Page 50 of Save a Wish

Would he even let me inside as dirty as I was right now?

We arrived at his house before I’d figured out the answer to any of those questions. I held my breath as we approached his garage door which Beckett opened with his phone.

He didn’t let go of my hand as he walked into the garage, tugging me over to the door that led into the house.

I expected him to tell me to wait outside while he got towels or something for us to clean up before entering, but he surprised me by opening the door and stepping in.

With me.

I didn’t say anything while he pulled me through the kitchen, down the hall, and to the master bath. There had been a smaller bathroom near the garage when we’d first entered, but he’d gone for the better bathroom.

The one with a fancy tub.

A tub that could definitely fit two people.

Then Beckett paused and faced me.

“Would you prefer to clean up by yourself in another bathroom?” he asked. “I marched us in here together, making assumptions, but—” He stopped talking when I put my finger to his lips.

“I like your assumptions.”

With a little nod and a slight grin, Beckett opened the door to the shower and turned on the spray before facing me. “I think this mess calls for a two-stage cleaning process.” He pointed to the shower stall. “First, we’ll rinse the mud off.” Next, he gestured to the tub. “Then we’ll enter the second stage.” He took a few steps closer, his gaze hungry as it combed over me. “That stage is for checking each other over—thoroughly—to make sure we’ve gotten rid of all the mud.”

“That’s sounds like a sensible plan,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

Beckett’s lips turned up on the left side as he gestured to my sweater. “May I free you of that?”

I held my arms out to my sides in invitation.

He slid the sweater down my arms, allowing it to drop to the floor with a splat. A part of me wanted to warn him about making a mess of his bathroom. Another part, however, wanted to see how much of a mess he was willing to tolerate to get me naked.

With his brown eyes full of focus, he crouched and hooked his hand on the back of my left leg, prompting me to lift my foot. He unzipped my boot and pulled it off, letting it flop to the tiled floor with a gritty scrape. He did the same with my right boot then peeled my soaked socks off my feet.

Slowly, Beckett rose to standing. He ran his hands along my sides, grabbing the hem of the T-shirt I’d had on under the sweater, coaxing me to raise my arms as he lifted the shirt off me.

Beckett’s gaze zeroed in on the glop of mud resting between my breasts. After dropping my shirt atop my sweater where it let out a wet squish, he glided his index finger along my skin, scraping the mud away and simultaneously electrifying my entire body.

I shuddered over his touch, craving his hands on every part of me, but he moved on to grabbing the waist of my pants and scraping them down my legs. I stepped out of them, my bare foot mashing some mud into the floor, but my attention was solely on the way Beckett looked at me as if he was in awe of the sight. In nothing but my black bra and matching underwear, the only other things I wore were my earrings, a pendant necklace I’d made, and the mud that still clung to me.

“So beautiful,” Beckett whispered as he regarded me.

“Even covered in mud?” I asked.

“Maybe especially covered in mud.” He grinned.

“Well, let’s get a look at you.”

I peeled his flannel shirt off his shoulders, cringing when some dirty water got wrung out and splashed at our feet. “Sorry.”

“It’s just dirt and water,” Beckett said. “Easily cleaned up later.” He hooked his hand at the back of my neck and caressed my cheek with his thumb. “Much, much later.”

The fire in his gaze made me speed through getting off the rest of his clothes so he stood before me in only his boxer briefs. I’d honestly never seen anything so mouthwatering. Beckett was all toned muscles and strength bundled in a lean, athletic body I wanted to rub myself all over.

I ran my hand along some mud caked on my wrist then glided that hand over the ridges of Beckett’s abs. Four brown streaks cut across those muscles now.

“I wanted a reason to wash that area,” I said, making Beckett chuckle.

“You can wash absolutely anything you wish.” He turned toward the shower stall and shimmied out of his underwear, treating me to a splendid view of his taut ass.