“Here, let me.” The deep male voice interrupted my reverie in the motel shower, sliding between the sound of the spray and the thunder of trucks on the freeway outside. A large, callused hand cupped my rounded derriere and rubbed at the offending spot of dried blood. Not mine, I hastened to add. In my line of work, blood, dried or otherwise, was an occupational hazard. Sighing in contentment and rising anticipation, I thrust my hips back, as Jasen, my lover of just over six months or so, climbed... in behind me. “Christ Gwen, you got it in your hair as well.” He grabbed the small bottle of shampoo from the shelf and dumped the contents on my head. “What did you do, roll around in the stuff?” I shrugged, a moan on my lips as his strong fingers massaged the apple blossom solution, or some similar concoction into my scalp. Jasen had magic hands, the guy should have been a masseuse. Seriously. Or a model. An underwear model. He had an ass and a package I could drool over all day. “Wood chipper.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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