naked.
He’s looking at me with a slight smirk as if he can read my mind, and I’ll be damned if I let on that the idea of showering in his room gives me tingles down there.
I nod curtly. “Thanks.”
He strides off, and I follow.
His room is dark wood, beige and brown throws, and cedarwood scent. No, don’t focus on the bed. I head straight into the bathroom, turn on the shower, strip, and get in, and then realize I forgot my fucking clothes.
Shit. I shower quickly, using his shower gel that smells of…well, him. And then wrap a towel around my body and tentatively open the door. My plan is to make a mad dash to my room, but I’m confronted with Dean’s naked back. He’s stripped off his shirt and is doing bicep curls with some weights.
Macho thing to do, but does he have to do it now?
I tiptoe out of the bathroom, intending to slip by him.
“You forgot to bring clothes,” he says.
Fuck. I cross my ankles, holding the towel close. “Yeah. I’ll just go get changed in my room.”
He’s looking at me as if he wants to strip me with his gaze, and I’m tempted to drop the towel. I mean, why the fuck not? I want him, and he looks like he wants me.
He scoops his T-shirt off the bed and prowls closer. Heat skates over my body at his proximity.
“You still owe me a date,” he says, his voice low and intimate.
“Oh, the Italian place?”
“Yes, although right now, I’m tempted to forgo the date and fast forward to afters.”
“What makes you think there’d be afters?”
He smiles, his dark gaze sweeping over my face and lingering on my mouth. “A Loup can only hope.”
I’m so focused on his face, the neck of his shirt is over my head before I realize. He urges me to thread my arms through and then surveys me with satisfaction.
“I like you in my clothes.” He reaches up to touch my mouth lightly with the tips of his fingers. “I like you a lot, Cora.”
My heart melts, and I bridge the distance between us, grab his nape, and pull him in for a kiss. Stubble rasps at my skin, a contrast to the softness of his lips as they slant over mine.
He tastes like sweet coffee, and I tip my head back, throwing myself flush against him to deepen the kiss. His hands slide into my wet hair, fisting and holding me captive as he plunders my mouth. Heat spirals down to the apex of my thighs, wet and throbbing.
“Cora?” My name is a question slipped in between kisses.
I know what he’s asking. “Yes.”
