The legs of the stool scrape overloud as I move around to his side and face him again. Lids half-lowered, he waits, his breath coming in soft, barely there pants. Everything in me draws tight. My hand drifts to the hard swells of his pecs. Macon visibly twitches at the contact, but neither of us says a word.

Slowly, lightly, I stroke his chest, teasing him. Lord, but he’s built on a heroic scale, solid and thick. My fingertip brushes his beaded nipple, and he grunts low and tight. I swirl around the tip, making him shiver despite the steam coming off his wet skin.

He licks his parted lips but stays utterly still, taking my torture. The trickle of water, the harsh rasp of our agitated breathing surrounds us. I slide my hand lower, idly feeling all that smooth, slick skin. And then I see it—the wide, engorged tip of his cock rising out of the dissipating bubbles to lie hard and needy on his flat stomach.

We both still. I am looking at Macon Saint’s cock. I go a little light headed. Macon’s dark eyes shine with both a question and a dare. He’s coiled so tightly his body hums with it, but he doesn’t move. He won’t unless I ask him to.

I slip my hand beneath the warm water. He’s hot and thick and fits against my palm just right. A low, tortured groan leaves him, and his head falls back against the tub edge. Gently, I work him. And he takes it, his expression almost pained. He’s panting heavily now, flushed along the cheeks as his hips begin to rock helplessly in time with my strokes.

The sight is so patently sexual, so insanely hot, that my sex swells and slicks. I press my legs together to alleviate the pressure. My hand moves up and down his long length, a steady rhythm. “Is this what you needed?” I rub my thumb over his tip on the downstroke. “Me tugging on your big cock?”

“Oh, shit,” he whispers, his throat working. “Oh, shit. Delilah . . . I . . .” His wide chest hitches on a caught breath.

The tips of his fingers turn white as he grips the edge of the tub. He’s tensing, all those finely wrought muscles clenching. I jerk at his cock, squeezing a bit harder, going a bit faster.

“You needed it, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” he says, panting. “Fuck yes.”

Macon’s eyes close, his brow pinched. He licks his lips as he moans—whimpers, really. That I’ve reduced this strong, stoic man to this quivering mass has my head spinning. I want to crawl in the damn tub with him. Sink down onto this beautiful dick and take him. But this time is for him.

“Are you going to come for me, Macon?”