A sly grin pulled at my lips, and I struggled against his hold on my wrists. “Oh, no, please don’t pin me to the wall!” I teased.

“Oh, Mouse. You like to play, don’t you?”

“With you? Very much,” I admitted, then hissed as his fingers slid down one arm, starting at my pinned wrist, swiping away what remained of the paint. I squirmed when he hit my armpit, a giggle bursting out.

“Tickles!” I squealed.

His chuckle was dark. “Ah, but it feels good, doesn’t it?” He swapped hands, keeping my wrists pinned above my head, repeating the process along my other arm. He spent extra time tracing circles in my underarm while I writhed at the torturous tickling … and thoroughly soaked through the scrap of fabric between my legs, my pussy aching and wishing he was tickling me there instead.

“I … it does,” I gasped, thrusting my hips away from the wall, seeking contact with his body. “Need more!”

“Do you now?” The smirk in his tone made me want to go to my knees for him. “How badly?”

His sinful fingers found one nipple, pinching and rolling it.

“So badly—desperately even!”

He pressed closer to me, his lips at my ear, words dripping like honey.

“Turn. Hands on the wall. The faster you let me wash you, the faster I can have you coming. And coming. And coming.” He released my wrists.

The speed at which I complied with his command was almost embarrassing. But then his hands were on my shoulders, massaging away the paint. Sliding down my spine until I shivered.

When he traced the waistband of my G-string, I lost my breath. Because when he got to the middle, his finger slipped down the strand tucked between my butt cheeks.

“Does this tickle, Mouse?” he rasped, resting his arm against the wall, pressing his body against mine. Stroking up … and down that flimsy scrap of fabric. Not quite far enough to get to where I was desperate and aching and drenched. Up … and down …

“Please,” was all I could manage. I couldn’t spread my legs wider to get his fingers where I needed them, pinned as I was by my clothing. But I rocked my butt back against him, and for a delicious second, his finger slipped, grazing my slit.

Then he snatched his hand away, gripping my hip with enough force to bruise.

“You’re clean enough,” he snarled, and with the hand bracing against the wall, he drew open a portal. I barely had time to cry out as I tumbled into it.

Splash!

I gasped, submerged to my waist in water that was so warm it was almost too much. Almost, but not quite.

And bubbling.

“What is—” I squeaked as a big, strong arm wrapped around my waist from behind.