She watched the muscles play across his back and shoulders as he straightened, and when she saw what he had in his hands, she paused. “A removable showerhead?”
“For those hard-to-reach spots.”
Chapter 11
“I’ve always wanted to be somebody.
I should have been more specific.”
Chloe Traeger
Chloe stared at the pulsing showerhead in Sawyer’s hand. Half an hour ago, they’d been furious at each other. Apparently they were going in an entirely different direction now. “Lance would’ve let me inside his house, you know. Of course, I’d probably have had to strip na**d to get past the front door.”
“Feel free to strip na**d now.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. Yeah, okay, they were definitely over their mad. New direction coming at her. Was she ready? And good Lord, that smile should be registered as a lethal weapon, because surely it was as dangerous as anything else he was carrying. She stuck her right jean-covered leg beneath the spray, then moaned against her will as the water soaked past the mud-stiffened denim and warmed her skin. “Ahhh. So warm.”
“I might be a—what was it you said? A waste of a penis? But I’m not a complete ass.”
“Hmm,” she said noncommittally. She kicked off her tennies, then bent over to use her hands to rub her feet beneath the water. The caked-on mud washed away easily, which was nice. She could see this stuff in a really great body mask—
The water suddenly hit high on her thighs and made her jerk upright and squeak in surprise. “Hey!”
“Looked like you could use some help,” Sawyer said mildly.
“I’ve got it, thanks.” Because if he stepped in and “helped” by running his hands over her body, getting clean would be the farthest thing from her mind. Her breath hitched just thinking about it, and she thought of her inhaler, which she’d left on the seat of his truck. She considered going back for it, but she felt oddly compelled to stay right where she was even as she grabbed the showerhead from him.
“Don’t trust me?” he asked.
“Hell no.”
His soft laugh danced along her nerve endings and gave her goose bumps. Or maybe that was the chill that the water left in its wake. In any case, she had a sudden urge to wipe the smirk off his face. She’d been working hard on curbing her impulses, but she decided that not all impulses should be curbed.
So she aimed the water at his chest. “Whoops.”
He didn’t react other than to narrow his eyes and step directly into the spray. In less than two seconds, he’d wrestled the showerhead from her, twisted her around so that her back was to his chest, and held the showerhead inches from her as he pressed his mouth to her ear. “Are we playing?”
“No!” Laughing and gasping for breath, she squirmed and fought with all her might, but he had her easily restrained against himself. Not a bad place to be—if her chest hadn’t felt like it was contracting, the first and most annoying sign of an impending asthma attack. She went still for a beat to mentally assess herself.
“Oh, no you don’t.” Clearly thinking she was trying to figure a way out of his grasp, Sawyer tightened his grip and lowered the nozzle, letting the water hit her.
She gasped, but couldn’t deny the excitement driving through her. There was something to be said for being held captive against a hard, warm chest, completely at his mercy.
With a flick of his wrist, the nozzle shifted higher, near her face.
“Don’t you dare,” she said.
“I always dare.” He nipped her earlobe with his teeth. “But maybe if you beg me real nice…”
Beg, her ass. Besides, she hadn’t exhausted all her options yet. She still had some dirty fight left in her, and without qualm, she let her backside grind into his crotch.
He sucked in a breath and instantly went still, his grasp on her slackening slightly. It was enough to whip around, grab the shower handle back, and get him.
Right in the face.
He simply opened his eyes and gazed at her steadily. Calm. His entire body relaxed. Ready.
Uh-oh. “Okay,” she said, backing up a step. “I got it out of my system.”
“My turn, then.”
Oh shit. Dropping the showerhead, she whirled to run, but he reacted so fast that all she got out was another squeak as he propelled her forward with his big body, until she was planted cheek against the wall of the outdoor shower. Holding her there with his considerable brawn, he reached up and replaced the showerhead in its bracket. Then, with the hot water now raining down over them, he turned her to face him.
