Page 171 of A Sanctuary from Shadow
Finally, Pete tugged off his linen shirt—my pillowcase the night before—exposing his broad, glorious torso as a feast for my oversexed mind. “What of my other parts?” He winked.
My voice was tellingly breathy. “I don’t doparts. Sorry.”
“Then I want no complaints if I don’t cleanse them to your liking.” Smirking, he mercifully broke eye contact, peered into the wagon. “The soap?”
My hands jerked into my book bag for the other hunk of soap I’d bought—this one infused with orange peel—and offered it to him. Chills raced up my spine when he took it from me, his rough fingers touching mine.
“Much obliged, Shorty.” He gestured over his shoulder with the soap. “I’ll bid you adieu for a spell. Nature calls.”
Refusing to watch his perfect ass walk away in those snug leather trousers, I bundled my laundry into my cloak and fled down the trodden grass trail to the lake. Sionna tramped after me between glowing lilies, content after supper. She skittered off to sniff the beach’s every petal as I worked.
My resolve to scrub my fingers red dwindled after mere minutes of sitting waist-deep amid the lake’s dark eddies. The water was so warm from the day, as mellowing as a hot tub, and clouds of steam skimmed its surface, radiant with moonbeams. Letting the laundry soak, I listened to the peepers and the snorting hound progressing down the bank, sluicing my leg with my soap. I was just as in need of washing as the clothing, after all. As was the shift clinging to my soppy skin, titillating my nipples with its filmy caress.
Would youpuhleasestop equating everything with sex?
Why?answered some deep-dwelling voice.It’s only natural thatyou’re wondering what Pete’s hand might’ve felt like last night if he’d just moved a few inches and squeezed your tit like a stress ball. Mm, probably pretty fucking good with those calluses of his.
I tried to shake the image and its resulting longing. Which didn’t work. At all. Disastrous thoughts flooded me without my consent.
What if I’d found the courage to turn toward Pete last night during the complimentary bedtime concert? What if he’d wanted me to? What if he’d been waiting for me to make a move, just as I’d been secretly waiting for him? What if neither of us had been faking our attraction last night? What if—?
Something moved in my peripheral, and the neon lilies along the lake’s edge bobbed like tiny boats. I scanned the scenery, finding nothing and no one. Had a fish jumped? Why had the peepers suddenly gone mute? Where was Sionna? Had she gone to check on Pete? What was taking him so long? He’d said he’d return to camp shortly. Doubtful though it seemed, had the man with predatory prowess gotten lost? Did he need me to find him?
Stay,that secret voice advised.He’ll come.
I shook myself again, disturbed.What the—?
The sight of a dog’s wagging butt protruding from a flowered bush cut my thought short. A high-pitched squeak for help sounded from within the branches.
“Found herself another cherry marmot, did she?”
My heart leaping, I glanced aside toward Pete. He’d appeared with his trousers cuffed up at his shins, the soap I’d bought him in hand. His broad, furry torso was still naked, his firm abs etched in moonlight. As if they weren’t obvious enough already.
“Yeah,” I spoke once I’d squelched the need to fan myself.If that’s what they’re called.“Although, I can’t tell if she’s trying to eat it or make friends with it this time.”
“Let’s just say friends. Then I won’t have to gut it after I’ve bathed, aye?” With another dashing wink, he waded waist-deep into the tranquil water.
Danu have mercy, I tried not to look. I went straight back to washing the clothes—and myself—as Pete splashed in the water like a great, shaggy dog. I even considered gouging out my eyes when the urge to watch him strengthened, but that corrupting voice in my head whispered,A peek won’t hurt.
So, I glanced. Then I gazed. Then I ogled like a wolf drooling over a fresh kill.
Pete faced away from me, brawn rippling across his massive back and down to his narrow waist as he soaped his silvery, scarred skin. My breath stuck when his soapy hand slipped down his trousers, cleaning his man bits as discreetly as possible while I was present.
Discretion may be the better part of valor, I mused, slicking soap over my belly.But he’ll never get completely clean if you don’t peel those pants off those rock-hard buns for him.Short of breath, my body howling, I clenched my eyes shut. The lascivious thoughts persisted, anyway.How else will you help him?
My sudsing hand delved lower than it should’ve, gliding over an unquenchable searing ache. I began imagining all the sultry, naughty, seductive things I’d do to Pete if only I had the guts.Be the heroine you’ve always wanted to be, Amy,that voice coaxed.Embrace your lust. Be spontaneous. Abandon your inhibitions. Take control. Lick him wherever the hell you want.
“Wh—what are you doing, Shorty?”
Only after his stammer did I realize I was standing in bust-deep water with my hands on Pete’s warm flesh, attempting to relieve him of his soap. When and how had I gotten over to him? I wondered. But then my libido took control again, and I didn’t want the answer.
Gusting, I trailed my fingers over the planes of his chest, let them comb through the hair on his pecks. My other hand cajoled the soap from him. “You missed a spot,” I purred like a sultry tigress.
Did that sound just come out ofme?
His lips took a roguish curl, though his brow furrowed at me, questioning. “Have I now?”
“Let me get it for you.”
