Page 122 of Mr. Wicked

I cupped both sides of his face and kissed him, breathing in his citrus and amber scent, taking in the feel of his beard as it roughed up my skin, circling my tongue around his. “I hope that changes,” I whispered when I pulled away.

He didn’t respond.

He just started walking, carrying me past the hallway and living room and into his wing, where he brought me into his en suite. He set me on the edge of the large, freestanding tub in the corner, and he moved over to the massive walk-in shower, turning on the multiple heads. Two hung from the ceiling, and at least five more shot out from the walls.

Within a few seconds, the glass began to fog.

“Get over here,” he growled as he stood in front of the double sinks.

He was already tearing off his sweatshirt and dropping those delicious gray sweatpants, the crotch hitting him in a way that showed the outline of his dick. He slid off his sneakers, and once he was fully naked, a body full of muscle that was making me practically drool, he reached for me.

“I need you,” he roared.

He lifted my sweatshirt over my head and peeled off my yoga pants, freeing my feet from my sneakers. I unzipped the front of my sports bra and he brought me into the shower.

As the water hit the top of my head, I tugged the elastic that was holding my hair, letting my long locks fall down my back. But I had only a few seconds to enjoy the warmth of the heavy stream before his hands were all over me.

His lips were on my neck.

His hard-on was pressed against me.

My neck tilted back, my mouth opening, my breath already coming out in short, hard pants. “Grayson ...”

With our skin so slick, the movement was easy.

Uninterrupted.

Wetness on wetness, slippery pleasure that increased as his fingers dived lower down my body.

“God, I’ve fucking missed this.” He spoke right above my nipple, now holding me against the glass wall, and once he silenced, he sucked the peak into his mouth.

“Yesss.”

As he flicked the end, grazing it first with his tongue and then with his teeth, I gripped his hair.

I just needed to hold on to something.

Anything.

Because the sensation wasn’t only in my breasts.

His hand was now between my legs, rubbing the length of my clit.

“Don’t stop.” I tightened my fingers around his short strands. “Oh God, yes.”

His thumb was focused on the very top while two of his fingers were circling my entrance. “You’re so wet.”

It could be the shower, but we both knew it wasn’t.

The second he touched me, I was instantly damp.

“I can’t wait to be inside of you”—he slid in, turned his wrist, and pulled back out—“and to feel this tightness on my cock.”

He moved to my other breast, and my head pressed against the shower wall, my hair sticking to my cheeks, my lungs filling with hot steam.

I was completely full of this man.

He was touching each of my most sensitive spots, forcing the pleasure to build inside me.

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