Page 77 of Wicked Fury

“Right here.”

“Touch me,” she breathes, and it’s not a request—it’s a command that sends a jolt straight to my groin.

My hands are on her then, tracing the lines of water as they slip over her skin, mapping the territory I’m about to conquer. She arches into my touch, a silent plea for more, always more.

Turning around, she leans back into me, a perfect fit against my chest, and I can feel the rise and fall of her breath sync with the rhythm of the shower. Her hands find mine, guiding them over the slick terrain of her body.

“Fuck, Iris.” My words come out strangled, caught halfway between a groan and a growl. “You’re driving me insane.”

“Good,” she whispers, sass in her voice.

The water envelops us, a torrential downpour that seems to echo the storm brewing within. Every nerve ending screams, attuned to her every shiver, every sigh.

“God, Lincoln, I need—” Her sentence dissolves into a gasp as I spin her around to face me, our eyes locking in a silent exchange of raw need.

“Tell me,” I coax, kissing a trail of water droplets from her collarbone to the valley between her breasts. “What do you need?”

“Your touch—everywhere.” Her fingers tangle in my hair, tugging me closer until there is no space left between us and I can feel my dick poking right into her belly. If I bend my knees just a bit, I could fuck myself between her thighs.

“Everywhere?” My smirk is all challenge, and it earns me a fierce bite on my lower lip that sends a jolt straight to my groin.

I snatch a washcloth from the rack, water streaming off my shoulders as I work up a lather, quick and purposeful. The soap’s musky scent cuts through the steam, sharp and grounding. I scrub down, skin tingling under my own rough touch, but it’s just a prelude.

“Turn around,” I command, voice low, threaded with that raw need clawing up my throat.

Iris pivots, obedient yet challenging, always pushing and pulling at the same time. I drape an arm around her waist, reeling her in until she’s flush against me. My breath hitches; she’s all soft curves and slick skin—a stark contrast to my hard lines.

The soaped cloth is a caress over her shoulder as I glide it across her flesh. Each pass is calculated, every inch of her explored with a reverence. She tilts her head back, resting it against my chest, her pulse thrumming against my arm.

“Does that feel good?” My voice is a husky murmur, almost lost beneath the patter of water.

“Better than good,” she replies, her tone laced with invitation.

“Hands on the wall,” I whisper against the shell of her ear, and she leans forward, obedient, the arch of her back a seductive invitation. My fingertips dance across her ribs, circling her waist, tracing the rise of her hips. I don’t miss the way her body shudders under my touch, or the way her breathing eases into silence. My hand trails lower, mapping her body.

“Lincoln...” Her name for me is a sigh, laced with need and want.

“Shh,” I silence her with a nip at her earlobe, “just feel. Let me take care of you for fucking once.”

“Every part of you,” I growl, “belongs to me.”

Iris silently challenges me, looking over her shoulder, eyes daring me to take what she offers.

Oh, I will—I’ll take and take.

My hands are bolder now, skimming over her thighs, teasing the sensitive skin behind her knees. My fingers brush over her belly, drawing near those twin peaks of desire. She gasps, the sound mixing with the patter of water.

“Does that feel good?” I murmur, leaning in to nip at her neck, tasting the droplets that have beaded there.

“God, yes,” she breathes out, pressing back against me, seeking friction, and I’m all too happy to oblige and I press myself into the small of her back and let my fingers pluck and tweak, alternating between her breasts and her clit.

“Baby, you keep calling me God. Thought I was Satan’s spawn?” I tease her in more ways than one as I slide my fingers through her wet slit, circling her entrance before finally pushing two digits in and hooking them upwards. I know as soon as I touch it that she’s moments away from coming all over my hand.

“Shu—” She’s cut off as I grip her hair, pulling her head backward and biting her throat, making sure to suck hard enough to leave a mark. I know she’s going to bitch about how tacky it is, and I don’t give a shit.

“Come for me, my baby.” I demand and like an automatic thing she does. Clenching around me and letting go as her orgasm washes over her. The control I have over her goes to my head, and I feel almost lightheaded at the sensation.

I pull my fingers out of her and stick them in my mouth, sucking every drop of her off before pulling them back out.

---