The look on his face was so intense that I slid from his hold and backed up against the sink. “Whoa. Sorry. I didn’t peg you for a mama’s boy—but I still shouldn’t have called her a bitch.” I flipped the water on the sink and stuck my hands under the warm spray.
“I’m not upset.”
I squirted a healthy dollop of soap into my hands and began rubbing furiously between my fingers and under my nails. “Then why are you looking at me like that?” It was making me nervous. His eyes hooded, the sleepless night’s bruising under them in a way that made him look … almost dangerous. Danger was the last thing I needed—especially right now.
He stepped closer, boxing me in. Intensity was practically pouring off of him and engulfing me. “That … what you did there.” He ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. “No one has ever stood up for me before. I’ve never had anyone have my back.”
Shit. That was terrible. Like with Kissy, I was reminded why not having family was sometimes better than having them. Even though X’s mom clearly loved him—it was a suffocating kind of love. In seeing his mom, I felt like I was getting a better grasp of the man himself.
With my hands still wet from washing, I touched his biceps. “Hey,” I said, my voice soft. “She went fifty shades of crazy there. Who cares if you want to eat frozen pizza every day of your life? Hell, who cares if you want to eat frozen pizza every day of your life while having sex, too?”
One side of his mouth lifted up in smile, his smile lines dipping into his cheek. He was so damn handsome. It was a thought I had often, but never was it more obvious than when everything around us was still and calm. I brought my hand to his face.
“By the way, sorry for touching your lips and face before,” I cringed, echoing his expression when that memory came forward. “Not super sexy, touching you like that after touching a dead dude.”
“I washed my face when I came in.” His hands came to my shoulders, and he squeezed. “Quite a performance you put on there for her benefit.
“I studied acting,” I said nonchalantly.
“Oh? In college?”
“College?” I snorted. “Yeah, with all my dough. Even at the height of my dealing, I never had enough to buy more than a couple days’ worth of groceries.” I cupped his face and made my expression serious. “I studied acting in the clink. Prison improv.”
He laughed, and the sound made warmth spread from the center of my chest. “They had prison improv?”
“Oh yeah, all kinds of cool shit. But improv was my jam.”
“You’re good at it. Maybe not believable, but entertaining at least.” He brushed away the tendrils that were plastered to my hairline.
The gesture was so tender, so sweet, that my fight or flight instincts kicked in. I should leave. Run the hell out the door. I wasn’t looking for a relationship—even one with loose definitions. I’d had that, been screwed over by that. And because what we were doing wasn’t something defined, it made me feel like I was seconds away from losing everything I’d built after leaving prison. Not that it was much, but it was something. And I hadn’t had a lot of anything for most of my life.
“I need a shower,” I said, trying to back away without hurting his feelings. Why was I even worried about his feelings anyway? Why was I overthinking everything?
“It just so happens that I do, too.” Before I could say anything, he picked me up easily, and my legs instinctively looped around his waist.
“Wait, what are you doing?” I asked as he carried me toward the stairs.
“We’re going to go shower.”
I let out a shuddering breath, every inch of me wanting to put as much distance between us as possible—not stand in a five-foot glass enclosure with six-foot him wrapped around me. Even though the idea of having all that skin and muscle wrapping me up was terribly appealing, I couldn’t think with my pesky, needy little sex drive right now.
“I always shower alone,” I protested as he carried me up the stairs.
“Well, I’m trying to save money on my water bill,” he said drily, not letting up on his hold on me.
“Liar. You could probably pay for half of the city’s yearly water supply.”
“Only half?” He raised an eyebrow as he carried me through his master bath. He stopped at the vanity and pulled open a drawer. There was a neat little box of condoms right on top and he swiped one.
“A bit presumptuous, aren’t you?” I asked.
“No. Just prepared.”
“I’ve seen the pharmacy in your medicine cabinet, so I know that’s true.” He turned me around and carried me to the glass-encased shower. “Let me down,” I said without any real heat in my voice.
“As my princess commands.” He deposited me inside the shower and immediately followed me in, backing me into a corner.
“Okay, one,” I said, holding a finger up to him as he caged me in. “I’m not your anything. Two, I’m not a princess. My entire life savings is hiding between my couch cushions.”
“You keep your money in your couch?”
I rolled my eyes. “No, because I have no money. Which is why I broke in to steal from you,” I said, reminding him of that terrible thing I did.
“Ah, yes, you did that.” He flipped the overhead showerhead on and it poured on us like rain.
“I’m wearing clothes!” I sputtered as the water covered me in glorious warmth.
“Then take them off,” he said, pulling his own shirt up and over his head. “You were saying something?”
I was? The sight of all those abs, those perfect pecs, and the many curves of his shoulders were making me a little brainless. “Oh, yeah. I’m not yours, I’m not a princess.” What else was I going to say? It was hard to think, especially as he pulled his sweats down, leaving him completely naked.
Shiiiiiit.
He stepped closer to me, putting himself directly under that rainwater spray. And just like the night before, when I’d run that ice cube over his warm chest, I was having male stripper flashbacks.
“Get naked, Lucy,” he said, his voice commanding. This was the last thing I expected from him, which was saying a lot after all we’d been through. Commanding X was hot as fuck. And, as I reminded myself, dangerous.
