Her smile was somehow both warm and sensual as she drank me in, her eyes moving from my face to my still exposed dick. Jolting, I moved as if to cover myself, but she shook her head at me, the tiniest movement that I wouldn’t have caught if I hadn’t been looking so closely.
My hand fell away from the pillow I’d been reaching for, and approval danced in her eyes. Despite the pain and having just come, I was rock-hard again.
Ireland turned away and started the shower, her form becoming less distinct when she stepped inside, but nothing could’ve made me look away as I watched her through the slowly fogging glass.
Reaching up, she took the removable showerhead from its cradle and ran the water over her body, turning it from the shower setting to a single jet.
Lord have mercy.
Grasping myself, I strained my eyes as I watched Ireland prop her foot on the built-in bench, directing the spray down… and down….
I couldn’t stop my hand from pumping. From imagining a clearer picture of what was happening, but even theimpressionof Ireland getting herself off was enough.
My strokes didn’t even need to take on a fast pace, my dick sensitive and more than ready from all the stimulation it was getting.
Clenching my jaw, I worked myself over, only pausing when Ireland braced her free hand on the glass.
Her soft moans echoed off the tiles, each one making me keenly aware of my own heavy breathing.
The shower was completely fogged over now, so I focused on her hand, a beacon in the steam, imagining it curled around my dick instead of my own.
“Adair.”
The sudden rasp of her voice, of my name from her lips, cut through everything, and on the next stroke, my muscles clenched, and then I came, releasing into my fist.
Her fingers curled on the glass and then disappeared. Several seconds later, the water turned back to a softer setting, and she resumed her shower.
I cleaned myself up quickly with the tissues by my bed, and after a quick sip of water, time was officially called on my body, and I sank into the pillows.
When I woke sometime later, Ireland was gone, but my hands smelled like her lavender soap, as if she’d cleaned them, and a fresh T-shirt was folded neatly on the bed beside me with a note on top.
Old age isn’t so bad if you consider the alternative!
You used those 10 minutes well.
P.S. Thank you for the 10 you gave me too.
P.P.S. And the 10 after that…
I held the note against my chest and smiled.
Maybe conflict could be good for me.
37
IRELAND
My board popped the curb, and I sucked in a breath as I bent my knees and corrected my positioning back onto the road.
After two nights of almost no sleep, I was struggling to keep my eyes open.
When I finally walked back into our house after my unexpected time away, Adair zeroed in on me from the living room, his cheeks flushing. They’d done that every time our eyes had met since he’d had his ten minutes, which hadn’t been very often.
We’d hardly had even five minutes in the same room since then.
He had a crocheted blanket strewn across his lap that spilled over onto the couch, and I only barely bit back a groan as I propped my board in the corner.
That was what was in one of the boxes Cole had brought with him and left in the living room: Crochet hooks and skeins of yarn in every color.
