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Her hand came around, gripping his lower back as she arched into him. She turned her head, looking at him with unfiltered hunger.
She turned in his hold, pressing herself against him and twining her arms around his neck. Her teeth nipped his lower lip, her fingers curling in his hair to pull his head toward hers. He didn’t hold back. His tongue slid between her lips while his mouth sealed hers.
She broke away, gasping. “My turn.” She poured body wash onto her hands.
He stood still, watching as she explored his body with her hands and eyes. She turned him, kneading his back and shoulders, thighs and hips. Her teeth grazed his hips, her tongue traced his spine, and her hands came around him, clasping the length of him with slippery hands. He shuddered, giving in to the onslaught of sensations her hands and mouth unleashed. She turned him once more.
He hadn’t expected her to be on her knees, to have her soft hands clasp the rigid length of him and bring it to her mouth. But the silk of her lips slipping over his tip, the wet heat of her mouth encasing him, made him groan out loud. With one hand she braced herself on his thighs, and the other gripped him firmly in place, letting her set a rhythm both sweet and torturous. Every stroke of her tongue and caress of her lips had him teetering closer to the edge. Did she know how close he was? He pressed his hands against the side of the shower, steadying himself.
“Stop, Tatum,” he ground out. He had to stop her. Had to get control. But, when it came to Tatum, he had no control.
“Stop?” she asked, breathless. “You’re not enjoying it?”
He heard the vulnerability in her voice and ached from it. He groaned. “I am. Too much.”
“I don’t want to stop,” she answered, drawing him deep into her mouth. Her hands slid up the backs of his thighs to grip his hips and he was done for. His climax hit hard. Wave after wave of pure, raw pleasure rocked through him. His moan tore from his throat and echoed in the steam-filled shower.
When he opened his eyes, she was standing before him—a huge smile on her face. He was gasping, his heart hammering and his lungs scrambling for air. She seemed pretty proud of her handiwork.
His hands slid down the side of the shower stall to cup her face. He wiped the water from her forehead and tilted her face back to kiss her. “You’re gorgeous,” he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
“I probably look like a drowned rat,” she argued, kissing him back.
“A gorgeous drowned rat,” he continued, pulling her against him. He groaned at the slip and slide of her skin against him.
“Spencer.” Her whisper was low, pleading.
He held her back, staring down at her. “Bed?” he asked, turning off the water without waiting for her answer.
He helped her out of the shower, wrapping a thick white towel around his waist before rubbing her down. She laughed at the thorough job he made of it, but she was dry and rosy when he was done.
Her fingers traced his side. “What kind of feather is this?” she asked, tracing the tattoo.
“An eagle feather,” he answered, twisting the water from her hair.
“Why an eagle feather?”
He glanced at her. “An eagle is a protector. He’s powerful in battle. Alert and watchful. I needed to feel that way after Russ was killed.” Instead of feeling like a failure.
He and Patton had worked side by side with their little brother but neither of them had ever suspected Russell of being corrupt. Even after the night Russ was mowed down, Spencer had a hard time coming to terms with the truth. His little brother had been the bad guy.
Tatum was staring up at him, her fingers stroking the intricately detailed design and easing the crushing weight of his memories.
“I’m sorry about Russ.” There was no doubting her sincerity. “He was a character, always the jokester.”
She was right. Russ had always been the class clown—the one everybody loved. Being charming was a very useful way to divert suspicion.
“To lose your brother and father in the same year...” She paused, sliding her arms around his waist. “I’m sorry you had so much grief all at once, Spencer.”
He stared down at her, loving the feel of her in his arms. Missing her. How many times had he picked up the phone to call her, only to hang up? “Things were tough for a while,” he admitted. “But you get up every day, you find a way to keep going.”
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