‘I think it must be.’
It was rich and thick, coating her hair heavily. Jason had to concentrate hard on working its traces out of her soaked tresses, but eventually the job was done.
‘Now I get to soap you,’ he said greedily, but she held up a finger.
‘Let me do your hair first,’ she said. ‘We need to do things properly.’
She loved Jason’s hair and how he had not succumbed to the local fashion of a skull-hugging razor crop. He had a fine head of chestnut brown locks that teetered on the border of being too long but never quite crossed it. Lately he had cultivated a neat goatee beard that gave him a devilish, rather buccaneering air she liked a lot.
‘I want to wash your beard,’ she said, easing Willow Bark and Echinacea into the soft bristles.
‘Don’t get it in my mouth,’ he flustered, trying to direct her hands.
‘Keep it shut then,’ she countered, laughing as he made a disgusted grimace. Apparently Willow Bark and Echinacea didn’t taste too good. She let her fingers swirl up behind his ears and let the lather bloom there. She had to reach up to wash his hair, so he bent his head down to her, keeping his eyes screwed shut against stray suds.
It felt good to have his thick dark hair slip between her fingers, and to feel the firm surface of his scalp at the roots.
She relished her work, enjoying his little sighs of pleasure as her fingertips probed deeper.
He looked more desirable than ever once the shampoo rinsed out and left him standing, tall and shiny-wet, with heavy dark hair swept back from his high forehead. Little drops of water splashed from the ends of his long eyelashes, making his eyes seem to dazzle. His lips looked softer and more kissable than ever.
She couldn’t resist, tiptoeing up for a smooch. He clamped her against him with a swift movement of his arms, his hands clapping down on her bottom.
Warm water dripped sideways into her mouth and blinded her eyes but she could not have cared less. All she was conscious of was his tongue pushing into her mouth and his long hard body glued to hers by the strangely sealing property of the gushing jets. And there was something very insistent prodding at her hip now too.
The problem with sex in a shower, she thought distantly, is the height differential.
But surely a wet room was different. There was space for them to sit, or lie, or crouch, or kneel, or take up any number of different positions. And the floor, far from being knee-torturing ceramic, was made of soft rubberised tiling. The possibilities, in fact, were extremely promising.
But first – conditioner.
She tried to reach behind her to the shelf, but Jason had her too caught up in him and she had to break the kiss and explain, very breathily, what she wanted to do.
‘Don’t you think I’m in good enough condition?’ he teased.
‘You’re in tip-top condition,’ she said, ‘but I wouldn’t want that beard of yours getting too scratchy, now, would I?’
He chuckled, running his fingers through it, stroking his chin.
‘Good point,’ he said, ‘considering where it often ends up. Wouldn’t want to go giving you any nasty rashes.’
He let her smear the thick cream into his damp hair and beard, helping her to rinse it out afterwards.
‘Now the good bit,’ he enthused. ‘Or, the best bit, cos it’s all good.’
‘Not yet,’ she said, grasping his wrist halfway back to the shelf.
‘I want to rub that gel into you,’ he protested.
‘What’s the point in getting clean if we want to get dirty?’ she said pointedly. ‘Surely we should save the washing part for . . . afterwards?’
He didn’t seem to cotton on at first, but a slow, wicked smile soon spread across his features.
‘Ah, I get you,’ he said. ‘You little minx. You want it, do you?’
He braced an arm beneath her bottom and jerked her into his pelvis. His erection indented her lower stomach, making her squeal with the shock of it.
‘You were the one talking about doing it in the shower,’ she reminded him.