Page 45 of Aviator
I finish my hair and take the bar of soap, scrubbing until I’ve got a good lather, then rub it all over my body. Making sure to suds up the problem areas twice for good measure. My spirits lift as soon as I start to feel clean again. Finally, I shave the important areas and touch my silky bare skin in appreciation.
A knock comes at the door. “Just making sure you’re alright.”
“F-fine,” I answer, suddenly hyper-aware that I’m naked and only a door separates us. The urge to invite him in presses on me until I say, “Come in.”
There’s a clear pause while he must be debating whether to come in, followed by a muffled curse. Then, the door pushes open, and he walks inside.
I’m hit by a flash of insecurity and shyness, and thank fucking God, the shower is glass and coated with a thick layer of steam. He stops by the shower door and strips off his dirty T-shirt and his jeans, which are missing half a leg where they had to cut them to apply the cast. It’s then I notice the garbage bag in his hand and connect it to the cast on his broken leg. I adjust the sprays while he wraps his cast, angling them away from the seat at the far end of the space.
Then, he pulls the glass door open and steps inside. The urge to touch him is so intense that I don’t even fight it. Was this inevitable? Had we been hurtling toward this moment ever since he stepped out on his front porch?
I nudge him toward the seat, and he takes it, knees parted and one leg extended so the cast is away from the spray. Both shower heads are removable, so I take one and kneel on a hand towel between his legs. Dean’s hands grip the edge of the seat, his knuckles white. A surge of pure feminine energy bursts through me, knowing I have such a profound effect on a man like Dean.
“Stay still so I can make sure I get you clean,” I say, my voice uncharacteristically throaty and sexy.
He must have lost his mind because all he can do is give me a jerky nod.
I lather up another washcloth with soap—a lavender goat’s milk soap, which would explain why he smelled floral—and start a thorough scrub of his body at his broad shoulders. I’ve always had a thing for shoulders, and Dean’s shoulders and back are magnificent. Thickly corded with muscle and tapered to his waist. I swipe the washcloth over his defined chest, enjoying how his muscles ripple and flex under my hands. I pay attention to each arm, each hand, and even clean his fingernails.
I use the detached shower head to clean off the suds, then return to washing his abdomen, which flexes under my hands and reveals washboard abs I have to refrain from licking. His dick hardens under my attention, thick to the point where it’s intimidating and flushed pink-brown. The heavy weight of it bobs in front of me, but I ignore it, paying attention to his thighs and legs instead, careful to avoid his injured one.
Dean’s head drops back against the shower wall. “You’re gonna fucking kill me,” he says in a strangled voice.
Allowing myself a small smile of feminine satisfaction, I rinse the suds again and turn my focus to his thick, hard cock. “Can I touch it?” I ask.
“Fuck yes.”
I put the shower head in a holder on the wall and move between his legs. His eyes shut as I take his thick weight between my hands and lean forward for an experimental lick. At the first touch of my tongue to the underside, he gives a whole-body shudder. Drops of precum leak from the tip, and I lick them off, swirling my tongue around the head.
He shudders and lifts a hand to my cheek in reverence. I glance up and find him watching me now. Our eyes meet as I take his length deep in my throat.
“God fucking damn, I’m not going to last long.”
This encourages me to take him as deep in my throat as I can manage, which isn’t much considering how girthy he is. But he shows his appreciation by a harsh exhalation and more precum bathing my tongue.
“Can I fuck your mouth?” he asks.
I nod around him, meeting his eyes, and he sifts his hands through my hair. I almost expect it to be rough and violent, but Dean lifts his hips, gently bobbing me over his cock on a slow, steady rhythm to the point where my throat relaxes, and I take him even deeper. He groans at this, watching as my eyes water, and I gag a little.
“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he says.
I shake my head a little, and he groans as he comes, spurting down the back of my throat. He collapses against the shower wall, and I follow him down, my tongue laving his dick, sucking the last remnants of the orgasm out of him, until he whispers, “Oh fuck, stop, stop, stop.” I rock back on my heels, lifting my mouth to the spray.
He takes a minute to recover, then he pushes to his feet, a steely look of determination in his eyes. He slaps the controls for the water and says, “C’mon.”
He leads me to the bed, still soaking wet. “You don’t have to—”
A thousand thoughts rush through my head. I’m still on my damn period with a tampon in. I couldn’t do much if he wanted to.
“I want to.”
“But I’m still. . .” I can feel my face turn scarlet red. I gesture between my legs. “You know.”
“I know. And I don’t fucking care if you don’t.”
“I don’t think I want our first time having sex to be like this. But, um, we can do other things.”
He frames my face with his hands and kisses me deeply. He’s still half hard between us, and I feel liquid heat melt my lower belly and knees. They go a little weak, and he wraps one arm around my waist to keep me upright.
