She let his cock drop from her lips and swallowed his essence. Still locking her gaze with his, she glided up his glistening body, letting her breasts press into his chest, and gave him a light kiss on the lips.
“Mmm, thank you,” he said.
She let out a tiny laugh. “For what?”
He grinned. “What do you think?”
“That? Oh, that was my pleasure.”
“And mine.” He snuggled her against his body and kissed the top of her head.
Stacy was ripe for more, but fatigue had its own idea. As she cuddled into Michael and his breathing turned shallow, she drifted into peaceful slumber.
* * *
Stacy jerked upright. A strange sound buzzed in her ears. The covers next to her were rumpled. Where was Michael? Had he left?
Well, so what if he had? He certainly didn’t owe her anything. This had been a fuck for him, nothing more. She had known that going in.
Still, her heart danced a two-step when he sauntered out of the bathroom, naked and glorious. He hadn’t left her.
“Hey, beautiful,” he said, smiling. “Ready for that shower you owe me?”
The whoosh of the shower. That was the strange sound. Not so strange now. A shower with Michael Moretti. Had s
he died and gone to heaven?
She stood, suddenly shy again, and draped the sheet around her body.
“Oh, no.” He walked toward her. “No covering up that work of art.” He tugged at a corner of the sheet, and it fell into a rumpled puddle at her feet.
Stacy grimaced. Her hair had to be a mass of red-brown tangles. She had fallen asleep while it was wet. Lord, and he was calling her a work of art?
“Michael, I need to brush out my hair, and go to the bathroom. Can you…?”
“Nope. Not leaving, Stace. I’m getting in that shower with you come hell or high water.”
“Geez…”
“What’s wrong? I’ve seen every inch of you, and I adore every inch of you.” He traced her jawline with long finger. “You’re gorgeous.”
Her belly flip-flopped. He sure sounded sincere. Whether it was an act or not, why not live the fantasy a little longer? “Okay. Give me a minute. I’ll meet you in the shower.”
She hightailed it into the bathroom, ran a brush through her hair—which was every bit the mess she’d thought it was—and took care of necessary business.
“Ready, Michael,” she called, and she stepped into the steaming shower.
The raining water soothed her skin. She closed her eyes and arched her back, letting her hair flow down her back in a silky mass.
“Now that’s a lovely sight.”
His voice was a growling sigh, and Stacy opened her eyes to Michael’s perfect physique. She smiled. “Hi.”
“Hi, yourself.” He grabbed a bar of soap and lathered it between his palms. “May I?”
She nodded. His masculine hands smoothed the lather over her shoulders, over the hills of her breasts, over her taut belly. Her nipples hardened at his touch.
“I need some soap too,” he said. “Come here.”