The Note by Natalie Wrye (urban books to read .TXT) 📗

anything like his stare, then I was sure there would be nothing normal or average about his hard body. Or his cock, either.

I imagine there would be nothing standard about both when he set me down on his expensive sheets and slid it inside me.

I shudder, even now, alone in the steaming bathroom, and a fantasy memory rocks me where I stand, the glass shower walls clouding all around me. Thing is… I can’t deny this attraction between us. And more importantly, I’m not going to.

The problem with making these type of decisions while showering is that you don’t even notice when someone enters the room. You don’t notice the sound of someone opening the bathroom door or stepping inside.

Nor do you notice the man inching closer. At least, not until a pair of knuckles appear against the clear wall of your steam-filled square, rapping quickly against the surface of the glass.

I gasp, clutching my chest, nearly jumping out of my skin. I spit out a mouthful of water. “What the hell?!”

I hear Noah’s voice behind it. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to disturb you, but breakfast is ready. It’s been ready.”

Had I actually lingered in the shower that long? Fantasized that much?

My shower stream at home would have waned by now, slowing to a trickle. The hot water still spewing strong had almost convinced me that time was standing still, and with outrage and my skin soaking wet, I yell over the clouded shower wall, hoping my voice reaches Noah through the noise of the beating stream.

“Are you always this rude? Or you on some sort of Australian auto-pilot asshole mode that I don’t know about?” I question loudly.

“What, you wanted cold breakfast?”

I slide my fingers over my wet hair, hoping Noah can’t see me. I can barely see him. “Listen, I can’t think with,” I motion towards the shower spray, “all of this going on. Would you mind passing me a towel?”

“Or you could stop the water stream so that we don’t have to strain to hear each other.”

But I can’t do that. Not when I need the stream for cover.

“Don’t worry about that,” I rasp back. “Just pass me a towel through a crack in the door. And I’ll come out.”

Even the sound of Noah’s footsteps heading towards the linen closet makes me nervous and when he returns, tapping on the shower door, I swing it open—just a crack. Our fingers brush as I practically rip the plush towel from his hands and I quiver in the corner, wrapping the towel tightly around my body.

It’s only when I’m sure it’s secure that I cuff of the water stream, stepping out.

The inside of the marble bathroom looks like a hard rock concert, full of mist and gloom. That is, until Noah steps into plain view, giving me a glimpse of him dressed down for the second time ever, clad in another pair of comfortable gray sweats, a white t-shirt clinging to his skin.

His dark hair is tousled when he touches it, running his fingers through the dark brown strands. His blue eyes stare.

“Sorry. You were in the shower for over a half an hour. Thought something might be wrong. I brought you a plate from the breakfast downstairs.”

I struggle to meet his eye. “Thank you.”

“There’s bacon out there. Eggs and potatoes. I got our butler to serve you the strongest espresso he could find, and I’ve tasted it. It’s strong enough to keep you up for, oh, the entire winter season or so, and hot enough to file a lawsuit against the estate if it happens to drip onto your bare skin.”

I can’t help but smile. “Thank you, Noah. I’ll be sure to be careful not to spill a drop. Wouldn’t want to burn myself only on wedding weekend day two.”

But it looks like I’ve already done that. I glance down to where Noah’s eyes are and find my skin ruddy. Angry red spots from where the scalding shower beat down decorate my skin, and just as I extend my towel to cover it, Noah reaches right over towards the medicine cabinet.

Extracting a small bottle from inside, he places a clear gel over his palm, moving closer. His eyes are intent, serious as they scan my skin, and without another word, he inches closer, reaching right over, his cool palm landing against my shoulder.

He starts to rub, his calloused palms moving gingerly. I stifle a moan as his fingers work, slowly, carefully—teasingly against my skin. His eyes remain focused.

“It’s Aloe Vera gel,” he says, at last. “Looks like we spoke about the burning too late.”

He presses on the bottle to push another dollop of gel onto his palms. It isn’t until he extends his hand again that he seems to realize what he’s doing, and alarm makes his dark cerulean gaze glow, almost flare. His gaze meets mine, finding the same alertness in my eyes and before I can say a word or make a sound, Noah’s nearly on top of me, his hard body pressing into mine.

He hovers over me, inadvertently pushing my backside against the shower wall as he lowers his face and I capture his lips with a kiss, taking it before he can pull away.

And the intensity is sudden. The connection is instant.

From the second we touch lips. From the moment we touch.

There’s nothing soft about this kiss, nothing gentle.

Noah’s body is as if made of stone as he presses against me. My hands grab his shoulders immediately and with his palms against the glass wall, the gorgeous Australian opens himself up to my eagerness, accepting my greedy tongue.

I sweep it inside of his mouth the moment our lips meet, needing his taste. He tastes of coffee and brown sugar and the flavor of both mix in my mouth as I explore his, loving the feel of him against my body, inhaling his scent.

His kiss is insistent against mine, full of barely contained fever. He touches his tongue with mine, licking and sucking and stroking. But