“Are you sure your name doesn’t start with a D?” I asked him, giving in and stripping my tank top off.
He gave me a quizzical look and I blew out a breath.
“I’m not talking about the thing dangling between your legs.”
He laughed, and it did nothing to relax me. “What would D stand for?”
“Dick. Because you’re so bossy right now,” I said, reaching my hands behind and unlatching my bra. “Why does your mom call you Bartholomew?”
“Because she subscribes to cruel and unusual behavior.” He pulled my bra straps off my shoulders and tossed it over my head, outside of the shower. “I’m surprised you’re not capitalizing on your upper hand, knowing that’s my given name.”
I dipped and pulled my yoga pants off. “I already knew that was your name, Bartholomew X. Lockwood.”
“How’d you know that?” He took my pants from me and tossed them over, resulting in a very loud plop on the marble.
“I stole your wallet.” This was good. I could keep reminding him of what a criminal I was. Maybe he’d leave me alone, and we’d figure out the dead body stuff without all this shit complicating us. “Remember when you called me a nympho at therapy? I was putting your wallet back.”
Understanding dawned on his face. “That’s how you knew where I lived.”
“Yup.” Now I was naked before him—literally and figuratively.
“So,” he said, stepping close enough that his chest brushed mine, “your plan was never actually to break in and give me a lap dance then?” His sarcasm was clear, but his face was pouty.
Why wasn’t he backing away? Why was he coming closer? “Don’t you hear what I’m telling you?”
“I’m hearing you,” he said, and tugged me so we were flat, chest to chest, under the spray. I could feel every inch of him, and I mean every inch. This was doing nothing for my resolve. “You’re a felon. I killed your drug dealer—”
“Former drug dealer,” I interrupted.
“And now that guy is in my garage freezer. We’re both here. And I don’t give a damn about anything else at the moment.”
I heaved out a lungful of air and grabbed the loofah behind him. “I guess we should probably get clean then. Wash away our sins, or some shit.”
“I don’t think even this fifty-dollar body wash has that power,” he commented, and gave me a self-deprecating smile.
“Who even has fifty-dollar body wash anyway?”
“Apparently I do.” He took the loofah from me and squirted a large glob onto it.
“I don’t even spend fifty bucks on clothes.”
“You don’t?”
“No,” I said, closing my eyes when he pressed the lathered loofah to my shoulder and began rubbing in circles. “I steal them if they cost that much.”
He chuckled. “I guess I’m not surprised.”
“I should clarify—I haven’t stolen any clothes since I got out of prison.” The loofah traveled down my chest, between and under my breasts and I tipped my head back. It’d been so long since I’d been touched like this, soothingly, even though I probably should’ve been the one soothing him. Especially after that little showdown with his mother.
When he’d lathered up my legs and gently turned me around so he could do my back, I felt this unexpected wave of tenderness toward him. He was giving so much to me with just this gentle brush of soap over my skin. Before he could finish soaping up my back, I leaned against him, my back to his chest, and turned my head so I was eye level with his pecs. His arms came around my middle, securing me to him, and I nuzzled the side of my face against his chest. He smelled so good, even though he hadn’t washed his skin yet. Because it wasn’t about soap, or cologne—just him.
Even though I knew it was dangerous to fall into this with him—this moment, this whatever-we-were-doing, I turned around to face him.
He reached an arm up and adjusted the showerhead so it wasn’t directly in my eyes. Even something as simple as that—that was more than anyone had done for me in years. I tilted my head back so I could look up at him, and his head dipped, his mouth brushing against mine. I was glad he still held me, because I felt my limbs go gooey at the way he brushed that kiss over my lips.
I wrapped my hands around his waist, and brought my arms up his back, securing him tightly to me as we kissed.
It started softly at first, just a brushing of lips, with little grazes over each other’s skin. But all that was doing was stoking the fire that burned within me, and I wanted an inferno. I cupped my hand behind his head and pressed my mouth harder against his. Teeth clashed, and his hands slid down the line of my spine, gripping my waist and squeezing.
The loofah fell between us as he backed me up against the shower wall, and lifted one of my legs so he could press himself between mine more fully.
I tore my mouth away to suck in a breath as he pressed against me, his large hands squeezing my thigh. His mouth sucked at my neck as the water beat over us. The warmth from his mouth and the water, combined with how on fire I felt, was making me dizzy-like. I wrapped my arms around him and he hitched me up higher on the wall, my legs coming around his waist.
He pressed open mouthed kisses across my skin, along my collarbone, and down my chest. When his lips closed over my breast, my movements became frenzied, needy, teeth biting his skin and nails clawing his shoulders.
I was impatient and hungry, desperate for this—for him. I reached between us and guided him into me.
Over and over, he slammed me against that wall. The bite of pain was nothing compared to the tight ball of pleasure that built, larger and larger inside of me until I couldn’t hold onto it anymore and let go with a cry that was drowned out by the sounds of the shower.
When his movements slowed, and his face was buried in my neck, I kissed his shoulder and rubbed my face against his skin. Despite both of us being spent, he still held me firmly against the shower, not letting me fall. My fingers traced lazy circles over his back, but I wasn’t sure if my touch was soothing him, or soothing me.