I washed my hair. Twice. Lucas’s shampoo smelled like peppermint. It made my mouth water. God, I was so failing at the gay thing right at this point in time.
I was licking my lips when the shower door opened.
“What the fuck?” I yelped, spinning toward whoever it was invading my privacy.
Lucas stood on the other side of the door, looking at me.
You know the proverbial deer-in-a-headlight stunned gape? That was me. I even had the crazy heart hammering in my throat and the immobility to go along with it.
I stared at him. He was clearly no longer sedated and was capable of moving.
“You’re awake,” I croaked out.
Way to go, Ronnie. Talk about stating the obvious. Idiot.
His lips curled in a slow smile. The edges of his eyes crinkled. He nodded.
And then reached into the shower, wrapped his finger around my wrist and jerked me from under the water.
Straight into his hard, naked body.
My wet skin slipped against his. My hands flattened to the broad plane of his chest. Our thighs collided. Well, mine collided with his. He was a rock. He didn’t stumble under the jarring force of my body hitting his. Instead, he instantly snaked his hands around my waist and he cupped my ass.
Squeezed it.
And drew my hips harder to his as he did so.
Oh, Christ on a pony, he was erect.
My head swirled. Raw lust flooded through me. A low whimper tore at my throat. Hopefully, the sound of the still-running shower camouflaged it.
“I like the sounds you make when I touch you, Ronnie,” Lucas growled, kneading my ass cheek as he lowered his head closer to mine.
Okay, so hopes dashed on the shower then. Damn.
I met his gaze, my palms flat to his chest. “You’re meant to be sedated.”
His cock throbbed between us. The faint movement sent another rush of lust through me. A goddamn tsunami of it. “I was. But now I’m not.”
“You’re injured,” I stated. I may have been putting up reasons why this was insane, but strangely, I wasn’t trying to get out of his arms.
He lowered his head closer, hovering his lips above mine. “Don’t worry, I’ve done this in worse shape than I am now.”
The statement twisted a cold knot in my stomach. “You have? You’re in the habit of…of…” My cheeks filled with heat and I squirmed. The words having sex with women while wounded didn’t want to leave my tongue. His thick cock rubbed against my tummy, making me wish I’d stayed still. It felt so hard and long and impressive and—”How many times have you done this in worse shape?” I asked. I don’t know why I asked. I didn’t want to hear the answer.
Lucas chuckled, smoothing one of his hands from my butt up my back to fist a hank of my wet hair. “Once. But I don’t think the recipient of my attention was dissatisfied, given how many orgasms I gave her.”
I swallowed, incapable of tearing my stare from his. “How many?” I croaked. Damn it, I wanted to hit him.
He lifted an eyebrow. “You tell me. You were the one having them.”
Heat flooded my face. My clit prickled with the sudden rush of ecstatic blood filling it. My pussy contracted.
“Bastard,” I protested, body thrumming with anger and desire and embarrassment and need. I shoved against his chest, making sure not to push on or near any of his freshly stitched injuries. “You did that on—”
He shut me up by crushing my lips with a hungry kiss.
And by hungry, I mean hungry.