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Authors: Darynda Jones
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other side of his bedroom was mine. Our headboards butted against the same wall. Or they would butt against the same wall if I had a headboard. The one that came with my bed had an unfortunate incident one night when I’d mixed tequila and champagne with a rock band from Minnesota. In all honesty, I don’t think I was even in the room when my headboard bit the dirt. Possibly not even in the apartment. I woke up in the stairwell with a new Blue Öyster Cult T-shirt and a slight case of internal bleeding. But I recovered quickly after crawling back to my apartment and kicking out the wayward souls who’d taken over my digs, including a guinea pig and an iguana named Sam.
Honestly, who brings an iguana to a party?
I lay there a long while, basking in the warmth of my man before easing out from under his arm and searching out a bathroom. I was just going to pee, then run back for round two of snuggle-palooza. Then I saw his shower. And I knew the true meaning of happiness. Two minutes later, I was thoroughly enjoying a massage beneath a waterfall made of stone and marble. Jets of water pulsated over my skin and kneaded my muscles. I named this ingenious invention George and decided to leave my own shower, Hector, for him. Some loves were just meant to be.
I turned to see Reyes standing at the shower entrance.
“It looks good on you,” he said, his full mouth forming an appreciative grin. “The shower.” His arms were crossed, his gaze sultry, and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust. He stood in all his naked glory. Long limbs and sinuous muscle molded into absolute perfection. Like he’d been sculpted onto this plane then airbrushed, the artist clearly fond of fluid lines and deep shadows.
“I thought it might be a bit much,” he continued, “but I’ve changed my mind.”
“This?” I asked, astounded that he would question George’s worth. “This… this masterpiece?” I threw myself against his stone exterior. George’s. Not Reyes’s. “How could you ever doubt him?”
“Him?”
“George.”
“His name is George?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I just named him.” I tried to snap my fingers, but they were wet so I came away with more of a squishy thud than a snap. I’d take it. “Keep up, mister, or before you know it, life will pass —” I squeaked when he stepped inside and drew me against his chest – the airbrushed one – then bent down to nibble on my neck. An electric current shot down my spine before I came to my senses. “Hey, wait,” I said, pulling back, “you
are
the son of Satan. Maybe we need a safe word.”
His grin morphed into something wickedly charming. “Okay, how about, ‘Oh, my god, it’s so big.’ ”
Laughter burst out of me before I could stop it. Not that it wasn’t. “That would be a safe
phrase,
but okay.” I thought about it, then said, “How about ‘Is that all you’ve got?’ ”
He nuzzled my neck again, causing a surge of pleasure to cascade over my skin. “That sounds more like a challenge.”
“Good point. But it does get the adrenaline pumping.”
He pushed between my legs. “Among other things.”
An hour later, we were sprawled on a rug on his bathroom floor using towels as pillows. I lay staring at the ceiling, stewing in astonishment for several reasons. First, I had no idea a showerhead had so many creative uses. Second, Reyes’s stamina was a thing of beauty. Third, I was beginning to feel him on a deeper level. In the same way I could glean emotion off him, off anyone, I was beginning to feel all the little intricacies of his physical reaction to stimuli. The same pleasures that raced across his skin, that bucked inside him, that burst as he reached orgasm, rushed through me with a supernatural intensity. I had never experienced anything like it.
“How are you?” he asked, regarding me from beneath an arm he’d thrown over his face.
“Pretty good, actually.”
He took my chin and pulled my gaze
Honestly, who brings an iguana to a party?
I lay there a long while, basking in the warmth of my man before easing out from under his arm and searching out a bathroom. I was just going to pee, then run back for round two of snuggle-palooza. Then I saw his shower. And I knew the true meaning of happiness. Two minutes later, I was thoroughly enjoying a massage beneath a waterfall made of stone and marble. Jets of water pulsated over my skin and kneaded my muscles. I named this ingenious invention George and decided to leave my own shower, Hector, for him. Some loves were just meant to be.
I turned to see Reyes standing at the shower entrance.
“It looks good on you,” he said, his full mouth forming an appreciative grin. “The shower.” His arms were crossed, his gaze sultry, and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust. He stood in all his naked glory. Long limbs and sinuous muscle molded into absolute perfection. Like he’d been sculpted onto this plane then airbrushed, the artist clearly fond of fluid lines and deep shadows.
“I thought it might be a bit much,” he continued, “but I’ve changed my mind.”
“This?” I asked, astounded that he would question George’s worth. “This… this masterpiece?” I threw myself against his stone exterior. George’s. Not Reyes’s. “How could you ever doubt him?”
“Him?”
“George.”
“His name is George?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I just named him.” I tried to snap my fingers, but they were wet so I came away with more of a squishy thud than a snap. I’d take it. “Keep up, mister, or before you know it, life will pass —” I squeaked when he stepped inside and drew me against his chest – the airbrushed one – then bent down to nibble on my neck. An electric current shot down my spine before I came to my senses. “Hey, wait,” I said, pulling back, “you
are
the son of Satan. Maybe we need a safe word.”
His grin morphed into something wickedly charming. “Okay, how about, ‘Oh, my god, it’s so big.’ ”
Laughter burst out of me before I could stop it. Not that it wasn’t. “That would be a safe
phrase,
but okay.” I thought about it, then said, “How about ‘Is that all you’ve got?’ ”
He nuzzled my neck again, causing a surge of pleasure to cascade over my skin. “That sounds more like a challenge.”
“Good point. But it does get the adrenaline pumping.”
He pushed between my legs. “Among other things.”
An hour later, we were sprawled on a rug on his bathroom floor using towels as pillows. I lay staring at the ceiling, stewing in astonishment for several reasons. First, I had no idea a showerhead had so many creative uses. Second, Reyes’s stamina was a thing of beauty. Third, I was beginning to feel him on a deeper level. In the same way I could glean emotion off him, off anyone, I was beginning to feel all the little intricacies of his physical reaction to stimuli. The same pleasures that raced across his skin, that bucked inside him, that burst as he reached orgasm, rushed through me with a supernatural intensity. I had never experienced anything like it.
“How are you?” he asked, regarding me from beneath an arm he’d thrown over his face.
“Pretty good, actually.”
He took my chin and pulled my gaze
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