Sweet Surrender

“Turn around so I can wash your hair,” he directed.



She repositioned herself in the square tub so that her back was to Gray. He pushed her up so that there was adequate space between her body and the side and then he dipped water into a small ice bucket.



He poured the water over her hair until it was wet, and then he leaned her back once more. She heard the squirting noise of the shampoo bottle, and then his hands delved into her hair. He rubbed and massaged, working up a lather.



He was gentle, and his fingers worked over every inch of her scalp until her eyes rolled back in her head at the exquisite sensations. She closed her eyes and gave herself over to the magic of his touch.



For several long minutes, he rubbed and stroked her head until she was sure she would fall into a pleasure-induced coma. Finally he pushed her forward and began rinsing the soap from her hair.



When that was finished, he nudged her shoulder and murmured for her to turn back to her original position. She flushed a little as the globes of her breasts peeked above the surface of the water. His eyes tracked down her body, and she found herself hoping that his hands traveled the same path.



He reached for the bottle of body soap, and instead of using one of the washcloths stacked on the side of the tub, he squirted the liquid into his hand. Then he reached with his other hand to let the water out.



He waited as the water tracked downward, exposing more of her body. When her chest was bare, he smoothed the soap over her breasts, rubbing lightly as lather built.



He cupped first one, and then the other, rubbing a thumb over each puckered nipple in turn. As the water fell lower still, he massaged the skin of her belly, kneading lightly.



When his hand returned to her breasts, she moaned and arched her back. His finger traced circles around the taut nubs then flicked lightly at the points. Each twinge sent a bolt of awareness straight to her pussy.



She squirmed in the water. Her legs parted, and the warm water lapped between her folds, whispering over her clit. Soon the blond curls at the V of her legs appeared.



He refilled his hand with the soap and slowly, gently cupped the soft mound between her legs. His finger found the sensitive bundle of nerves and strummed it with light precision.



She spread her legs wider. “Please,” she whispered. “Oh, please.”



His finger delved lower until it circled her tender opening. The blunt tip breached her entrance, pushing inward the teeniest bit.



She panted lightly as her body tightened, and an unbearable ache began deep inside her pelvis.



“Tonight is for you,” he whispered. “All for you.”



At those words, his thumb found her clit as his fingers sank deeper into her pussy. Her hips lifted, and she convulsed. She bit her lips as the words “Don’t stop” came screaming to the surface.



Thankfully he didn’t.



His middle finger caressed the wall of her vagina as his thumb massaged her throbbing little button. Then he pushed inward, finding her G-spot. Her world exploded in a kaleidoscope of color and sensation.



Her orgasm burst upon her with the speed of a freight train. Her palms braced on the slick bottom of the tub, and she would have slipped if he hadn’t cupped the back of her neck with his other hand.



It was several long seconds before she became aware of her surroundings again. She lay against the tub, gasping for breath as the world gradually returned to rights.



She slowly turned her gaze to see him staring at her with glittering eyes. Eyes that screamed primal possession. Eyes that staked their claim with every stab. She shivered weakly, her muscles a puddle of goo.



He lifted her into his arms, and he carried her to the shower, where he rinsed the remaining soap from her body. Then he carefully dried her from head to toe, his touch gentle yet commanding.



He tugged her into the bedroom, where he retrieved a robe from the closet. He helped her into it and then tied it in front. He left her for a moment while he changed out of his damp shirt. When he returned, he collected her hands in his.



“Let’s go out and sit on the deck. I’ll brush your hair for you.”



She walked behind him on shaky legs. The aftermath of her orgasm had her as weak as a kitten. All she really wanted to do was curl up in his arms and let him hold her.



He opened the French doors and put a hand to her back to guide her outside. Warm sea air tugged at her still-damp hair. She closed her eyes and breathed deep, inhaling the tangy breeze.



It was a gorgeous night.



Gray sat down in the lounger then pulled her down in front of him. He settled her between his legs, and for a moment, she leaned against his chest, her head resting underneath his chin.



She savored the intimate contact, loved being nestled against his big body. Her body hummed, sweet desire flowing through her veins. At this moment, everything seemed so right. As if nothing could ruin such a perfect moment.



The moon shone bright in the sky and cast a brilliant glow over the calm waters of the gulf. Like a sheet of glass, the water wasn’t disturbed by so much as a ripple. Closer in, small waves lapped at the shore and cast a cascade of foam over wet sand.



Gray’s hand tangled in her hair, separating the locks with his fingers and tugging downward. He reached around her for the brush in her lap and let his hand linger close to the knotted belt of her robe, as if he contemplated untying it. Slowly, teasingly, he withdrew his hand.



She moaned softly as he began brushing the now-drying tresses. As he continued his downward strokes, he wrapped the ends around his hand and let them slide over his fingers. Each tug elicited another purr of pleasure from her.



“You have such beautiful hair,” he said. “It suits you perfectly. Vibrant. Free-flowing. Soft.”



She turned her head so she looked at him over her shoulder. “I’m tempted every so often to cut it all off.”



His hands stilled. “You wouldn’t.”



She shrugged. “It can be a real pain in the ass sometimes.”



“I can’t wait to see it spread out over the bed while I’m sliding my cock between your thighs,” he said huskily.



Her clit throbbed, and her nipples hardened, sending little tingles of pleasure buffeting through her body.



“I’ve imagined you on top of me, my dick buried so deep inside you. You leaning over me, your hair like a curtain over my chest. Then I wrap both hands in the strands and hold on while you ride me.”



