Page 95 of Breakaway

“Can it even fit us both?”

I turn on the shower spray, then tug off my clothes. “We’ll see.”

“Always thinking of ways to get me naked,” she teases. I watch hungrily as she slips out of her clothes, baring all that smooth, freckled skin.

I raise my eyebrows. “You were the brat first.”

She crosses her arms over her chest, cocking her hip. My mouth goes dry at the sight of her; she’s in nothing but a cotton thong and socks. Her blue eyes blink at me, soft as a spring morning, as she licks her lips. A raindrop rolls down her cheek, a tantalizing preview of what she’ll look like once she’s soaked in the shower. “And you made me promises, Cooper.”

“Let’s not make a liar out of me.”

She slides the thong down her long legs along with the socks, then steps past me to push open the glass door. It’s fogged up already, warming the whole bathroom. She sighs with pleasure as the water washes over her. My cock, already growing heavy, unencumbered by anything as silly as a pair of boxers, twitches at the noise. It’s like when she made that fucking interrobang our code for sex; one glance at it and I was halfway stiff.

I join her in the swirl of steam, pulling her back against my chest and pressing a fast kiss to the place her shoulder meets her neck. She moans, tilting her head back. I splay my hand over her belly, pressing my fingertips against her slick skin. She sways slightly, not a dance but as close as it comes in a shower stall, and I move with her, relishing in the heat that chases the damp from my bones. There’s something contemplative about her right now. A deliberateness in the way she looks up at me through her lashes. My belly tightens at the sight of her parted lips, her flushed cheeks, the pale pink buds of her nipples gone stiff.

“You okay?” I murmur. Maybe she’s thinking about her therapy session. I’ve never been to therapy, but I have no doubt that it’s hard. It sounds like writing, honestly—holding a piece of yourself out to someone else willingly and hoping that they understand it. She’s my brave girl for doing both. “What’s on your mind?”

She shakes her head slightly as she turns in my arms, so we’re facing each other. “Just something Dr. Faber said earlier.”

“Did you tell her about me?” I cup her jaw. “Not that you need to talk about it, if it’s hard.”

“No, it’s okay,” she says. “I told her. She approves.”

“I’m glad.”

She smiles. I love the way she smiles at me when we’re alone. It’s like she’s giving me part of herself, a little slice of the sunshine that lives inside her soul. I run my thumb over her lower lip, then groan, as I always do, when she bites down.

“Did you really mean what you said earlier?” she asks.

“I’m no liar.” Hell, this girl could tell me she wants to fuck me, and I’d take her to Dark Allure to pick out a strap-on. We’ve mostly finished her list, so maybe it’s time to make a new one together. I’ve never been scared when it comes to sex, and I’m not scared now. “That massage oil I like is in the corner next to the shampoo.”

Her smile turns sly. She tosses her wet hair, made several shades darker by the water, over her shoulder—and then sinks to her knees. “Sebastian must love that.”

“He thinks it’s beard oil.”

She bursts into laughter as she reaches back and grabs it. “Why is it here?”

“Because I can’t get you off my goddamn mind, and at least in the shower, I have some privacy.” I steady her as she works to get the cap off the bottle. “Tell me if the tile hurts your knee too much.”

She just waves her hand. “I’m fine.”

“It hurts worse when you’re cold.”

She looks up at me, dragging her teeth over her lip as she pumps my cock with one delicate hand. “I’m not cold anymore.”

I brace one hand flat against the shower wall, then sink the other into her hair. The water pounds on my back, making me groan as much as the first touch of Penny’s lips to my cock. She kisses me all over, then mouths at the head, doing that swirling thing with her tongue that makes my balls tighten.

“Fucking hell.”

She pulls off deliberately. “Don’t you mean heaven?”

The cheesiness makes me snort. She laughs before going back to work, taking me deep into her throat. I’m so focused on the sensations, how warm, wet, and tight she feels, that I’m not expecting the press of her finger against my asshole. It’s slick with oil, rubbing in a way that adds a new level to the sensations already running through me. I choke out a groan, bracing myself more firmly against the tile.

She pulls off. “Is this okay?” she asks, pressing the tip of her finger up into me just slightly.

I tug at her hair sharply. It feels odd, but not in a bad way. “Yeah, sweetheart. Keep going.”

She works her finger in the rest of the way, torturously slow, lavishing my cock with attention all the while. When she crooks it, she brushes against my prostate, and I grunt, just barely resisting the urge to shove down her throat. She gets the hint anyway, taking me all the way as she explores that spot inside me. She even adds a second finger; there’s a moment of discomfort, but then it washes into everything else. I’ve only massaged myself here from the outside, and I thought that felt good, but this is on a completely different level. It sparks deep waves of pleasure that leave me near panting, on the verge of coming right down her throat. She doesn’t let up, either, on a mission to fucking torture one of the best orgasms of my life right out of me.

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