She was breathing hard. “Look at you,” she managed. “Now you’re as wet and dirty as I am.”
His big hands came up to cup her face. “I’ve told you—I like wet and dirty.”
Good thing, since they were plastered together by drenched clothes and warmed-up mud.
“You’re still shivering,” he said.
“Not from cold.” She could feel him, hard beneath his wet denim. No longer playing, she rubbed up against him.
“Chloe.” The warning in his voice only turned up the flame on the slow burn in her belly, spreading both north and south now, beyond her soaked clothes all the way to her core.
She moved against him again. “You started it.”
His eyes met hers, dark and hungry. With the mist from the hot water swirling around them, he dipped his head and let his lips slide down her throat, igniting flames along each nerve ending. “Stop me now if you’re going to,” he murmured against the hollow at the base of her throat where her pulse pounded frantically. His voice was thrillingly gruff, and his hands encircled her wrists on either side of her head, slowly sliding them up the wall, holding her pinned as he nibbled at her.
Stop him? Was he kidding? Instead she arched against him, eliciting a rough groan from deep in his chest that reverberated through hers. “Too many clothes,” she complained.
In response, he stripped off his sweatshirt and shirt together, and then her top, tossing everything aside. She looked at him and lost even more air. He was sheer perfection, all perfectly toned muscles, with that hint of danger still vibrating from him even now. It was enough to make anyone think twice about making a move on him, but she was fearless, or at least knew how to pretend to be.
His mouth covered hers again, which worked for her because he kissed like heaven on earth. His hands were cold, sending a quick thrill through her when he cupped her breasts, his fingertips teasing her ni**les before his fingers slid down her torso on their way to the next barrier. She felt the button on her jeans give, the zipper go down, and then he was pushing the jeans off her legs.
“Kick them off,” he said, cupping her ass, pulling her tight to him as she obeyed the quiet demand.
“Yours, too,” she panted, annoyingly short of breath. Still ignoring the warning signals dancing in her head, she lent a hand to the cause, helping until they stood facing each other.
Naked.
Wet.
Sawyer was always cool, calm, and utterly in control, but that control was being tested now. She could see it in the line of tension between his eyes, in his tight jaw, and most of all, she could see it in what was quickly becoming her favorite body part of his—the one bouncing happily at the sight of her.
She licked her lips, a nervous little gesture. Sawyer said her name again, voice definitely strained. No more cop face, that was for sure, though his body was hard, strong, and rippling with power. It made her feel her own power, and incredibly sexy. He could probably make any woman with a pulse feel sexy, but she also felt safe, like she could say anything. Do anything.
Temporary, a little voice said. This is just a Twilight Zone intermission, and when they were done and once again dressed, they’d return to their separate universes.
But that was a worry for later.
For now, the steam continued to swirl around them, like fog on a humid night. Sawyer’s flesh gleamed before her in the weak sunlight, his big body sleek and drenched, taut like a warrior’s. Such a beautiful body, she thought, and used her mouth to learn him, tracing her tongue over a pec, flicking at a nipple.
Drawing in a sharp breath, he threaded his hands into her hair and tipped her head up to kiss her. It was long and wet and deep as his hands roamed down her sides, over her h*ps to her backside again, pulling her in tight, leaving no room between them for so much as a single drop of water.
She tried to suck in more air but couldn’t. Dammit. Not yet. “Hurry.” They had to, because her chest was way too tight. Hell, her airway was already closing. Knowing she was on borrowed time, she dropped to her knees. Sawyer was a big man, everywhere, and humming her pleasure, she lightly scraped her nails up the backs of his thighs as she ran her tongue along the length of him.
From above, he hissed in a sharp breath, his fingers tangling in the wild mess of her hair. Not surprisingly, he took over, pulling her away from him, tugging her up to her feet again, pressing her to the tile wall.
Then he dropped to his knees. She let out a startled “Wait. What—”
“Ladies first.”