She sucked in her breath and closed her eyes as she imagined the scene he portrayed. He continued his gentle strokes with the brush, each one lulling her deeper into semiconsciousness.



“But my favorite?” he whispered close to her ear. “Is you on your hands and knees, my hands wrapped all up in your hair, holding your head back as I fuck you from behind.”



Was it possible to orgasm simply from erotic talk and having your hair brushed? She didn’t know, but she wanted to find out.



He grew quiet, and once again, the only sound that could be heard was the distant sound of the ocean. She relaxed against him as he alternated threading his fingers through her hair and sliding the bristles of the brush through the long strands.



She leaned farther back, turning her chin up and closing her eyes. Whispered sounds of pleasure escaped with each breath. She couldn’t ever remember being so content. Couldn’t ever remember having a man so focused on her. It was exciting, satisfying and a little terrifying all wrapped up in one.



“Why don’t you ever talk about your mom?” he asked.



She stiffened and cursed the fact that she had thought nothing could ruin this moment.



“I don’t like to talk about her.”



The brush moved down her hair, the bristles scratching lightly at her back. He was silent for a moment as he continued his careful attention.



Her shoulders fell. She supposed it wasn’t fair. She’d asked him personal questions. If they were going to make a go of any sort of a relationship, she had to be honest. Even if the thought of him knowing about her childhood and her mother gave her hives.



“That wasn’t fair of me,” she said in a low voice. “I’m sorry. I just hate to talk about her.”



“I understand,” he said.



“It’s such a long story.”



“We have all night,” he said simply.



The quiet acceptance in his voice bolstered her spirits. He wasn’t pressing for more than she wanted to give. Which only made her want to give nonetheless.



He dropped the brush on the deck but continued to play with her hair. Soon he worked his fingers deeper until they massaged her scalp.



“Mmmm. You keep doing that, and I’ll tell you whatever you want,” she said.



He chuckled but continued kneading. He worked his way down to the nape of her neck and then out over her shoulders. She sighed in sheer bliss.



“Pop isn’t my real father. Wait, that’s not true. He’s very much my real father—the only father I’ve ever known. But he isn’t my biological father.”



If she thought he’d be surprised, he didn’t show it. He continued his soothing massage, and she relaxed her tense muscles. He didn’t say anything, didn’t react, just waited for her to continue.



“My mother…I’m not even sure how to describe her. She’s lived her entire life with her head in the sand. Bad decisions are second nature to her. She’s impulsive and reckless, and she’s simply unwilling to accept the consequences of her actions.”



“Sounds like a lot of people I know,” he said dryly.



She nodded. “From an early age, I was the emotional support in our ‘family.’ At the time, I didn’t understand that our relationship was so much different than other mother-daughter relationships. I was just trying to be the best daughter I could.



“When we didn’t have food in the house, I did odd jobs, babysat for neighbors so we’d have the money to eat. I can remember holding her head as she puked her guts up after a night of drinking. Of course, I didn’t realize that’s where all our money was going.”



Gray made a sound of disgust. “Christ, Faith. How old were you?”



She shrugged. “Nine, ten, I don’t really remember.”



His hands tightened on her shoulders and his rubs became more soothing as if he understood the difficulty she had in talking about her mother.



“When I was fourteen, she met and married Pop. I was so excited. I loved Pop on sight. He was so kind to me. Accepted me as his daughter. I had a major crush on Connor. What fourteen-year-old girl wouldn’t? He was twenty-four, fresh out of the army, and he was nice to me. Didn’t treat me like a nuisance. For the first time, I really thought that I’d landed in the kind of family I wanted.”



“What happened?”



Faith sighed. The memory of that night still held such power over her. It had been the worst feeling in her young life. Worse than the disappointments her mother had thrown her way.



“She got a bug up her ass one night. Got me up in the middle of the night and left. I was devastated. I didn’t want to leave. I even asked her if I could stay. She made me go with her, and I know it was because she had no one else to take care of her. It pissed me off. Pop was so good to her. He would have taken care of her if only she’d have let him. But like everything else, she fucked things up. Wouldn’t allow anything good to happen to us.”



His hands stilled on her shoulders, and his fingers dug into her skin. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her neck. “Where did you go? What did you do?”



Tears pricked her eyelids. “Back to our old life. Moving every few months when we got evicted. Going back to school wasn’t an option. I was too busy trying to feed us and keep a roof over our heads.”



Gray cursed.



“A year or so later, she started taking drugs. I wasn’t surprised. I had to hide money from her, or she would have used everything we had on drugs. I hated her. I wanted to leave her.”



“Why didn’t you?”



“I was young. Scared. I had no place to go. No one I could count on. And at the heart of everything, she was still my mother. I couldn’t leave her because I knew she wouldn’t survive without me.”



Gray wrapped his arms around her and pulled until she was tight against his chest. He reclined until they were both leaning back staring up at the night sky.



She closed her eyes and savored the strength in his embrace. The comfort and acceptance. The understanding.



“So what happened?” he asked.



She knew he meant how she ended up here, with Pop, away from her mother. Her lips trembled at the memory of that night.



“When I was twenty, I was working two jobs, so I wasn’t around much to babysit her. I bought food, paid the bills and never gave her money. I thought by doing so, she wouldn’t have a way to pay for drugs. I underestimated how far she’d go to get what she wanted.



“When I got home from my second job, I found her passed out in the living room of our tiny apartment. She wasn’t breathing. I called 911 and did as much CPR as I remembered. When the ambulance got there, they were able to resuscitate her and take her to a hospital.