Before he can stop me, and before the frigid sensation is gone, I skim down the length of his slick body until my knees touch the warm shower floor. As soon as I take his c**k into my mouth, gripping his hips hard as I adjust to his size along with the ice cubes, he cups the sides of my face, gazing down at me.
“God, Kylie,” he groans, and I move my mouth faster, harder against his cock.
Once the ice melts away, I grab more, but my lips never break contact with his body. I touch the ice directly to his erection, and he makes a noise in the back of his throat as I trace cold circles around him. Finally, his hands knot into my hair. ““This is dangerous,” he warns.
I glide my tongue over all the spots where the ice has just melted, and then I lean back, gazing up at him. His blue eyes are soft with desire and fatigue. “I want it to be dangerous,” I whisper before lowering my lips.
He holds my face between his hands, massaging my temples as my mouth explores him and my fingers continue to dig into his hips. He groans when I wrap my hands around the base of his cock, pushing and pulling him to me. And when he releases, he says my name. He pulls me to my feet, wrapping my legs around his toned waist and pins me roughly to the shower wall.
“Let me touch you, beautiful.”
I clutch his shoulders, nodding. “God, I need you to.”
He pushes his fingers between my slick folds, thrusting two inside of me. As he moves his hand in a quick tempo, his palm teases my clit until I climax.
Even then, he’s left me begging for more. The moment I tell him this, he carries me back into the other room to the king-size bed.
We don’t pause long enough to even grab a towel.
We’re still awake as the first glimpse of the Albuquerque sunlight creeps into our room. The side of my face is pressed to his chest, and I listen to him quietly hum something that sounds like an off-key, Chevelle-inspired medley featuring Send The Pain Below and Wonder What’s Next. He adds in the words every once in awhile, and sleepy laughter bubbles from my chest.
Rubbing my thumb and forefinger in gentle circles over the All Does Not End Well tattoo on his neck, I prop myself on my elbow. “You’re the worst singer I’ve ever f**king heard.”
“The worst?” He shoots me a look of disbelief. “I’m sure you’ve heard worse.”
I shake my head slowly, a delicious tingle spreading through my body as he caresses my shoulder and the curve of my ass, guiding me on top of him. “Sorry, McCrae,” I say. I move my hips against him, and he slides his fingers from my shoulder and down my side so he can grip my ass with both hands. “Stick to using your hands.”
He doesn’t respond. Instead, he sucks on the tip of his thumb before pressing it to my clit. I’m blissfully lost.
***
As much as my body and brain is desperate for some rest, I get very little. Heidi surprises me by showing up at my room at 9:47 AM, dressed for the day and wearing a satisfied grin that can only come from one thing: Sleep.
“Where’s Wyatt?” she questions, trying to peek inside of my room. I ease the door closed until there’s nothing more than a tiny sliver of light between us. She narrows her eyes but doesn’t try to sneak another glance.
“You look . . . perky today.” And I’m not talking about her bright pink top or her even pinker lipstick. This is the most well rested I’ve seen Heidi since we met up in New Orleans a week ago.
Apparently, rooming with Cal is good for her.
“Sleep is your friend,” she says, and I roll my eyes up toward the ceiling.
“Thanks for the pointer, Lucas.”
“I’m going out for breakfast,” she says. When I give her a blatantly unexpressive look, she clenches her teeth into a pleading smile. “You’re hungry, right?”
Actually, I’m starving. But I’m tired, too. I spent 14 hours inside of the Suburban yesterday not to mention most of the night with Wyatt inside of me. I should sleep. I should turn her down and take my ass right back to that amazing memory foam mattress and the naked man currently laying on it.
But then my stomach makes a noise, and Heidi nods her head slowly, her brown waves swooshing back and forth over her face as she does so. “There’s a place next door. Just go throw on some pants and we can walk over.”
Groaning, I glance down at the Motionless In White band tee I threw on just before I answered the door. I’m bra-less and panty-less, and there’s no way I’m leaving my room without a shower. “Give me twenty, okay?”
“Any longer and I’ll leave your ass,” she warns as she heads toward the elevator, but I don’t buy that for a second.
I take as many shortcuts as possible to get dressed, including a shower that’s so quick I’m not sure the pipes have time to heat up to their full potential. As I drag another band tee over my head—the colorful Three Days Grace shirt that’s by far one of my favorites—Wyatt wakes up.
He sits up in the bed and watches me intensely, his vivid blue eyes following my every movement. As I adjust my thong, he releases a string of curse words. “Get back in the bed, Kylie.”
I give him a pointed look, shaking my head. “You’d think you’ve never watched a woman get dressed.” The instant the words tumble from my lips, I regret them. Dropping my gaze to the carpet, I run my tongue over my lips. “I’ve got to say, you’re freaking me out with all the staring, McCrae?”
“Because I want to wrap that f**king thong around your wrists and keep you here with me.” Despite the harshness of his words, his voice is tender, and I’m a little shaky as I squat down to poke my legs into a pair of ripped-up jeans. As I stand and button them, pleased that this pair actually fits without cutting into my girly parts, I slide my bare feet into my pair of pink Chuck Taylors. “Where you headed?” he questions.