Taking the bar of soap, I brush it over my chest, belly, and thighs. And when I close my eyes, I see Evie. The bare-breasted goddess. The laughing mermaid. The gravity defying gymnast. Teacher… Sage… Friend. Every one of her faces. I am devoted to each.
I am not just devoted to her, though I know I would do anything for her.
I love her.
I’m in love with Evie.
A lightning strike of emotion — pain, ecstasy — zags down my chest. I love her, and I see no way back. No way to reclaim the self-command to stay away from her I had just days ago.
I love her, and it’s as though I could burst with it. I want her with such a power that I’m tempted to throw caution to the wind, knock down the bathroom door, and — wet and half-washed — tackle her onto the bed.
This can’t happen. Won’t happen, but with the thought, I wrap a hand around myself and give one, slow stroke.
Another moan echoes off the walls of the shower stall.
Could she have heard it over the rush of water? I glide my hand up, and the question dies as blood leaves my frontal lobe and runs down, pooling in my primitive brain, where pleasure and need are all that exist.
My erection is wet from the shower, but it’s not like Evie’s wetness. The heated nectar that signaled her desire for me.
Forme.
My God, the memories of her saying she wanted me, of her beckoning me on top of her spur my pulse, and my blood rises, roaring in my ears.
So when the door knob clicks, it sounds like it’s coming from a long way off. Not right here in the bathroom. It’s only when I hear thesnickof the shower door that I open my eyes.
Shrouded in mist, naked, Evie stands there, looking like a Druid priestess in the middle of a sacred rite. I hold my jutting cock, mid-stroke. Hips tilted, glutes flexed. Her eyes take me in, and I actually watch her pupils dilate.
I drop my hand, flushing with shock and shame. But she leans in, clutching the frame of the shower door, chest heaving.
“Don’t stop.” Her voice sounds like it’s coming from somewhere deep inside her. “I want to watch.”
I swallow hard, shame leaving me in rush of lust. I reach for her as she reaches for me, and I pull her under the stream. She lifts her mouth up to mine, and I wrap my arms around her. My cock presses against her belly, as though seeking her, and my mind can only conjure visions of lifting her to the wall and wrapping her legs around my hips.
A sound of suffering leaves my throat. Evie answers it with the force of her kiss.
And abruptly breaks away. “Just do it,” she pants against my lips. “Take me.”
But I shake my head. “No, I can’t.” My lungs struggle to fill as steam clouds the air and desire threatens to choke me. “I won’t.”
“Then let me.” She tries to drop to her knees, but I catch her by the elbows.
“I won’t risk it.” I drag her up, and she raises her gaze to mine. Droplets of water sparkle on her lashes, making her eyes look like twin jewels set in diamonds. She looks me up and down, her gaze full of longing, her cheeks flushed with heat, her lips ripe from kissing.
Eyes wide, but focused, she presses the tip of her index finger to the flesh just below my navel before dragging it lightly down to the edge of my pubic hair. I shudder with the sensation.
“I-is this how you do it?” she asks, a tremor in her voice.
With a will all its own, my cock leaps at the nearness of her touch. I fight to keep still. “Do what?” I ask through clenched teeth.
Fascination and wonder slow dance in her eyes. “Touch yourself.” Her voice is soft with something powerful. Curiosity? Arousal? “Like this? In the shower?”
She draws a tiny, sideways figure eight — an infinity sign — through my coarse curls. A rough noise leaves me, but I can’t answer her. The head of my cock is nearly purple with strain.
With her fingertip still touching me, she fans her fingers and drags them lightly against me as she turns up her palm.
“Give me your hand,” she says, her own open and outstretched. Heart hammering, pulse banging in my throat, I put my right hand into her left, palm up almost reverently. And Evie closes our two hands around me.
I hiss in a breath.