“What do you want to do?” she asked.
I thought about that for a long moment before I said, “I want to strip this towel from your body and pull you into my lap.”
She let the towel drop.
My hands found their way to the outside of her thighs, and my breathing sped up.
Her nipples pebbled from where my breath fanned out against them.
Her wet hair curled around one of her breasts, and I reached a hand up to drag it free of her skin.
The wet hair dragged across one nipple as I did, and she hissed in a breath in response.
“This might quite possibly be the most irresponsible thing we ever do,” she admitted breathlessly. “But I haven’t thought about anything else in years.”
My gaze flicked up to hers. “Are you, um, okay? With my touch?”
She nodded. “I had a friend that was a psychology major in school. We talked it out. A lot. I don’t think I have any hangups about anything sexual, but I’ve never been with anyone since.”
“No one?”
She shook her head.
“I haven’t been with anyone, either, since I married you.”
“Not even when you got here?” she asked in surprise.
I shook my head. “Still married in my head. Whether I was technically dead or not.”
She leaned forward, and one of her voluptuous breasts bumped my face.
I couldn’t stop myself from sneaking my tongue out and lapping at the very tip.
She groaned. “I, uh, Gentry. I, uh…”
“Gentry…” I encouraged her, pulling back to once again look into her eyes.
“I never expected you to remain faithful.”
I grinned. “Short of fucking a man in prison, which I wasn’t into, there hasn’t been all that much time or inclination since. But saying that, I haven’t wanted anyone. To be truthful, I didn’t really think that way about you until O’Neal thought he was pulling one over on me in prison by sending me photos of you living your life. You did a lot of growing up in those years, and he gave me infinite spank bank material. You in a bikini. You running with a pair of leggings on that look like they were fucking made for you. You in a tight pair of jeans enjoying a drink with your friends.”
She shivered. “It creeps me out that he was taking photos of me.”
“He didn’t do it for long,” I found myself saying.
“No?” she asked, her hand going to my chin, her fingernails scraping against my stubble.
“No,” I said. “I started finding all his friends in prison and beating the crap out of them. I spent more time in the hole than out of it in that seven years.”
“Oh,” she breathed.
“I made sure that he stopped,” I said. “I would eventually have some buddies that got out. They owed me a favor or two. I had them go find these men that were taking the photos of you and warn them. Eventually, O’Sullivan hated finding all of his guys fucked up, so he ordered O’Neal to stop.”
She leaned forward, pressing her body into my open arms, and I closed them around her.
She slumped into my arms, her face going into my hair, and I hugged her naked body to me tight.
“I couldn’t do much from where I was at,” I admitted into her skin. “But I did as much as I could.”