“You feel so damn good, Vi. All woman.”

“I always thought I had a stripper’s body,” she said, her little backside wiggling against him like she wanted something. “Which is a total waste on me, since I don’t know how to use it.”

With a laugh, he slid the palm of his hand over the flatness of her stomach and parted her wet curls. “I don’t think it’s wasted on you at all. God knows it’s making me happy right now. I’m going to go to hell for all the things I want to do with you.”

Playing with her curls, he moved his hand around and around, skirting her clitoris and tugging on the springy hairs, spreading her apart, then letting her fall closed again. He kissed her shoulder, licking her dewy flesh from side to side. Her back started to bow, and her breathing changed from slow and deep to rapid and shallow. He moved over her again and again, never really touching, never really leaving, teasing and plucking them both into arousal.

“I…” she gasped.

“Hmm? You what, sweetie?” Dylan stroked his cock between her tight thighs, just once, then twice, clenching his teeth down on the urgent need to thrust and take. He wanted her so fucking bad, but he wanted to draw it out, soak them both in pleasure and wring every last drop out.

When he tapped her clitoris, she shuddered. “I want…”

“What, baby? Tell me what you want.” Dylan dipped his tongue into her ear, moved it in and out while he cupped her mound with his immobile hand. She jerked forward against his hand.

“I want you to touch me.”

“Inside, you mean?” Dylan whispered in a raw, low voice, the palm of his left hand brushing back and forth over her nipple, his right hand still holding her, index finger flicking over her clit.

“Yes. Inside.”

He could barely hear her, but the quiet words, the desperate need nearly did him in. He throbbed against her, wanting to give Violet the passion she had never felt before, wanting her to understand how it could be, wanting to remember himself that sex could be intimate, personal, a gift between two people who cared about each other.

“Whatever you want, beautiful.” And he moved his finger down between her folds and inside her with a deep push of his middle finger.

Shaking the shower water off his face, he leaned over her shoulder to watch his hand covering her, his finger pull all the way out of her, then plunge deep inside her body again.

“Oh, yeah, Vi, that’s perfect.” She was creamy wet, swollen, tight around his finger. When he wiggled his finger forward, stroking like he was dipping into frosting, she jerked away with a moan.

Their feet squeaked in the wet tub as they readjusted. “Don’t get too far away from me,” he teased.

She shook her head, chin tilted up, eyes half closed. “No, no, I don’t want to stop you. This feels…”

Dylan added a second finger to the first and her words dissolved into a gasp. She was holding the wall with both hands, leaning farther and farther forward, her ass bumping into his cock as she started to move with his thrusts.

“That’s it, baby. Damn, that’s sexy.”

He plucked at her nipple as she squirmed, little mewling sounds leaving her mouth at regular intervals. Dylan was sweating, water racing down his taut body, steam rising between them, and he thought without a little self-control he could come just like this, resting along her backside. She was racing forward, and he was pushing her to the finish line.

Bracing his feet as far apart as the bathtub would permit, he let go of her breast, pulled his fingers completely out of her.

She made a sound of distress, head snapping up.

Dylan slipped his thumb down her clitoris, then twisted right inside her.

Violet came with a loud agonized cry, her fingers clutching at the smooth tile wall, her body shuddering around his thumb.

He stroked in complete triumph, reveling in the abandon of her cry, the tightness of her body, the length of her orgasm, which went on and on.

Dylan kissed the back of her neck as Violet quieted down, her back straightening.

“Oh my,” she said.

And she had said she didn’t make noise.

Hah. She just hadn’t met him yet.

“There’s more where that came from.” Dylan turned the water off and stepped back, then out of the shower. Violet wobbled a little, so he grabbed her waist and lifted her out of the tub.

Limp, she fell against him, her breasts colliding with his chest. Oh, man they felt even better this way. Dylan couldn’t wait to get his mouth on one of those.

He grabbed a towel from the rack and lifted her up, hands under her butt. “I’ll dry you off on the bed.”

“Dry me off?” she whispered. “I can do that myself. But, well, if you really want to.”

Dylan dropped her on the bed flat on her back. “I really want to.”

Violet clamped her thighs closed, crossed her ankles, and stuck her hands over her chest. She fiddled with the ends of her hair and looked thoroughly aroused, yet completely embarrassed.

Frank the Fuck-up probably only did it in the dark.

“Shouldn’t you close the blinds?” she asked, darting a nervous look at the window.

Dylan didn’t see anything but the lake, and a couple of aggressive seagulls swooping back and forth. He figured the birds didn’t care if she was naked or not, but he wasn’t going to argue and delay his pleasure.

He ripped the vertical blinds closed with his bare hands instead of using the cord.

The doorbell rang as Violet unfolded the towel and spread it over the front of her.

“Damn, that’s the food.” Dylan stripped the towel right off of Violet’s body.

“Hey!” she protested.

“I’ve got to answer the door.” He tied it around his waist. “You look better naked anyway.”

She thunked a pillow down over her nakedness. “You’re going to answer the door in a towel?”

“Yep.” He jogged to the door, almost losing the towel at one point. He was going to get rid of the delivery person, throw the food in the kitchen, then get back to his real dinner.

Violet.

Eyes closed, Violet clutched the thick down pillow to her crotch, listening to the sounds of Dylan chatting with the deliveryman.

He had given her an orgasm. In the shower.

She was shocked down to the tips of her water-shriveled toes.

It had felt so good. Easy. She had made sounds, for crying out loud. At one point she had been sure her back was going to snap from straining towards him.

Now she felt a touch embarrassed, a bit sleepy, and a whole lot satisfied. She could go for months on this high.

She was positive she could just slip under his navy duvet and fall asleep. But Dylan expected more. Turnabout was fair play. She owed it to him to let him finish, after the way he had yanked more pleasure out of her in five minutes than Frank had in four months.

So she was mentally prepared to give it to him when he came back into the bedroom, chewing, a cherry tomato in his hand.

“Tomato?” He held it out to her as he tossed the towel to the floor and climbed onto the bed.

“No tha-” Her words were cut off by the tomato being shoved between her lips.

“Eat it. It will tide you over until we get to our dinners.”

Violet chewed, the juice running down her throat and making her want to cough. Dylan tugged the pillow out of her hands and flung it so hard it hit the wall before dropping to the floor. She tried to muster up some enthusiasm as she spread her thighs, letting him know she was ready for him.

With a little luck, he’d be quick about it.

He stopped crawling on his knees between her ankles and just looked at her, his eyebrows raised.

“What?” she asked nervously.

“You look like you’re calculating how fast I can be in and out. I think you’re hoping for sixty seconds or less.”

Her cheeks burned. “Why would you think that?” And how was she so transparent?