“Don’t move.”
“I promise I’m trying not to.”
“You’re not trying very hard.”
“You’re not making it very easy for me.”
A.J. presses his erection against my bottom. “For you, it will always be hard.”
“Not funny,” I gasp, gripping the sides of the tub.
A.J. sits behind me in the bathtub, his knees on either side of my hips. I’m reclining on his chest. One of his hands has a firm grip on my wet hair, keeping my head against his shoulder. The other hand is between my legs. His fingers stroke me slowly, around and around, up and down, gentle pressure and delicious, wet heat. Hot water swirls over his hand, my hips, my spread thighs, sloshing when I fail to hold still, as he’s commanded.
His fingers slip inside me, and I moan.
He turns my head and kisses me deeply. As his tongue invades my
