She wasn’t sure why he was holding back, but Cheyenne was both intrigued by it and a little worried he was having second thoughts.
Once his shirt was removed, Brendon seemed to get with the program, toeing off his boots and then maneuvering out of his jeans. When they were both standing in the steamy bathroom, clad only in their underwear, Cheyenne’s hands began to shake. Not out of fear. No, this was need. She wanted to touch him.
Everywhere.
The way Brendon’s eyes implored her had Cheyenne wanting to reassure him that she did want this. She’d dreamed about this many times, although nothing even came remotely close to feeling as intense as this. Brendon Walker was the notorious bad boy, one that people claimed couldn’t be tamed, and despite the fear in her heart of being broken and shattered, Cheyenne was unable to find a reason not to want him.
And then she was in his arms and all thoughts ceased because she was overwhelmed by the warmth of his skin against hers, the bristle of the stubble along his jaw against her cheek, the scent of man and sweat, the uneven sound of his breaths that matched the rhythmic pounding of her own heart.
Before she knew it, they were both in the shower, and yes, still clad in their underwear. But his lips felt too good on hers, his tongue too demanding to care that she was still partially dressed, his skin too firm beneath her fingers for her to care about anything other than getting as close to him as she could.
The kiss lingered for long minutes. Brendon wasn’t rushing her, merely savoring, exploring, and Cheyenne managed to relax somewhat. This man excited her, intrigued her, made her want things she never knew she could possibly want. And she wanted them all with him, wanted to give life to the numerous dirty thoughts she’d had over the last two years about all the ways she’d find pleasure in his arms.
Brendon’s deft fingers released the clasp on her bra and Cheyenne quickly dropped it to the shower floor, wanting to feel his hands on her oversensitive skin. She wasn’t disappointed when he pulled back from her mouth, his eyes heating her skin as his gaze raked over her, his big hands cupping her breasts, his finger and thumb teasing her nipples into hard points.
The way he watched her, it was unlike anything she’d ever known. Missionary with the lights off were the only things she had in her collection of limited experience, the few less-than-stellar memories already paling in comparison to this. Granted, it’d always been her choice. She had always been overly picky about the men she was with, never knowing what they truly wanted from her—whether they’d want too little or want too much. It had been easier to just forgo relationships altogether.
They were in the shower, the buttery glow from the bathroom light combined with the sun still shining in through the narrow window high on the wall making it impossible not to see what was going on. And Brendon was undoubtedly watching every move he made as he played her body like a finely tuned instrument.
An involuntary moan escaped her when he tweaked her nipples, a sliver of pain-laced pleasure making her toes curl.
“I want to suck your nipples, Cheyenne. Tease them with my teeth.”
Heavens.
She wanted that, too. She wanted everything he was willing to give her.
However, due to their height differences, there wasn’t going to be a lot of foreplay in the shower. It just wasn’t feasible in the old, slippery porcelain tub. And she figured that was the reason Brendon turned her away from him, pulling her back to his stomach. Then he was washing her hair, his short nails like heaven against her scalp. She reached behind her, planting her palms flat on his thighs just so she could touch him. It was relatively innocent, as far as showering with the opposite sex was concerned, but still Cheyenne’s body temperature escalated to dangerous levels.
By the time he was washing her body, she was pretty damn sure she’d end up a puddle in the bottom of the tub. Somehow she managed to remain upright. He removed her panties, taking his time to soap up every inch of her skin, making her cry out in pleasure when his fingers brushed against her engorged clit. To her dismay, he didn’t linger. Once she was rinsed, Cheyenne returned the favor, soaping him up after helping him out of his boxers. She wasn’t as kind to him when she slowly stroked his thick, beautiful erection from root to tip, keeping her eyes locked with his, watching as the pleasure coursed over his angular, masculine features.
“Chey.”
It was a warning; she could hear the desperation in his tone. She decided to heed it for the time being, but only because she was anxious to see where this would lead.
BY THE TIME Brendon had them both dried off and moving toward her bed, the head of his dick felt like it was going to explode. Her soft fingers had been his undoing. Had Cheyenne opted to push him, he would’ve come in her hand without so much as a request. Luckily for him, she’d retreated when he said her name. If it hadn’t been for the fact that he wasn’t ready for this to end, he would’ve told her to do her worst.