Her worst enemy is the one man she can't resist.
Maria Martinez thought it was a dream come true when Ritchie Perez - a sweet and sexy guy she met volunteering at a soup kitchen - took her delinquent little brother Joey under his wing. But her drea...
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Maria stretched languidly and blinked at the first rays of sunlight coming in the window. She was lying on her side, her head inches from Ritchie's, their legs tangled together. He opened his eyes, and she felt a shiver of excitement run through her as she watched his mouth curve in a slow smile.
She was just too happy to let it be awkward.
"Hey."
"Hey yourself."
He brushed the hair back from her forehead. "Merry Christmas."
"Merry – oh my gosh! Joey! He'll be up any minute."
He gave her a wicked grin. "Then we better hit the shower right now."
He scooped her up and carried her, naked, into the bathroom. Hot water from multiple showerheads flowed over her body, the stream of tiny pellets awakening every nerve ending. She'd been worried she might feel regrets, but instead, she was filled with so much joy her body couldn't contain it. No matter what the future might hold, making love with Ritchie couldn't have been a mistake. Nothing that made her feel so good could be wrong. She refused to think about the future. For right now, being here with Ritchie was enough.
Ritchie poured shampoo over her head, worked her hair into a lather, then slid his soapy hands down over her neck and shoulders. When he began soaping her breasts she had to hold onto his shoulders for support. Ritchie turned her around, positioning her with the palms of her hands braced against the tile wall.
She smelled the fresh citrus scent of her body wash and then, moments later, it filled her senses as Ritchie lathered her back and shoulders with one of the luxurious washcloths. She wondered what the thread count was as the soft cloth moved over her skin. Then she stopped thinking at all as he pressed closer to her and used the washcloth on her breasts. He added more body wash, and she felt drunk on the aroma, lost in the sensations of the soapy cloth over her breasts, the friction of the cotton on her nipples almost unbearably arousing.
She felt him nudge her legs apart with his knee, and the washcloth moved lower. He slipped the cloth between her legs and moved it back and forth in a slow rhythm. The more intense the sensations, the more firmly he held her in place, and squirming to try to ease the pressure that was building inside her only increased the delicious friction. He kept her legs apart as she went over, continuing to move the washcloth against her in its slow rhythm all the way through her shuddering orgasm.
Then the washcloth was gone and his hands were exploring her, every nerve in her body acutely sensitized to his touch. She struggled to catch her breath, tried to turn around to face him, but he pressed her hands back against the tile again.
"I not done with you yet, Maria."
He nudged her legs farther apart, positioned her hips, and she realized he was going to take her, right there in the shower, while the steamy water sluiced over them both in rivulets.
