I'm in It (The Reed Brothers 10)

“Maybe,” I squeak out. I clear my throat. “Maybe,” I say with more clarity. “I don’t know.”

“Then we wait until we do know.” He shrugs. “That was easy.” He jerks a thumb toward the bathroom. “Do you want to shower first, or shall I?”

“I’ll go first,” I say. I grab a towel and some bath products. Then I step into the bathroom and close the door behind me.

It takes a minute to figure out the water, but once I do, it runs clear and fresh, and really hot. I step in and wash my hair. Suddenly, I feel a draft behind me and I start to turn around.

But Mick grabs my shoulders and holds me steady, facing away from him. His front presses against my back. “What are you doing?”

“I just wanted to tell you something,” he says, his lips leaving a spicy trail of kisses up the side of my neck.

“What did you want to tell me?” I reach out to hold on to the wall in front of me, my palms flat. He kicks my legs apart with his foot, and his knee slides between mine. “Mick?”

“I just wanted to tell you that I love you, and I want you, and I can’t imagine a day without you in my life. And I do want to fuck you, but I’ll wait until you’re ready. That’s all I wanted to say.” He spins me around, pushes me back against the wall, and his eyes drag lazily down my naked body. He takes the sprayer off the wall, and gently washes away the soap that’s still slippery on my skin. The spray of water trails across my shoulders, followed by his fingertips. Then it slides down the length of my arm.

I gasp when he drags the spray across my breasts, his knuckle brushing the turgid peaks of my nipples. He lifts my breasts, one by one, and sprays beneath them, plumping my flesh in his palm as he drags the pad of his thumb across the sensitive tip.

“Mick…”

He looks into my eyes. “Yes, Wren? Tell me what you want.”

“I need to—” I bite back the last word.

“You need to what?” he whispers, just before his head dips and he takes my nipple into his mouth. A quick suck turns into tiny nips and bites. I hold his head against my breast and he switches sides, gently pulling and tugging.

“I need to… God, Mick,” I say.

He turns the dial on the sprayer so that it’s no longer a soft stream. Now it’s a sharp pulse of water. Then he lifts one of my legs onto the tiny bench seat that’s on one side of the shower. The pulse of water hits me right where I need it, and I cry out. He covers my mouth with his, muttering, “Shh,” against my lips. “I’ll take care of you. I promise.”

He moves the wand around, watching my face closely. When my eyes close and my head falls back, he stops the stream right there. I grab hold of his shoulders to keep from falling over. With his lips, teeth, and tongue on m

y breasts, he brings me right to the edge. Then with one word, he sends me toppling over the cliff.

“Mine.”

It’s guttural and soft and warm and…true.

His arms hold me up when I’d like to do nothing more than sag down to the floor. “You okay?” he asks after a moment.

He lifts the wand from between my legs and hangs it back up on the wall. “I’m okay,” I reply. But I’m not really sure I am. I feel like my legs might give way and drop me to the floor any second.

He takes my shoulders and moves me from beneath the spray of water. “My turn,” he says. Then he grins. “To shower.” He soaps his hair and then his body, and I don’t even move. When he gets to his dick, he gives it a couple of quick strokes. How could he miss it? It’s right there, all hard and beautiful and purple.

“Do you want me to…” I point toward it. My mouth actually waters a little at the thought of tonguing the crown.

“No,” he says. He turns off the water, and then he gets out and gets us both a towel. He wraps mine around me like I’m a baby, and it’s true, I’m about as weak and useless as a newborn. “I think I like this look on you,” he says.

“What look?” I ask. He takes my hand and helps me step over the small lip of the shower.

“The ‘he just made me come like crazy and now I can’t think’ look.” He opens the door and steps out. I look to be sure the kids are still asleep, and they are, so I follow him to where our clothes are set out in neat little piles on the bed. He picks up my shirt and makes a move to help me put it on.

“I can do it,” I say, taking it from him.

“If you say so.” He steps into his boxers and nothing else. The front is tented by his still-hard length. His very impressive still-hard length.

I lift my sleep shirt over my head and step into my sleep shorts. He sits on the bed and scoots back, making room for me between his legs. “Come here. I’ll get some of the water out of your hair.”

I sit down and scoot so that I’m between his spread legs.