Read Online In the Night of the Heat by Blair Underwood - Free Book Online Page B

I’d been saving for that occasion. I had been waiting to bring April back into my shower for a long time. Somehow, with the diminishing number of encounters, the shower rarely felt right. The bathroom was too closeto Chela’s space, and it always seemed safest to pen April’s ardor in the bedroom rather than to risk snuffing it by opening the door.
    I made a silent apology for the water I was about to waste. I have a Takagi on-demand water heater, so I was planning to take my time. Showers are designed for bathing, after all, and there’s no better way to begin a journey of flesh. Grooming is primal.
    I sidled in behind her and assessed my favorite view. I can close my eyes and still see exactly how April’s ass looked that night: perfect proportions of roundness and firmness, with cascading streams gliding from its mighty shelf like a gentle waterfall. April was slender everywhere except where she burst forth in compensation. The weak wand I’d had in Lynda Jewell’s hotel room couldn’t compare to the club rising against my belly, a genie summoned by a rub from April’s bare, wet ass. I could have stared at her ass all night. Hell, some nights I almost did. It looked good by the light of the moon, but damp and gleaming?
    Art.
    I soaped up my sponge and touched the small of her back.
    She gasped, feigning surprise. “Who’s that?” She only turned halfway, as if she couldn’t see me. She crossed her arms high to cover her breasts.
    â€œThe wind,” I whispered. I’m not sure she heard me over the beating water.
    April was role-playing, but tight knots of muscles in her back showed me how tense she was. A sudden thought broke my concentration, almost as if it was hidden in the rushing water itself: You’re losing her. My Evil Voice had followed me home.
    No you’re not, my hand with the sponge assured me. Not tonight.
    I slid the sponge’s coarse soapiness across April’s shoulder blades. Up and down her spine. The sponge kissed the back of her neck. Her head nodded forward, and her face and hair were washed in theshower stream. April usually didn’t like getting her braids wet, but she didn’t seem to notice. I heard her moan gently, appreciating the sponge’s path.
    I savored her ass the way I would a rich dessert, and I almost lost myself there. My slow circles met her curves as her contours took me by the hand. The sponge sank into the dimpled valley of her flank and rose again to the summit. A little pressure, and the sponge teased between the two halves that made her whole. I slid the sponge down deep through her thighs, then scaled the twin peaks again.
    I already ached to slip inside of her, and we were just getting started. I gave my body a taste, pressing against her for a quick visit with her hot skin. Warm soap oiled us, electrifying each pore. This time, I was the one who moaned.
    But I stepped away, and April turned around to face me. Still pretending to be blind, she patted my cheeks and nose. Next, she soaped up her hands and ran them across my chest. Beneath her fingertips, my abdomen locked tight, too, but not from stress—from a desire for release. While I moved my sponge to April’s shoulders, her hands descended to grasp the firmness rising tall between us. Both hands. Like I said, I’m blessed.
    I pulsed in rhythm to her fingers’ caresses. April’s first strokes were a nest of butterflies, gentle and fluttering, and I felt myself pressing harder against her for a more lingering touch. Her hand’s strokes tightened with urgency. Her thumb explored every ridge as her palm clamped across my taut skin with a rhythm so delicious it was almost agony. April’s confidence as a lover had grown during our time together, but it was more than that: She touched me as if she might never again have the chance. I floated in the sweet chaos of April’s touch and the bath of hot water. My toes curled