Total pages in book: 202
Estimated words: 193561 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 968(@200wpm)___ 774(@250wpm)___ 645(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 193561 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 968(@200wpm)___ 774(@250wpm)___ 645(@300wpm)
He turns the shower on and steps in. But the water is freezing for a second, so I shudder and gasp as it pours down on our nude bodies.
He seems unbothered by the chill, also unfazed by my shriek, and doesn’t back away from the cold spray, keeps me there under it. Mercifully, it quickly warms. But he still has me in his arms with a chill in his expression that makes me feel ashamed.
He’s been so nice to me so far.
I guess I ruined that.
Finally, he sets me on my feet and reaches for the shower gel bottle on one of the shelves built into the tiles. He pours a lot of it into his hand, rubs his palms together and works on lathering himself up. I’m standing rigid, watching as he soaps up everything, including his erection and the surrounding vicinity.
Yes, as angry as he is, he has an erection. And this can’t bode well for me, can it? Do my actions tonight mean he no longer cares about my fear around being mounted? Being, in his words, claimed.
He turns his back to me as I continue to stand still, watching his soapy hands move over as much of the back of his body as he can reach. He grabs a bottle of shampoo and squirts some into his hands, then lathers up his hair while I watch the bubbles take their time trickling over the ridges and down the valleys of his muscled body until they disappear down the drain.
I’m so fascinated by the process, I kind of forget for a moment where I am. Not to mention the fact that I’m ogling a large alpha who’s currently mad at me.
He's efficient at getting himself clean while I watch as his strong hands move over his wet skin, and when all the bubbles are dribbling into the drain between his feet, my eyes bounce back up in time to see him slick his wet hair back with his hands before he steps out.
Thinking he’s leaving me be so I can wash up, I move closer to the drain, getting fully drenched by the hot streams of water.
As I’m absorbing the wonderful feel, the massaging heat, and maybe the best shower head I’ve ever been under, he’s back. Water droplets dot the expanse of his skin. A droplet falls from his full lower lip.
As I watch it leave his lip another one catches my eye. His collarbone. This drip tumbles over his shoulder. And then my eyes catch another moseying down his corded throat. Because I’m watching random water droplets trickling down Greyson’s body, it takes me a moment to notice that he’s soaped up a washcloth.
I reach for it, thinking it’s for me, but he doesn’t hand it over. Instead, he begins to wash my shoulder with the red cloth, which smells like sugar cookies. He’s placed a new bottle of shower gel beside the one he just used on himself.
I work down a swallow, focused on his mouth as he lathers up my other shoulder. The soapy red cloth moves down my left arm before it dashes across my belly and then up my ribcage. I watch it slide across my right breast and stop. The washcloth falls and hits the floor of the shower with a wet thwack. My eyes follow his hand as he reaches for the shower gel and then drizzles some across my breasts. My gaze bounces up to his face. But his eyes aren’t on mine; they’re on my breasts as he takes one into each hand and lathers them up.
His thumbs graze over my nipples, which react, immediately bunching up tight, as if I’m cold. I’m not cold. I’m far from cold. It’s very, very warm here.
He moans while touching my breasts. A funny sound slips out of my mouth, too, as our eyes meet.
He advances, so I retreat, but this puts my back against the wet tiled wall.
Greyson loses a touch of the intensity as he flashes me a disarming grin before squirting more shower gel into his hands and dropping a stealthy, firm kiss on my lips, which startles me.
He was so angry before. He doesn’t look angry now.
But before I’m able to comprehend what he’s doing, what mood he seems to be in while he does it, he’s grabbing my hips with both hot hands that confidently work their way up and down my legs as he lowers into a squat, paying close attention to what he’s doing while biting his full bottom lip.
For some reason, I feel extraordinarily self-conscious all of a sudden. He’s staring at me so…strangely.
He’s now on his knees, his eyes devouring my skin as they follow his movements. He pays close attention to the task he’s taken up. The task appears to be getting my body soapy as he lathers up my hips, moves down my thighs to my knees, then works down my shins to my ankles, grazing over the tops of my feet until his hands move back up again. And I’ve got goosebumps everywhere, without being cold.