Page 43 of City of Wind and Lies

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Turning the knob all the way to the left, the water gets hotter by the second and steam starts to billow up around me. I let out a sigh, my muscles instantly relaxing as I step under the spray of water and tilt my head back in the glass-encased shower stall. I really love the harsh sting of the water pelting my skin.

The crisp, clean aroma of eucalyptus and mint hangs heavy in the air as I lather my body with Bowie's expensive body wash. They cleaned my face up at the hospital, but my skin still crawls with the wraith of Allen's hands on me. I scrub harder, my skin an angry red by the time I finally feel washed of his sins.

I twist around to grab the shampoo bottle from the built-in black marble shelf when a hand comes to rest on my hip from behind. My body tenses for a split second, the echo of yesterday's attack still fraying my nerves.

"Jesus, Wren," Bowie chides, snatching his hand away. "You're going to burn your skin off."

Said skin pebbles and tingles from Bowie's scolding tone as his other hand slides past me to adjust the tap.

His palm splays across my stomach, tugging me back against him. Closing my eyes, I tip my head back, relaxing against his chest as his fingers skate lower.

"I happen to like the way it feels, thank you very much," I chirp.

"Hmm," he murmurs, hand cupping my pussy. "I happen to like the way you feel."

I sink my teeth into my bottom lip to stifle a moan as his finger starts to strum my clit. But I can’t help but gasp as he pushes a thick digit inside me.

He retracts his hand in an instant, a shadow of concern laces his tone as he asks, “Are you hurting?”

“No,” I breathe, grabbing his wrist and directing his hand back to where I want it.

"Fuck," he growls, thrusting two fingers inside.

My grip tightens, nails digging into his flesh as I whimper, "Please."

"Please, what?" he urges, other hand squeezing my breast.

"Please, fuck me, Bowie," I implore.

"God, I love it when you beg."

Yesterday’s attack hasn’t dampened my desire for Bowie. If anything, hearing him stake a claim over me only made me crave him more. Pushing my ass back and swaying my hips, I grind against his hard cock, silently asking for more as he keeps pumping his fingers in and out of me.

"So fucking desperate, aren't you, Passerotta?" he says lowly, his warm breath skating across the shell of my ear.

"Only for you," I breathe as he quickens his pace.

My legs quiver beneath me, the coil in my belly winding tighter at the precipice of pleasure. My breath catches in my throat, my orgasm dying on his fingers as he withdraws his hand.

"Bowie," I groan. "What the-"

Twisting his fist in my hair, he roughly yanks my head back and my lips part on a gasp. There’s a fraction of a second where I flinch, the muscle memory of the motion making my body want to react adversely, but when I see those hazel eyes peering down at me, every drop of apprehension bleeds away.

His throat bobs harshly with a swallow. "Hands on the wall, Bella."

I try to nod, my scalp prickling at the tug before he relinquishes his grip on my hair and I step forward, placing my palms against the cool tile.

"Spread those legs," he commands, tapping on the soft flesh of my inner thigh.

"Yes sir," I say, widening my stance.

"Good girl," he praises, sending a flurry of chills up my spine.

Years of seeking approval have apparently led to me developing a praise kink- and I'm not even mad about it.

Whoever said a woman couldn't have an insatiable sex drive was either a virgin or never had a proper dicking. I want him to fuck me like a whore and I know that if I surrender control, let him use me, control me, bend me to his will, he'll think he holds the power. The raw surge of testosterone that seeps through his pores as he claims my body like it's his to use for pleasure would send a feminist running for the hills. But I'm not submissive by nature, I'm submissive by choice.

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