Sexy.
Naughty.
A little dirty.
I just…where do I start?
He's watching me, staring at me, gaze greedily going to my breasts, my sex. He can't look away, and bless him for trying—he keeps finding my eyes, but his gaze goes back down.
I turn, open the shower, twist the water on—within a minute it's skirling whirls of steam, and I catch Bear's hand as I adjust it so it's not scalding.
I pull him in after me and he shuts the door—he's nervous too, hesitant. Standing against the rear wall, he fills the admittedly not huge shower stall with his massive presence. The water beats on my back as I face him, and the heat leaches into me.
I pull him toward me, and I'm thankful that the shower head is mounted up near the ceiling, so he doesn't have to duck. "Stay close to me."
I slick my wet hair back, and pull him forward so the stream hits his chest—I unbraid his beard and toss the tie aside. He ducks under the stream to wet his hair.
"Can I ask you an embarrassing question?" I ask, my voice small and hesitant.
"Anything."
I look down at his huge…thing. "What do you call it?" At his frowned, silent question, I feel compelled to elaborate. "The way I was raised, we didn't talk about sex or body parts. So…I don't know what to call it."
"Yours."
I can't help a laugh. "For real, Bear. It's an honest question."
"Cock."
My cheeks burn. "I don’t know if I can say that."
"Try." He rests a hand on my ribs, just below my breasts—which I now realize he hasn't touched yet.
I swallow hard. "Cock." I cover my mouth with my hand. "Another really stupid, embarrassing question."
"Not stupid or embarrassing."
I rest my forehead against his chest. "It's really big, isn't it? Your…your cock?"
"Um." A shrug. "Dunno. Not much for comparing."
"Something tells me that's because thereisno comparison."
He shrugs again. "You don't have to worry, okay? I won't ever hurt you."
"I know, Bear." I capture his hands. Guide them up. "Don’t you want to touch me?"
"So fucking bad."
"I want you to."
I hold my breath as he gently scrapes his cinderblock hands up my skin—the rough scratch of his hands is delicious, delirium-inducing. He cups my breasts in his big hands, cradling their weight. Lifting. Cupping. A low growl of masculine pleasure rattles the shower stall.
"Incredible," he whispers. Looks at me, awe in his eyes. "So fucking exquisite."
My breath is on fire my throat, in my lungs. "Bear." It's a plea.
I need more.
