Knight:A Club Alias Novel(14)

By: K.D. Robichaux


She nudges her clothes out of the stall from beneath the curtain with her foot, leaving her in a black sports bra and colorful underwear. I don’t really know what they’re called. They’re like a short version of men’s boxer briefs and are sexier than even the tiniest of thongs.

Turn around, Glover, I tell myself. You should be respectful and give her some privacy to clean up.

Her hands pause as she grips the elastic of her sports bra, and she looks at me curiously, her head tilting to the side. “How old are you again?” she asks quietly, teasingly.

I swallow the drool forming under my tongue. “Twenty-one,” I reply, trying to force my legs to listen to my conscience still shouting for me to turn away.

She smiles. “Well then, why are you looking at me like you’ve never seen a naked woman before? Surely you’re not a virgin?” I feel her eyes like a blowtorch as they make a path from mine, down to my raging boner, and then back up, and I groan at her little smirk.

“No, not a virgin. But sure’ve never seen a woman quite like you before,” I answer honestly.

“What do you mean like me?” she asks, the smirk changing into a genuinely sweet smile, and she does this little wiggle—fuck me—struggling for only a moment as she lifts the black bra over her head.

It takes me a second to form the word, but when I finally do, it comes out husky and almost pained-sounding. “Perfect.”

She lightly chuckles as she takes hold of the elastic of those fucking underwear, and with no hesitation, she slides them down her legs before tossing them out of the stall along with her bra. Without paying me any mind, ignoring the fact I can’t for the life of me pull my eyes away, even though I know it’s rude as fuck just to keep staring, she turns her back to me to face the faucet and then turns on the water. The showerhead spurts to life, raining down on top of her dark head. I stand there, watching her every move, unable to look away no matter how hard I try. She pulls the elastic out of her hair, and as the water catches the strands, the knot she had it in slowly unravels until her dark hair is nearly halfway to her glorious ass. She was in no way exaggerating when she said she had buns of steel. The perfect globes slightly wobble as she reaches out and shoves the metal button on the soap dispenser attached to the wall, filling her hand with the white liquid that she works into a lather before washing her hair.

She faces me then, getting her front out of the spray so she can soap herself up, and my knees almost buckle at the sight of her hands working their way around her breasts, up and down her arms, across her stomach…. She fills her hands with soap once again, and she washes between her legs, her fingers making quick work beneath the small triangle of black hair before she moves down her shapely tan legs. She spins to face the water, letting her front rinse off as she uses another handful of soap to wash her ass I want nothing more than to take a bite of.

When she’s done, I’m all but panting, feeling like the wolf from Roger Rabbit, his tongue rolling out of his mouth when he catches sight of Jessica Rabbit. I’m so hypnotized that I can’t even make sense of her words when she tells me, “Your turn.”

My brow furrows, and when she grins and shakes her head, I finally understand what she’s saying as she fills her hand with soap and brings it over to me, her full hips swishing side to side as she approaches. With her empty hand, she takes hold of my wrist and pulls me toward the water, and I carefully hobble forward.

“You hang onto the wall so you don’t slip. I’ll do all the work,” she says, and all I can do is obey as she reaches above her and tilts the showerhead up to get my body completely wet before turning it to the side so she can begin to lather me up. She starts with my chest then down my abs and around my sides, refilling her hand with soap before her much shorter frame dips under my bicep to circle around behind me and wash my back. But instead of just lathering it quickly, she spends time there, her fingers kneading the muscles, her knuckles working up and down my spine. She lingers at my shoulders and neck, making me groan once again as her hands perform magic.

She spends an eternity turning my aching body into putty, using her soapy palms to clean every inch of skin I own, even so much as running them gently up and down my cock two excruciatingly sweet times, during which I nearly come like an adolescent schoolboy. I reach up and turn the showerhead back to facing me, ducking my head low so she can wash my short hair, and then she runs her hands over me one last time to get all the soap off. I’ve never felt cleaner in my life. Never felt more taken care of. It’s as if she baptized me in this stall in the middle of a war, washing all my sins away, leaving me a new man, one who knows after only one day I will forever watch over her.