Page 84 of Tempest

He wouldn’t let me, anyway.

Tempest licks his bottom lip, a mental war going on behind his eyes. He removes his hand from my throat.

I suck in a grateful inhale, bowing over from the exertion.

I’m lucky Tempest gave me enough time to do that because in the next instant, my back is flush against the wall again, and he’s thrust into me, keeping his thumb where it is.

Digging hard, too hard, into my nerve center.

If I thought I experienced an inferno before, now I’m in hell. His girth is too thick for the rawness he caused last night. I picture blood leaking out of me as he plunges so deep, his balls tighten against my folds.

He presses his thumbnail into my clit, and I shriek at the tearing sensation.

“This is me,” he says, his face close to mine. “This is the man I am, the one you want.”

With a trembling jaw and a million thoughts telling me that he’s right, I still clench around his dick in answer.

Tempest’s lips twitch like he can’t believe what he’s feeling. He strokes a finger down my cheek, catching the tears. “Fuck, baby, you don’t want this.”

I clutch at his shoulders, digging my nails in. Wishing I could scrape across his back the way his other marks clearly could.

“All right,” he murmurs, brushing his lips near mine. “All right, you win,” he repeats, then pulls out and slams back in.

I mewl, the pain overriding the pleasure, yet the pleasure somehow proving its continued presence by offering me precious zings of ecstasy between his torment.

With every thrust, he twists his thumb like a screw, hammering me, hurting me, yet bringing me comfort, too.

Tempest holds me with his free hand, pressing his cheek to mine and assuring, “I got you, princess. Ride it out. It’s okay. I’m right fucking here with you.”

I moan, cry, and tangle my hands into his hair, the sensations too much, too many at once. I’m dying, but I’ve never felt so present. Tempest’s warm, wet body is glued to mine, his breaths panting in my ear as he buries himself inside me, again and again, unstoppable and grueling.

The orgasm is abrupt, the burn from Tempest’s agonizing ministrations to my clit almost too much for me to notice its build inside me, but when it comes, oh … God.

I’m flying. I’m bursting like brilliant fireworks in the sky. Tempest croons, “Come with me, princess. Oh, fuck, yes, come with me.”

Tempest swallows my cries with his mouth, attaching his lips to mine and refusing to let go until we’ve both stepped off the ride.

He lowers his head into the crook of my neck, heaving. Sliding my hands up the slick skin of his back, I hold him there, catching my breaths, too.

Tempest hauls me up in one swift maneuver and spins us until I’m under the spray, his dick still nestled inside me as I wrap my legs around his waist.

Without saying a word, Tempest resumes a slow in and out, small but pleasurable as he slides through my swollen folds. He runs his mouth down my neck, the water cascading onto our heads, dripping over our faces, leaving marks with his teeth as he nips and bites.

This isn’t meant to give me another orgasm. An ancient part of me knows that. This is him leaving his mark on me.

He lowers my legs, setting me onto the tiled floor and slipping out of me at the same time. I emit a small whine at the feeling of emptiness, one I immediately recognized as forbidden and tried to swallow. Tempest’s eyes dart to mine, then away, as he bends to pump soap into his hands, lathers it, then coats my breasts with warm suds.

I let him sweep and caress my body, leaning into his firm hands and purring under the circular massages he gives at the perfect spots—between my shoulders, on the meat of my thighs, my butt. He doesn’t stop until my entire body is cleansed, including my hair.

We do it in silence, his reasons for not speaking continuing to be a mystery, while mine are to not ruin this surprising, tender moment.

When Tempest turns me toward the spray, he squeezes the tops of my shoulders, and a cold, brief wind takes its place.

I turn my head sharply, both afraid and certain of what I’ll see. He’s left the shower, dragging a towel quickly over his body and tying it around his waist.

Pressing my hand to the glass between us, I say, “Let me do the same for you.”

He glances over sharply, snagging my gaze through the condensation. “No.”

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