Page 46 of The List
“Besides, I was pretty specific in the story I told my sisters,” she says. “I jotted some notes about the details I remember.”
“Care to fill me in?”
“Well, I remember telling them about the double mud bath with a hot guy.”
“Check,” I announce, waiting to see if she’ll give me shit about the “hot guy” part. Cassie’s ability to flip me crap is one of the things I adore about her.
But she’s focused on her story. “After the mud bath, we shower off together.”
“I think that can be arranged.” I glance over my shoulder at the large, double-headed tile shower the attendant pointed out to us when we arrived. “We could definitely have sex in there.”
“We could, but that’s not the story I told my sisters last year.”
“Right.” I try to recall the way she worded it on The List. “Something about the ladies’ dressing room?”
“It’s actually called the Ladies’ Relaxation Suite here, which is perfect. Is that the snootiest thing you’ve ever heard?”
“Pretty snooty,” I agree, trying to decide if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.
“Anyway, I think the Ladies’ Relaxation Suite will fit the bill. I looked up pictures on the website, and it’s exactly what I was imagining.”
Cassie’s commitment to the plan makes me smile. Her attention to detail, the way she’s devoted to making her own fibs a reality. I love that I get to be part of that.
“Okay, so no sex yet,” I say. “I should at least get to touch you.”
She laughs and pushes away from the edge of the tub, turning like an otter to slide into the space between my legs. She leans back against my chest, and my hands find her breasts in the silky liquid.
“Oooh,” she says as I stroke my palms over her nipples. “That’s nice.”
“Very exfoliating.” I scoop a handful of soft silt off the bottom of the tub and massage it into her breasts, cupping those perfect, slippery orbs in my hands. I’ve never thought of mud being a turn-on, but it feels fucking incredible when I’m stroking it over her skin.
I grab another handful of silt, reveling in the smoothness of it. Of her. Running my palms over her belly, I massage it into her flesh and feel her squirm against me.
“That tickles,” she murmurs.
“Do you want me to stop?”
“No!”
Well okay, then.
I keep touching her, gathering handful after handful of mud. I glide it over her thighs, her calves, the delicate curves of her upper arms. By the time I’ve rubbed mud into nearly every part of her body, she’s practically purring in my lap. I’m guessing she’s aware that I’m sporting some major wood, and I hope it makes her want me as much as I want her right now.
“We should get out and shower,” she says.
“I’ve never heard a woman so eager to shower.”
“It’s not the shower I’m eager for.”
I know the feeling.
We scramble over the edge of the tub, leaving muddy footprints across the tile. There’s a reason everything in this room is the color of chocolate syrup. She makes it to the shower first and turns on both sets of taps. I stand back for a second and watch the water sluice over her body, showing beautiful pink trails of skin through the mud. She rinses her face and turns to grin at me.
“You coming?”
“I’m hoping to in about five minutes.”
She laughs and pulls me into the hot spray with her. I get mud all over her freshly washed body, which gives us the excuse to scrub each other all over. Hands are everywhere— arms, legs, breasts, bellies. We can’t stop touching each other, and I’m not sure if we’re trying to get clean or dirty or if there’s something else at play here.
