The cocky bastard.
My breath hitched as I gave a single nod. "Okay."
Talk about a massive understatement.
With a wicked grin, he yanked me closer. My feet barely hit the tile floor as he practically dragged me into the shower and pulled the door shut behind us.
The space was narrow, and my clothes were already getting soaked. The shower wasnotmeant for two people, even if I could totally see the appeal. With a breathless laugh, I asked, "Are you sure this is safe?"
His arms closed tightly around me, and he lowered his head to nuzzle my neck. Against my skin, he said, "Oh yeah."
His lips were warm and soft as his hands slid up my back, tugging at my flannel overshirt. Taking the hint, I let my arms fall loose, giving him the chance to remove the shirt all the way.
Without skipping a beat, he yanked the shirt free of my arms and let it fall onto the wet shower floor. One of his hands returned to my back, while the other went straight for the button of my already-damp jeans.
By now, I was practically panting. And yet I still felt compelled to ask, "Are you sure?"
With a smile in his voice, he said it again. "Oh yeah."
I laughed. "I meant about the shower. Like, it's not gonna break or anything is it?"
"It doesn't matter," he said, giving me the sweetest nibble on my earlobe. "We're replacing it next week."
Already, I could hardly think. But at leastoneof us had to keep our wits about us, right? I gasped, "But what about the floor? I mean, we don't want to fall through or anything."
With a low laugh, he said, "Trust me. We're fine."
Ifeltfine, that's for sure.
Already, he'd unzipped my jeans and was now tugging them down past my hips. As he did, I used my own feet to frantically work at my wet sneakers, trying to nudge them off without stooping to use my hands.
I actually managed to do it, too, stepping out of my shoes just as Brody used first his hand, and then one of his bare feet to shove my jeans first past my knees and then all the way down to the shower floor.
On raw instinct, I stepped out of the damp mess, leaving my socks lost somewhere in the denim fabric.
I was now wearing only my panties and a gray cotton tank top – no bra, because the tank top was tight enough to serve as an undershirtandas support for the girls, if you know what I mean.
And speaking of support, I recalled all too well that the housestillhad its share of issues. I just had to say, "Youdoknow what you're doing, right?"
With that same smile in his voice, he replied, "What doyouthink?" As he said it, he reached between us and took one of my hard, wet nipples between his fingers. Through the thin cotton of my tank top, he rolled and teased the nub, making me groan in pure bliss.
And still, I somehow managed to say, "I meant about the floor. Like what if there's water damage underneath us or something?"
At this, his tone grew teasing. "Underneath us, huh?" His words weren't the only thing teasing me. He had a way of using his fingers – tugging, pinching, caressing, all the while alternating everything just enough to keep me on the edge of going crazy with desire.
Through the fog of my lust, I almost whimpered as I said, "I just mean, like what if the floor doesn't hold?"
With a low chuckle, he said, "Trust me. It'll hold." As he continued to toy with my nipple, he said in a voice filled with sin, "Underneath us, we've got structural two-by-fours."
Something in the way he said it sent a new rush of heat straight to my core. "Really?"
"Really," he said, worrying my wet nipple between his warm fingers. "And not the flimsy new stuff either."
On a sigh of pure bliss, I murmured, "Oh."
"I'm talking historical hardwood," he said. "The real deal."
Hard wood.
