Leaving his shirt and belt where they had fallen, Doctor Ruben Portnoy grasped Maggie's hand and helped her slide across the silky coverlet, then turned and led her to the adjoining bathroom. It was spacious, done in tiny square tiles the color of the villa's adobe exterior, but Maggie had little time to admire her surroundings. Portnoy released her hand only to twist the shower knobs and strip off his remaining attire. His thumbs hooked under the waistbands of pleated khakis and white boxer briefs, shucking them off his hips and letting them drop. Then, as gloriously nude as she, he again reached for her hand.
Eyes somewhere to the east of his right pectoral, Maggie linked her fingers with his and stepped into the hot spray.
"It is okay to look," Portnoy said quietly, with some amusement.
Swallowing hard and wondering if she would soon hyperventilate, Maggie let her gaze skim his body – across the defined chest, lightly furred with sodden brown curls – down the flat abdomen, rippling now as the doctor reached for a bar of soap and a wash rag – lower still, her eyes following the tantalizing cut of muscle that arrowed downward from his hips – then swiftly over, to regard the thick musculature of one thigh. Portnoy's rich laughter caused Maggie to squeeze her eyes shut, her cheeks flaming with embarrassment.
"Sweet, innocent Maggie."
Portnoy grasped one slim, white shoulder and gently turned her away from him, and she felt the pleasurable rasp of the cloth across her shoulder blades. He was bathing her. And it felt good.
Oh, God.
Soap suds slid down her spine, lingering slick and heavy at the cleft of her bottom; and then she felt the press of his body as he skimmed the sudsy rag over her rib cage and up to her right breast. He rested his chin on her shoulder, the stubble sending prickles of pleasure-pain along her oversensitive nerve endings, and she gasped. And then shuddered as his lips found the place his chin had scraped, pressing there.
"Mmm?" he murmured, his hand moving the wash cloth in slow, delicious circles on her breast.
She let out her breath on a low, shaky moan, her head dropping back against his chest, and he took the opportunity to nibble the exposed curve of her neck, his teeth delicately grazing her erratic pulse.
Oh, heaven.
Now his hand circled to the other breast, arousing its tip with the cloth, his arm deliberately brushing the pebbled nipple he had already teased.
Maggie was panting now, trembling. Portnoy himself was not unmoved; she could feel his hardness pressing against the small of her back. He knew that he could have taken her then, spun her to face him and pressed her against the wall of the shower, thrusting himself inside her tightness and swallowing her cries with his mouth. Instead, he traced slow, maddening circles down her belly, smiling against her neck when she arched, restless.
And slipped the wash cloth between her legs, gratified by her sharp cry.
Maggie's knees were threatening to unhinge. Sensing this, Portnoy slipped his free arm around her slim waist, pulling her more tightly against him as his cotton-covered hand continued to work its magic between her legs.
"Ah, yes, that's beautiful," he whispered as she came, shuddering, her face turned into his bracing arm. One tiny white hand reached back to grasp at his neck, the fingers losing their grip on water-slick skin and contenting themselves with curling awkwardly around his bicep. Dipping slightly, he pressed his lips against the top of her shoulder before rubbing his face into the soft hollow of her neck. It was a curiously tender gesture. Then, discarding the rag and letting his more adventurous arm settle atop the one already at her waist, he simply held her as she regained composure by slow degrees.
When he was sure that she wouldn't wobble, he eased away and turned off the water.
"Don't you need to wash?" Maggie asked, more to break the silence than out of any deep concern for his hygiene.
Portnoy chuckled. "Actually, I had a shower only two hours ago. This was for you, to help you... relax."
"Relax," Maggie echoed faintly, clearing her throat. She was fairly certain that she was blushing from head to toe.
If Portnoy noticed his companion's embarrassment, he made no comment, casually stepping from the glass stall and handing her a towel from the rack beside the door before grabbing another for himself. Maggie rubbed the terry cloth over her shoulders and down her collarbone, sucking in a slight breath as the towel brushed her peaked nipples. The doctor, meanwhile, made efficient swipes across his chest, shoulders, and abdomen. Maggie's eyes widened as he briefly took himself in hand and passed the towel between his legs, then bent slightly to give his thigh a rub-down.
Perhaps seven inches of proud manhood curved against his stomach, the helmet wide and flaring, the shaft thick and prominently veined, the sacs dangling heavy beneath. With a renewed burst of panic, Maggie wondered if he would fit inside her.
Portnoy's lips curved as she assessed him, knowing that he had not been found lacking.
He left her to finish toweling off, tossing the bundle of wet cloth atop his shirt and belt when he reached the bed. Never one for patiently turning down the covers, he unceremoniously tossed back the comforter and top sheet, shoved most of the decorative pillows off the far side of the bed, and made himself comfortable, propping himself up on one elbow to await her entrance. Portnoy half-expected the shy girl to step into the bedroom with her towel tucked around her, but she surprised him by emerging in the nude – not that she did so with any particular flair.
In fact, Maggie picked her way across the room like a startled deer.
Maggie was acutely aware of her hands, of all things. She had a strong urge to cover herself – pointless, since he'd never seen her anything but naked – and her hands did not seem content to dangle at her sides. Finally, she ended up twisting a tendril of damp scarlet around her right index finger and thrust the unproductive left hand behind her back.
Ruben Portnoy watched the nervous gestures and felt some unnamable emotion turn over in his chest. She was so fragile in her shyness, so embarrassed by her own desires. He wanted this to be special for her.
