“Nat?” Clay lifts his head and looks at me, worried. “What’s wrong?”
I sniff and try to fight back tears, because I don’t want to tell him. “Nothing.”
His eyes darken. “What did your father say to you?”
“Am I that obvious?”
He sits up, shaking his head. As he does, he grabs the front of my pajama top and begins to slowly unbutton it. “I just think that all week, every time we’ve been apart, you smiled when you saw me. Now today, you visit your dad, and when I see you, you’re about ready to cry. So it don’t take a genius to figure out that he’s the cause.”
“What are you doing?” I ask as he continues to unbutton my clothes.
“Gettin’ you undressed for our shower. Don’t change the subject. What’d he say to you?”
He’s too good at interpreting me. I bite back my sigh and let him continue unbuttoning my shirt. “He doesn’t like the nurses being there as much as he likes his daughter waiting on him.”
Clay snorts. He finishes unbuttoning my top and pushes it to the sides, exposing my breasts and stomach. He gazes down at them with pure pleasure on his face, then glances back up at me. “Continue.”
“He says that since I’m his daughter and he doesn’t have much time left in this world, I should be spending my time with him.” I make a little squeal of protest as Clay buries his face between my breasts. He’s growing his beard out again—at my suggestion—and right now the stubble is raspy and hard. “I thought we were going to shower!”
“We are. Eventually.” He kisses the tip of one breast. “But I plan on fuckin’ you in the shower and I don’t wanna be talking about your dad at that point.” One hand cups my breast and he rubs his thumb over the tip. “‘Sides, these distract me.”
I shift under his touch, thrusting my breast into his hand. “Then we don’t talk about my dad anymore. It’s just a guilt trip. I just hate that it works so well. He’s right, you know—”
“What, that he’s old? Well, yeah. But that don’t mean you gotta give your life up for him. The only reason he’s bringin’ this shit up is because he’s just tryin’ whatever it’ll take to bring you back to his side and make you take up nursin’ him again. Am I wrong?”
I think for a moment, and then shake my head. I know he’s not. In my heart, I know he’s right.
“I get reports from the nurses, too, you know.” He lazily licks a trail between my breasts.
“You do?” I’m so surprised I sit up on my elbows and nearly knock him backward.
“I do,” he says, putting a finger on my shoulder and lowering me back to the bed. “You wanna know what they tell me?” At my nod, he continues. “He’s manipulative. He’s good-natured and sweet if it gets him what he wants. If it doesn’t, he pitches a fit. He uses guilt. And he’s a great actor.”
All of this sounds terribly unflattering and almost mean. “He’s old, and he’s sick—”
“He is. Don’t mean he’s not a bastard. The girls like him well enough. But they also deal with enough patients just like him to see through the bullshit. Your dad’s healthier than he lets on. He just likes you takin’ care of him.”
“But—”
“I ain’t makin’ light of the fact that he’s got dementia. But he’s got more good days than bad. Alice says it’s good that he’s around different people. Stimulates the mind. He just prefers a situation—and people—he can control. That’s why he wants you back.”
I’m a little hurt by Clay’s statement. “I’m also his daughter and he loves me.”
“He does, I’m sure.” Clay cups my other breast and lowers his mouth to it. “But I’m also sure he’s usin’ you, and now that you’ve got a bit of freedom, he’s poutin.” He gives it a distracting lick. “He’s just tryin’ to pull us apart again.”
I don’t know if that’s true, because he doesn’t know Clay’s involved. But I do think he’s right about a lot of it. My dad can be a user, and he can turn on the acting charm to get what he wants. It shouldn’t surprise me that he can just as easily turn on the guilt trip. “All right. No more about my father.”
“Amen.” He nips at my nipple, sending a shiver through my body. “Now to get you naked and in the shower.”
I lift my hips and shimmy out of my pajama bottoms. “You have a one-track mind.”
“When it comes to you? Very much so.” He watches me undress with hungry eyes, his grin growing wider. “Can’t wait to get my mouth on that sweet pussy again.”
His words make me blush. “Well, maybe I want to get my mouth on you.”
“Gonna be hard to do if I’m fully dressed,” he teases.
“Oooh, a challenge.” I grab at the front of his shirt and tug.
