Excerpt of Healing the Wounds by M.Q. Barber

Excerpt from Healing the Wounds (Neighborly Affection #3)
by
M.Q. Barber:

“This is the kind of shower we should have,” Jay called.
“You could fit half a dozen people in here, no problem.”

Heading toward the bathroom, Alice laughed. Sure, the
shower
was big, but not that big. Although it did boast a bench
along the marble wall and multiple showerheads at
different
levels.

Henry touched her shoulder. They hadn’t napped long. An
hour
at most. He’d sent Jay ahead to start the shower,
presumably
to have reason to praise him for completing the task
later.
“You haven’t any water-related phobias in your past I
ought
to know about, do you, my dear?”

Teasing equaled good, because it meant he wasn’t still
angry
about the omission on her contract answers. “No, Henry.”

“How are your swimming skills?”

“You wanna see my butterfly? It’s been a while, but—”

He breathed in sharply and spun her around, his hands
firm
atop her shoulders. Palms flattening against her back, he
fingered the edge of her shoulder blades in a downward
slide.

“Yes,” he rumbled. “I very much want to see you
undulating
through the water in sleek, smooth motion. To watch the
curve of your shoulders as your arms stroke forward.”

Sliding his hands to her elbows, he lifted her arms above
her head and rotated his hands to the inside of her arms.
She was ready when the push came, sweeping her arms
outward
and down in the familiar movement.

“And the flex of your muscles as you force the water
aside.”

Her arms hung at her sides, Henry’s hands circling her
wrists. He growled, a quiet declaration, and nipped at
her
neck when he stepped in for a full-body press.

Her hips rocked. Her sex pulsed. Flaccid before he’d
asked
about swimming, Henry sure as hell wasn’t soft now.

Despite the months of sex—almost a year, God, that long?—
she’d collected few insights about his arousal triggers.
He
liked to watch. And he’d hung that painting of Jay’s back
where he’d pass it every night on his way to bed. He’d
bent
her over the table the first time he’d fucked her, she in
a
backless dress. He’d flogged her with tenderness, the
suede
caressing her like an extension of his hand.

“You’re in love with my back,” she whispered.

“I’m in love with all of you, my sweet girl. But your
back
is particularly lovely.” He prodded her with his hips.
“Into
the shower with you. Quickly now. You’ve inspired me to
play
another game.”