Violet rubbed her fingers over her lips and smiled back. “I can’t believe you’re standing there naked.”

“Hey, never say I didn’t rise to the occasion.”

“That you did.”

Dylan’s apartment was filled with lots of low, modular furniture in contemporary black, with sage green sofas. Violet skirted a cube end table and moved towards him. “I’m sorry,” she said, trying to remember where she’d set her glasses down. Things were a touch fuzzy, and since he was naked, she’d prefer total clarity. “It’s my fault.”

“No, it’s not. It was just a misunderstanding.”

He was standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling window that boasted a view of the lake. Violet glanced left and right out the window. “Can’t people see you standing there naked?”

“What people? There’s nothing but water down there.”

“People on boats.” Violet tried to move away from the window, but Dylan took her arm and stopped her.

“Who cares?”

He was really close to her and really naked. Violet took a deep breath and concentrated on his face. “Obviously not you. But I would.”

“So we’ll move into the bedroom before we get you naked.” He kissed her neck, sliding his tongue up towards her ear.

“Dylan…” Violet shivered. That felt awfully good. She was torn between wanting to fling herself on the bed and let Dylan get her pregnant in the traditional, sweaty, skin-on-skin way, and fear that when it came to the big moment, she wouldn’t enjoy herself.

It would mortify her to be naked with Dylan Diaz, accepting such an enormous gift from him, and be unable to please him. Or herself.

“Do you really hate sex, Vi? Did someone hurt you? Were you forced or something?” His hands were gentle on her back, his voice soft in her ear.

“No! Not at all. And I don’t hate it. It’s more like I’m just there for the ride.”

He chuckled softly. “Funny choice of words.”

She couldn’t bring herself to laugh. “I don’t want to ruin it. I don’t want to take this understanding between us and ruin it.”

“Okay.” He put his forehead on hers. “Here’s what we’ll do. We’ll order some dinner from the marina restaurant. We’ll drink some more wine. We’ll talk. Take a shower to warm you up and get that lake water off you. And whatever feels right, we’ll do. If it doesn’t, we won’t.”

“Okay.” Violet kissed Dylan, cupping his cheeks with her hands. He was a most amazing man, she had to say. “Thank you.”

“But I’m not putting my clothes back on.”

She reared back, having forgotten that he was naked.

“Just kidding.” He grinned. “Why don’t you hop in the shower while I order something to eat?”

“Great. I like anything without mushrooms.” Violet took off in the direction he pointed and closed the bathroom door behind her.

With trembling hands, she turned on the shower. His bathroom was large, with chrome fixtures and a black and white checked tile floor. Big, white, fluffy towels were stacked on three shelves next to the shower. Violet grabbed one and shook it open, then stripped off the T-shirt and bikini bottoms.

Wrapping the towel around her, she checked the water temperature and adjusted it. There was shampoo and shower gel already in the shower. Two minutes later she was under the stream of hot water, sighing and rolling her shoulders. It felt good to be warm, good to get her fuzzy, half damp hair off her face, good to wash the slimy sensation of lake water off her skin.

The bathroom door opened. Violet jumped, but then reassured herself that there was a shower curtain in faux gray suede, not a clear shower door.

“I brought you something to wear,” Dylan called.

“Thank you.”

“I ordered crab legs and salads. Sound good?”

“Great.” Surely he would leave, any second now. She felt just a touch vulnerable.

“What? I can’t hear you with the shower on.”

Violet pulled the top of the curtain back so she could stick just her face out. Dylan was leaning on the counter, steam rising around him. He had what looked like a hand towel wrapped around his middle. It covered all of about three inches of him, but at least his you-know-what was out of view.

“I said, that’s great.”

“Oh, okay.” He moved towards her so fast, she didn’t have time to react.

He was kissing her. Oh, good grief, he was kissing her, with his hands in her wet hair and tongue plunging into her mouth.

She was naked, hot water sluicing down over her backside, her breasts brushing against the shower curtain, and he was kissing her. Everything in her felt hot and tight, moist, a burn stoking in her inner thighs.

Violet sighed when Dylan pulled back. She wanted to be a wild woman. She wanted to just fling back the curtain and leap on him in a soapy, slippery, wet maneuver. But she didn’t have the guts, the nerve, to do it. And if she did it, she wouldn’t know what to do once she made the leap.

Instead she ducked back into the shower. The bathroom door closed as Dylan left the room, and Violet turned to the little shelf in the shower containing products. There was a disposable razor there. She picked it up and flicked off the lid. She had noticed a row of stubble on her right leg that she had missed. If she did wind up sleeping with Dylan, she didn’t want to be hairy on top of stilted and insecure.

She stuck her leg up on the interior edge of the shower and squirted shower gel on it. The position challenged her balance and she wobbled a bit, grabbing wildly at the curtain. “Darn it!”

Stabilized again, she picked up the razor and bent over.

Dylan turned from shutting the bathroom closet and pondered how badly it would frighten Violet if he just stepped into the shower with her. He was in pain, man. Suffering. Agony.

There was a wet, sexy woman three feet away from him. Who wanted him to get her pregnant, yet at the same time didn’t want to have sex with him. It made no sense. It was pure torture.

He was sure that he was going to die before the night was over. Might as well call up the last rites and stick on his headstone that he died from unfulfilled lust. His mother would be mortified.

Violet said something from the shower.

“What, Vi?”

The curtain rattled and it sounded like she slammed into the wall. Concerned, Dylan called out again. “Vi?”

She didn’t answer him, and he pulled back the curtain, afraid she’d wiped out in his shower and conked her head. She’d had a hell of a day and hadn’t eaten and it was possible…

Holy shit.

Violet wasn’t injured. She had her leg straight out, propped on the bathtub lip, her tight ass sticking up, her breasts falling forward. Her hair hung in thick, dark ropes down her back, and her flesh was pink everywhere from the hot water bouncing all over her.

Dylan almost swallowed his tongue. Instead he must have made a sound, maybe a gurgling from all the excess saliva, because Violet turned, an orange razor in her hand.

“Dylan!” she said, and put her free hand over her breasts.

Like that covered anything.

He was having none of that modesty bullshit. Ripping the towel from his waist, he stepped into the shower behind her, preventing her from leaping away. If it made her nervous to look at him, he’d just stay behind her.

But he was going to touch her.

Violet stood up, and Dylan placed both of his hands on her waist and pulled her back until she was fitted against him, his cock nestled in the smooth slit between her cheeks.

“What are you doing?” she asked breathlessly.

“Joining you in the shower to help you wash yourself. To conserve water. Save on soap. Get my jollies. Take your pick.”

Dylan reached up and cupped Violet’s full breasts. They both groaned. Her nipples were tight little pebbles when he brushed his fingers across them, and she sucked her breath in hard when he gave a little tweak to each.

She felt gloriously curvy, soft yet firm, her hair clinging to his chest, and her head turning back towards him. Her lips were open, sighs tripping out, and he kissed the corner of her mouth.