Oh, God. She could probably come from his voice alone. “I can’t,” she whispered, but the words backed up in her throat when he pressed his mouth to the spot just beneath one hip bone, right over the top of her tiny hummingbird tattoo.
“Free as a bird?” he whispered with a smile.
She nodded, her heart pounding in her ears, her breath caught in her throat. And she knew damn well that it wasn’t the good kind of can’t-catch-your-breath, that she wasn’t just near the danger zone but in it. She didn’t care. He was there, right there, looking at her, and it’d been so long. So frigging long… “Sawyer—”
If he responded, she couldn’t hear over the roar of blood in her ears and the water hitting the tiles around them. Then it didn’t matter because his hands were on her hips, holding her steady, his thumbs gliding down her quivering belly, then over her trimmed mound. “Pretty,” he murmured.
It took her a moment to get enough breath to speak. “Are you going to just look?”
He laughed softly against her, his warm breath caressing her, making her moan. Her hands went to his hair, trying to draw him in close.
“Spread your legs,” he said, then took care of it himself with a big, hot hand wedged in between her thighs. Her h*ps rocked helplessly, and her toes curled. Her heart was going to burst out of her chest, she was certain of it. And, oh God, she really needed air. Little spots were dancing around the very edges of her peripheral vision, but hell if she was going to pass out before she got to the good stuff. No way. “Now. Oh, please now.”
Probably thinking she was just impatient, he slowly trailed a finger over her, letting out a raw sound of sheer male appreciation at how wet she was. And then barely, just barely, slid it into her, all the while her body racing with equal speed toward the edge of an orgasm and an asthma attack.
And still he wasn’t hurrying. Pushing him so that he sat back on his heels, she dropped to straddle him right there on the shower floor.
“Chloe—”
She rocked her h*ps until she had what she wanted, his erection poised at her entrance. “I’m on the pill,” she panted.
He ran his hands up to her breasts, then to her ass, yanking her in, angling her so that they were better aligned, the whole time kissing her to the point of madness.
And breathlessness.
But breathing was completely overrated, she assured herself, and then he slid home with one sure, shocking push of his hips, filling her to the hilt, and she didn’t need to breathe at all.
They gasped in tandem pleasure. God, the pleasure. He rasped his thumb over her, just above where they were joined, and then again. She cried out, arching against him as the orgasm hit her hard and fast and utterly unexpectedly. Shuddering, she writhed against him in exquisite torture, her body completely under his control.
Heaven.
For one beat, there was such incredible heaven, but in the next, the tightness in her chest spread and completely shut off her air supply, and the dots that had been dancing at the edge of her vision closed in. She heard Sawyer’s sudden and urgent “Chloe!” but it was far too late. She’d already faded to black.
Chapter 12
“A guilty conscience needs no accuser.”
Chloe Traeger
Sawyer spent the next half hour in a state of unaccustomed panic. After Chloe had passed out, he’d run with her to his truck, where he’d found her inhaler on the seat. She’d come to enough to use it several times, and now sat in the passenger seat insisting she was fine.
Ignoring her, Sawyer drove toward town, intending to take her straight to the ER.
“Don’t,” she said. She was wearing sweats—his. He’d grabbed dry clothes from his house. “I’m okay.”
“Chloe—”
“Look, I’m still paying off my last two ER visits.” Her voice was rough and ragged, and she didn’t look nearly steady enough, but she put a hand on his arm. “Please, Sawyer. Just take me home. I have a portable nebulizer there and can give myself a breathing treatment.”
He opened his mouth to demand why the hell she hadn’t had her inhaler on her, but he decided to save that fight for when she didn’t look like a slight breeze could knock her on her ass. Against his own instincts, he drove her home and settled her in on the cottage couch, watching as she gave herself a breathing treatment.
At least she had some color back to her lips. That helped, but Christ, he’d never forget the way they’d turned blue, or how she’d gasped, hands at her throat, fighting to draw air into her lungs.