Page 99 of Little Blue

He doesn’t say a word as he steps closer and closer, crowding me until my back is pressed tight to the wall and he’s towering over me. He’s looking down at me with those eyes filled with angry disappointment.

A whole new rush of hurt swarms my insides as new, hot tears sting my eyes. He catches my face between his big hands and sighs a heavy sigh that threatens to crush my heart and squeeze all the air from my lungs.

Pinning his eyes to mine, he says gently, “I am so sorry, Irelynn.”

Sorry. Sorry?

What the hell is he sorry for?

“I don’t understand.”

“That is not how I intended to take you your first time.” His thumbs slide through the tears and the wet spray of water under my eyes. “I lost control, and I—I am sorry.”

Understanding registers as my blood cools. He thinks he took something I wasn’t ready to give.

Did he somehow miss the fact I’d pushed him on purpose? That I’d asked him to take me?

“Ilya,” I steal a breath of steam that tastes of him as his eyes search the depths of mine. “I wanted that—you.”

His jaw pulses, teeth clenching even as his eyes widen. “It was supposed to be gentle. I wanted to drive you mad with want. Instead, I took you like the monster you accuse me of being.”

The disappointment he feels in himself shines bright in his eyes. I don’t know what I can say to prove to him that I’d wanted him. That I’d driven his monster to the surface with intent.

Stepping into him, I press my face against the broad wall of his chest. Under my cheek, his muscles clench and his wild heart beats. As my hands wind around his torso, my fingertips whispering over the muscle and ink that stretches over his back, I feel the cords of his strength snapping.

A shuddering sigh spills from his chest as his hands come around me, pulling me even tighter into him. But he says nothing more. Still, I sense that my big monster is struggling.

For the second time tonight, I conspire to give him what I think he needs. I’m sore between my legs, achy in a good way. He is right to say that his claiming hadn’t been gentle. But it had been everything that I had needed. And it was everything he needed, too.

As much as he might have wanted to remain controlled, I’m happy I could be the woman to demolish his ever-present control.

I’m happy that, with me, he was a man stripped of his iron will. Bared to the primal desires that clawed within him to break free.

Slowly, I pull away.

Usually, when I shower with Ilya, he washes me. It hits me now how tenderly and frequently he showers me with care. He might be the monster who stole me, but he’s also the monster who tiptoes around my desires, and battles to fulfill my needs.

My stolen heart throbs for him as he watches me carefully. He’s waiting for me to crack under what he thinks is the trauma of this night.

Filling my chest with steamy air, I reach for his soap. Pouring generously into my palm, I lather his soap between my hands as he watches me through curious, warded eyes. I want to break through all the walls that stand around the monster he tries to hide, and stand bared to the beast he houses, my heart on a platter for his taking.

Against all will, I’m so in love with him.

I start at his chest, rubbing the soap into scarred skin that stretches tight over hard muscle. A canvas of ink tells a story of sorrow and solitude. I can feel his blue eyes shining bright on me as he watches me scrub the soap into his chest, his torso, down the length of his arms. I step into his chest, my swollen breasts and pointed nipples pressing into the slippery canvas of his chest so that I can scrub the suds into his back.

When I step back again, I pour more soap into my hands as he watches me, studying me. I feel my cheeks flame with heat as I lather the soap and start on one thick leg. I crouch low, lathering the suds around his ankle before I start on the other, traveling up his leg as I’d travelled down the other.

My breathing is racing now as I reach for the soap a third time, pouring generously once again into my palm.

As I’d lowered into my crouched position to wash his legs, his cock had started to swell, stretching toward me as though reaching for me. Now, as I lather the suds, it’s fully erect, straining in a way that looks painfully beautiful.

The tip is a deep purple red. It’s covered with thick veins that rise up from the hard looking flesh. My eyes land on his once again, a silent question he answers with a heated dare. Swallowing hard, I drop my eyes to his intimidating length once again. Then I close my hands around his length, surprised, and a little delighted when his hips buck just a tiny bit into my hands.

Why do I like it when he loses control with me?

The thought of him slamming me against the wall and having his way with me a second time tonight has my core aching, wetness blooming between the thighs I press tight together as my hands begin to pump over his shaft, slick with soap.

“You’re so soft here,” I marvel, realizing that it’s the first time I’ve touched him like this.

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