I cracked my back like an old lady, wincing at the good hurt my body felt. I started for the bathroom, then changed direction, heading for the fridge. I grabbed a bottle of Gatorade and tossed it to him. “You’re gonna need it.” I winked, flouncing my apron on my way to the shower. Now that the O was back, I planned to waste no time in summoning her again.

As Simon followed me to the bathroom, taking a swig of Gatorade, Clive suddenly flopped onto the floor, rolling over on his back. He seemed to be waving Simon over with his paws. Simon looked at me, and I shrugged. We both looked at Clive, who wiggled on his back, continuing to wave him over. Simon knelt right next to him, cautiously extending one hand. Winking at me—I swear to Christ he did—Clive wiggled a little closer. Knowing this could still be a trap, Simon cautiously reached down and rumpled the fur on his belly. Clive let him. I even heard a tentative purr.

I left the two boys alone for a moment and went to turn on the shower so it could heat up. I finally got the apron knot undone and was able to abandon it on the floor. Stepping under the spray, I moaned at the feeling of the warm water hitting my still-sensitive skin.

“You coming? ’Cause I sure did,” I called over the rush of the shower, laughing at my own joke. A moment later Simon poked back the corner of the shower curtain to watch me naked and covered in bubbles. He smiled like the devil as he climbed in. I drew in a breath at the sight of ten tiny punctures in his back, but he laughed it away.

“We’re good. I think we just made friends,” he assured, pulling me against him and joining me under the water.

I sighed, relaxing. “This is nice,” I murmured.

“Yeah.”

The water beat down around us. I was in the arms of my Simon, and it couldn’t get any better.

He pulled back a little, a question on his face. “Caroline?”

“Hmm?”

“Is any of that bread I threw on the floor…well…”

“Yes?”

“Is any of it zucchini?”

“Yes, Simon, there’s zucchini bread.”

Silence once again, but for the water.

“Caroline?”

“Hmm?”

“I didn’t think I could love you more, but I really kind of do.”

“I’m glad, Simon. Now gimme some sugar.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

4:37 p.m., that same day

“IS THAT THE SOAP? Don’t slip on the soap.”

“I won’t slip on the soap.”

“I don’t want you to slip. Be careful.”

“I won’t slip on the soap. Now turn back around and be quiet.”

“Quiet? Not possible, not when you…mmm…and then when you…ooohhh…and then when you—ow, that hurt, Simon. You okay back there?”

“I slipped on the soap.”

I started to turn around to see if he was indeed okay when he suddenly pressed me up against the shower wall, holding my hands flat against the tile. Lips tickled and water sprinkled down my skin and across my shoulders as his body flexed against mine. Thoughts of runaway soap slipped from my mind as he slipped inside me, hard and thick and delicious. My breath left me in a gasp, amplified by the tile walls, made sexy by the water falling, and quickly followed by another gasp as he proceeded to thrust into me, achingly slowly and purposefully, his hands now gripping my hips.

I threw my head backward, turning my face to find the sight of Simon, naked and wet. His brow was furrowed, mouth open as he invaded completely and without apology. I spiraled fast, awareness and clear thought narrowing down to a pinpoint before exploding, wordless words falling out of my mouth and down to the water, circling the drain.

Now that O was back, she didn’t dally. So far, at least, she arrived promptly and without question, shattering the memory of days and weeks and months of waiting and crying, begging and pleading. She’d rewarded me with a steady, constant parade that left me scrambled and silly, boneless and ready for more.

Groaning into my ear, shivering and pulsing, Simon failed to slow his roll. He knew inherently, as I knew, that his girl was good for a few more. And so, with agonizing dexterity, he planted a wet kiss on my neck, left my body, spun me quickly, and was back inside before I could say, “Hey, where’d you go?”

“Nowhere, Nightie Girl, not anytime soon,” he muttered, roughly grabbing my bottom and lifting me against the wall, using his weight to crush me against the tile, holding me to him and holding me inside. His body flexed while mine flattened, our slippery skin feeling indescribable against each other. How had I stayed away from this man as long as I had? No matter. He was here, inside me, and about to deliver another O parade throughout. I pressed back against him just enough, opening the space between us just enough to gaze down, lust clouding my vision but not so much that I couldn’t see him entering me, over and over again, filling me up like no man ever had.

Now glancing down himself to see what had me so transfixed, he was captivated as well, and a sound rather like “Mmph” left his mouth. His movements sped up, chasing it down, that feeling, that tipping point that felt so close to pain and so close to perfection. Those blue eyes, now filled with lust and fire, flew back up to mine as we both threw ourselves off that cliff again together.

Seizing. Freezing. Locked and unloaded. We came together with a roar and a grunt and a groan that left my throat raw and my hoohah thrilled.

Thrilled hoohah…what a great name for a…Mmmm…

6:41 p.m.

Walking around my apartment in only a towel, dodging flour piles and raisin clumps, Simon was a sight to behold. When he skidded on a patch of marmalade and bumped into the counter, I laughed so hard I had to sit down on the couch. He now stood in front of me with a slice of zucchini bread as I laughed, an amused look on his face. I continued to laugh, and my towel slipped down, revealing more than a little of my assets. At the sight of boobs, two things happened. His eyes popped, and something else popped. Popped out. I raised an eyebrow at this latest development.

“You realize you are turning me into some kind of machine?” he noted, nodding down at his HiThere poking through the towel. Simon took the time to place his zucchini bread safely on the coffee table.

“How cute is that? It’s like he’s poking his head out from behind a curtain!” I clapped my hands.

“You may not be aware, but as a general rule, no man likes the word cute in the same sentence as his junk.”

“But he is cute—uh-oh, where’d he go?”