Shirl Henke - Finders Keepers

“Don’t you think you could call me Matt, now?”

“Definitely not now. Get into the shower.” Sam shoved him beneath the steamy downpour, but not before he backed up just enough for her breasts to brush against his arm. Damn, the man had some moves, even blindfolded and cuffed!

“No fair again. You have me buck-ass and you’re still wearing stuff,” he groused.

Since her bra and panties hadn’t suffered during the accident in the van, she had left them on, body armor of a sort. A Victoria’s Secret chastity belt. Ha! Somehow, Sam didn’t figure it would do much good. “Quit bitching and stand still,” she said sharply, lathering up a bar of soap between her hands. She stood stupidly, suds running down her arms while she stared at his water-slicked body, which filled the small shower stall.

She was afraid to touch him.

As if reading her mind, he taunted, “Come on, Samantha. Scrub me off.”

You can do this. You’re a trained professional. And he’s worth ten grand! Sam repeated the words like a mantra as she reached up and began lathering his chest. God, the pelt of black hair felt good. Too good. She moved up his neck and said, “Close your eyes.”

“Why the hell should I? I’m blindfolded.”

She thrust her soapy hands into his hair and started scrubbing.

“Yeow! That burns!”

“I told you to close your eyes. Soap’s dripping inside the mask.” He was handsome even when his face squinched up, dammit! After that she was forced to move to those broad shoulders and then let her hands glide down his biceps. Odd that she’d never before realized the similarities between bathing someone and foreplay. “Turn around so I can get your back.”

“But you haven’t finished with my front,” he said, chuckling as his erection nudged her right in the belly button. “Bull’s-eye,” he crowed.

“Nope. High, twelve o’clock,” she managed to say before all the breath left her body. Stepping back, she seized his shoulders and forcefully turned him around. “Raise your arms so I can wash your armpits.”

“What do I look like, a contortionist? Lady, you have my hands cuffed behind my back. Now, if you’d care to unlock them…”

In response, she took the bracelets by their connection and yanked them up. He yelped in surprise. Then when she reached two soapy hands to scrub his armpits, he tried to clamp his arms to his sides, hunching over, sliding away. “That…tickles,” he gasped, fighting not to laugh out loud, failing as she continued forcing her soapy fingers higher into the sensitive cavities.

His whole body convulsed with helpless laughter and he leaned back against the shower wall. Sam couldn’t help her broad grin, unable to resist playing the game in spite of its inherent dangers. “I don’t need a stun gun to control you—only my fingers,” she said, knowing the laughter in her voice was unmistakable.

“Anyone…ever tell…you…you’re vicious?” He finally managed to get the words out through rumbling chuckles that echoed in the small confines of the shower. Her fingers moved across his bent back, tickling the sensitive skin at his nape. To reach his neck, she had to press her body over his and lean into him on tiptoes. Matt could feel her breasts, still clad in a nylon bra, feel the nipples’ nubby distension through the thin fabric.

Damn, Granger! What the hell are you doing? Quit now. But his body overruled his mind. Her panties were a wisp of lace under his fingers and her body was as slick with soap as his. It didn’t take much to tug those panties down, even with his hands cuffed. He slid the briefs over the curve of her hips before she could stop him—if she wanted to, which he was beginning to doubt. At least, he sure hoped she didn’t want to stop.

When her panties dropped to her ankles, Sam let out a squeak of surprise and slithered off his back. “How the hell did you do that?” she gasped, struggling not to lose her balance with her feet practically tied together.

He turned to face her with a lopsided grin. “Lots of practice. Wanna see me unhook a bra blindfolded?”

“No. If I want slight-of-hand, I’ll watch David Copperfield.” She tried to sound cool, but leaning against the shower wall with her panties around her ankles made it difficult. There wasn’t enough room to bend over and pull them back up so she kicked them off, again stumbling against the wall. Matt glided in quickly, pinning her with his body.

“Careful you don’t fall and break that delectable keister,” he murmured in her strawberry hair. “I’m not the only one who needs a shower,” he purred. “I could give you a shampoo…”

“No way,” she said breathlessly, seizing the soap and giving her head a quick lather and rinse. “God, that feels better.”

“Yeah, it sure does,” he said, rubbing his pelvis against her belly.

Sam’s hips instinctively hitched forward. Lord above, even rigor mortis couldn’t make flesh that rock hard. But the guy certainly qualified as a big stiff! Suddenly she wanted to touch it, wanted to very much. “You were right—I haven’t finished washing your front,” she managed to get out.

“Please, be my guest,” he replied, his voice no steadier than hers. Stepping back, he allowed her to put about three inches between them.

She reached for the soap again and lathered her hands, then lowered them to the pole probing her navel. All she could think was, Lower, just a little bit lower…

The minute her hands took hold of his cock he let out a guttural oath of sheer desperation. “You know, we gotta do something about this.”

“Yeah. Wash your legs.” She let go, teasing his balls before sudsing down one long hairy leg, then moving back up the other leg, pausing to cup those small tight male buns. They’d looked great the first time she saw him. They felt even better. Damned if he wasn’t right. No stopping now. Some small voice of sanity tried to reason with her. This was dangerous as hell—not to mention a gross breach of ethics.

But her hormones won.

“Okay, Houdini, let’s see you unhook a bra with your hands cuffed,” she whispered, slithering her body against his as she turned her back to him.

“Don’t think I can, eh?” he dared her.

Matt turned and bent his elbows, running his fingers over the delicate indentations of her spine until he reached his destination. As he took the bra hook in his hands and freed it, he rubbed his head against the shower nozzle, catching the elastic band of the sleep mask on it and pulling back. The mask popped free and dropped to the shower floor.

By the time Sam had shrugged the bra off, and turned around, he was facing her wearing nothing but a wide lascivious grin and a serious hard-on. “Damn, you’re gorgeous,” she breathed, not really registering that his eyes were making a sweeping inventory of her wet naked body just as hers were making one of his.

“So are you, Sammie.” Before she could react, he bent forward and took one nipple in his mouth and sucked on it until she moaned.

The blindfold was gone and so was she, the instant his mouth made contact with her breast. Now Sam was the one unable to see. Her eyelids fluttered down and she concentrated on how good it felt.

If only his hands weren’t cuffed. But, hell, he could improvise. He backed her against the wall of the stall and used his mouth to very excellent advantage, working on one breast, then the other until she was hanging on to his shoulders and quivering like Jell-O.

Someone said, “The bed.” Maybe they both did. But it was Sam, with her hands free, who finally ripped back the shower curtain and stepped out of the stall. Matt was right behind her, prodding her with his erection as they slipped and slid on wet feet across the tile floor, leaving puddles of water…and the shower still running full blast.