It’s like a dare. For the next few moments, both of us rip at his clothing, determined to get him naked as quickly as possible. His jeans pool at his legs, and then he nearly rolls off the bed trying to wrestle his boots off. My giggles only make him move faster, and then it seems he’s about to fling himself over the side when suddenly, one boot goes flying free, then the other.
He grins at me, fully naked, and smacks my rump with the flat of his hand. “Why are you not in the shower already?”
“I was waiting for a slowpoke,” I tell him, climbing off the oversized hotel bed.
“I’ll give you a slow poke,” he mock-growls.
“Oooh, a threat,” I say in my sassiest voice, and swing my hips with a little extra oomph as I head toward the lush bathroom. The shower’s like something out of a dream, with multiple heads and the prettiest tile I’ve ever seen caged in by glass. I love using it, because it makes me feel like a princess.
Tonight, though, I want to wash my man.
I turn on the water, running a hand under the spray until the temperature is just right. Then, instead of stepping in, I gesture that Clay should go first. “I’m going to rub that dirt off of you.”
“I like the sound of this.” He steps in and I can’t help but pause to admire the gorgeousness of his form as he lifts his hands and drags his fingers through his short hair. I love how big his shoulders are, how broad and tanned by the sun. But funnily enough, I think I love his white butt even more. Even though there’s a crazy tan line, his ass is tight and firm and high, and it just makes me want to bite it so badly every time I see it.
Never thought I’d be the type to daydream about getting my teeth on a man’s buns, but I guess I am.
I grab a bottle of the travel-sized shower gel and squirt a palmful on my hand. “I’m sure it’ll be more effective if I use a washcloth, but what’s the fun in that?”
“No fun at all,” he says, and his voice has dropped to a lower, huskier note that makes me shiver all over.
I press my soapy hand to his chest and then begin to slowly rub as he stands in the shower spray, blocking it from hitting me. There’s a ton of soap in one spot, so I use both hands in small circles to spread the wealth. Plus, it gives me a chance to touch him. I glide my fingers over his pectorals, making sudsy whorls in his chest hair and dragging deliberately over his nipples. I go further down, soaping up his abdomen, and I love how rock-hard the muscles are here, and how defined his obliques are. “You have the most incredible body,” I tell him softly. “Every time I see it, I just want to touch you.”
“Funny, I feel that way about you,” he tells me, sliding a wet hand up and down my arm and then cupping one of my breasts. “Love how pretty and sexy you are, Nat. You’re so perfect, so soft. I wanna push you down on the floor here and get my mouth on your pussy—”
“Not yet,” I tell him, gasping at his intense words. “I get to wash you first, remember?”
He makes an impatient sound in his throat. “Then hurry so I can touch you.”
Hurry? That just makes me want to take even more time. I deliberately go slower, tracing over every muscle and outlining it before moving on. I get to his tan line. Lower would mean I get to touch his straining cock . . . and then I’m pretty sure things would escalate pretty fast from there. I change routes, instead, moving to his arms and soaping them up.
Clay groans. “Tease.”
He’s right. I love teasing him. I love being playful with him. I feel like I’ve had to be so serious, so focused for so long that there’s been no time for play. With him, I can be as silly and light and carefree as I want to be.
And I’m definitely feeling frisky at the moment. I lightly drag my nails down his arm, then slide down to my knees and begin to soap up one big thigh. He makes a sound in his throat that sounds pained, and his hand goes to my hair, knotting his fingers in it as if he wants to hold me in place. Oh yes. I might be a tease, but he enjoys it just as much as I do.
I’m getting wet with my own excitement at touching him. I can feel the slick heat between my legs growing, and I shift back and forth, squirming in place as I run my hands up and down his strong thigh. “Think you’re clean yet?”
“I can think of one spot you haven’t hit yet.” His hand tightens in my hair, and I get even wetter.
But I want more than that. “Show me,” I tell him, breathless. I know exactly what he’s referring to, but I want him to drag me there, just because the mental image of him doing that makes me crazy with need.
So he does. He uses the hand buried in my hair to steer me ever closer to his cock, until my mouth’s practically brushing against the head of it. It’s flushed with the blood racing through his arousal, and the head is tipped with several droplets of pre-cum. I stick my tongue out and catch the first drop on the tip of it.
The breath hisses from his lungs. “Take me in your mouth, baby.”