Center of Gravity Deleted Shower Scene

Although I loved this scene between Rob and Alex, I felt the book was getting a little on the heavy side in terms of word count, and this scene followed directly after their big, steamy sex scene, so it seemed a natural cut to make. 

Since I didn't want to let it go to waste, I present it to y'all now! This scene occurs the morning after Alex and Rob have their big sexy times while Alex is taking care of Rob after his back injury. In the book, you'll see Alex and Rob waking up, Alex teasing Rob and then running off to make breakfast—much to Rob's disappointment. After breakfast, they decide to take a shower, and this is that scene. In the book, I just cut to the time period immediately following the shower when they're getting dressed.

Warm water sluiced down over Rob’s bare shoulders, misting me as I stepped in behind him. He hadn’t had any trouble walking to the shower, aside from the slight limp due to his ankle, but I’d still insisted on joining him, and not all of that was motivated by charity. Really, none of it was.

He reached for the bar of soap on the dish, but I caught him by the wrist and grabbed it instead, soaping up my hands. “Let me.”

“You run a full-service operation, huh?”

“I do today.” I didn’t want to think about tomorrow when he went back to Savannah, and whether or not I’d ever see him again. So I figured I’d better make the most of the time I had left with him since I hadn’t gotten near enough of his breathy gasps and hard cock.

I soaped his shoulders and back, caressing muscles, the nape of his neck. His head drooped forward as he let out a satisfied groan. “God that’s good,” he murmured. “You missed your calling as a masseuse.”

I laughed as I sudsed up his arms, ran my fingers over his biceps, slid down the length of his forearms, and soaped each finger one by one. It really was more of an erotic massage than a shower, but I loved the way each part of his body relaxed as I took control of it. “I guess if all else fails...”

His head lolled back as I ran my hands over his chest, circled his nipples, and dragged lightly down his ribs. Dropping to a crouch, I washed his calves, feet, then the backs of his thighs, digging my knuckles into his hamstrings. He rewarded me with more of those delicious, helpless groans I loved. I pushed his thighs gently apart and ran a lathered hand along the seam of his ass. He tensed, letting out a low growl as I circled his hole then abandoned it for his balls, tugging and stroking them until he seethed through his teeth. But of course, I was saving the best for last.

My thighs trembled as I stood and pressed my cock to his slippery ass, my chest to his back as I reached around him and slid my hand down his cock and then back up again.

“I don’t usually bottom,” he said. It sounded almost like an apology.

“I’m not asking you to.” Though it was good to know, not that it probably made a difference. He wasn’t in any shape for fucking. Not the way I’d want to fuck him, at least.

I licked his shoulder, kissed the side of his neck, and bit down gently on his earlobe before whispering, “Put your hands against the wall.”

When he complied, I reached around him, pulling the length of him, one hand then the other so that there wasn’t an intermission. No upstroke, no pause, no release in tension or friction, just my hands gripping and sliding over him, one endless stroke after another.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he gasped out, fingers curling into the grout in the wall. He rested his forehead against it, angling his chin down and watching my hands work him until I switched tactics, holding him by the base and pumping him with the other hand as my soapy cock glided along his crack.

Fuck, it was sensational: the water cascading down over me, the resistance of his ass against me as I jacked him off. Then his hips started moving, pushing back into me, lending some delicious friction that quickly built up as tension inside of me while I thrusted against him. I wasn’t going to last long.

“Like that, yeah.” I moaned and stroked him faster, flicking my thumb at the underside of his head until his thighs quaked, his entire body shuddered, and he painted the wall in front of us with his release.

I was right behind him, locking his hips tight against me as another thrust sent me soaring end-over-end into orgasm, and I shot my load up his back with a harsh gasp and a shiver.

“Goddamn,” he whispered, reaching one hand behind him to palm my ass cheek, keep me close as hot water funneled between our bodies.

I wanted to collapse against him, but almost as soon as I started to, I remembered his back and took a swaying step back, steadying myself with one hand on his shoulder and one hand on the wall. “Fuck, did I hurt you?” I asked, alarmed.

But he only laughed and turned around, kind of hopping as he put more weight on his good foot and caught me under one arm. “I’m fine.” He wrapped a hand around my shoulder and tugged me closer to tip my chin for a slow, searing kiss that sent tingles prickling over my scalp.

“You know, you’re really fucking good at this,” he murmured across my jaw.

“Lots of practice. Like I told you before, I suck at self-restraint.”

This time instead of a lecture, he chuckled.

He let me wash his hair, which was an equally sensual event. I loved how he tilted his head back, let his eyes drift shut as I drew my fingers through the ends of his wet strands. I kissed his Adam’s apple, his throat, his collarbones, his fingers making slow circles across my low back. When I rinsed his hair, I nudged his head back an inch farther than it needed to go, so the water drafted down across his forehead and cheeks and lips where I lapped up the drops until he smiled. I could have stayed in that shower with him until the water ran cold and then some. No—I could have stayed until the water dried up altogether.

© 2019 by Neve Wilder. Proudly created with Wix.com

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