Page 7 of The Build Up

He’s incredibly sexy when he’s like this.

“Turn around,” he commands.

I furrow my brow, giving him a questioning look.What are you doing?

He tilts his head a fraction—stern, insistent, perhaps a tad impatient. “Allow me to indulge.”

“Me, orinme?” I say playfully.

“Both.” His tone is deadpan, his expression unreadable.

“Of course. Why not both?” I quip, trying to keep my voice light even though the anticipation nearly brings me to my knees. It doesn’t help that the hormones of pregnancy heighten the intensity ofeverything,especially arousal.

I give Tarak a little smile and dutifully turn around.

Suddenly, his hands are on my waist, sliding over my hips, caressing my ass. He moves in, molding his warm, hard torso against my back.

His pants have miraculously disappeared. His cock intrudes on the small of my back, pressed between us, a constant reminder of his hunger—and restraint.

He’s a man who can tolerate almost any kind of pain.

It’s almost scary how long he can hold out.

But he chooses to prolong the tension, drawing it out with skill and control, like a master musician with his instrument of choice.

I don’t mind.

He can do whatever he wants, especially when his touch feels so good.

He applies a squirt of body wash—sweet, vanilla-scented, deliciously silky—then proceeds to rub it all over me, sliding his devious hands over my breasts, encircling my nipples with his thumbs, slipping over my belly, down between my thighs.

Pressing his lips against my neck, kissing me, grazing my skin with his fangs.

Biting me oh-so-gently as he slips his fingers between my thighs and easily finds my already tender clit.

I’msoready.

He teases me with his thumb and slips his fingers deeper inside me.

Closing my eyes, I writhe and moan, pressing my lower back against him, feeling his hardness, which has become evenharder.

A low growl issues from deep within him, reverberating through me.

I’m in heaven already.

I tip over the edge into a slow, devastating climax.

The first.

He brings my arms above my head, capturing my wrists with his other hand, which he presses against the wall as he gently moves his body up and down, pleasuring me with his fingers over and over again.

The beginnings of another orgasm stir—a series of waves that build higher and higher until I come again, turning into a helpless, quivering mess.

The second.

The soapy suds are rinsed away.

He brings my arms down. Releases me. Draws me away, stepping out of the shower and draping a fluffy towel over my shoulders.

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