Page 26 of Raiden

He wraps his arms around me and pulls me against him so tight he almost crushes me. He steps into the shower, pulling me with him.

“Wait! My leather—”

He unzips it and shucks it off. It’s just my tank and my ripped-up jeans that get soaked when he steps under the spray. I’m taking most of it, acting as a shield, but he’s soaked just from holding me. He smells like sweat and sweet cloves from the pipe tobacco, gas, and man.

I’m the one who cups his face and runs a finger over his cheekbone. I’m the one who arches up towards his mouth. I don’t hesitate to press my lips against his. I’m the one who melts into him, crushing the hard length of his cock between us as I tilt my head, inviting him to kiss me deeper. I feed my whimpers to his lips, until he comes alive, licking them off my tongue, panting when he angles his face, kissing me with the same sudden fire that bewitched us both in the woods.

I turn him slowly, guiding us in the most incremental, gentle dance, until he’s the one under the spray. He groans, but it’s not pain or fear that skates over my lips. It’s just pleasure. He makes another noise, half growl, half beast, when I snatch up the bottle of bodywash, pour a generous amount into my palm, and run my hands over his shoulders, his pecs, down his arms, over his chest and stomach. I stay away from the scar. I don’t want to trigger him by touching it. I smooth both hands down his arm, lifting his hand and stopping at the wrist. I bring his inked hand to my mouth and suck on his index finger, hollowing out my cheeks like I would if I was sucking something else.

Truth is… I’ve never had anyone as tattooed as Raiden. No one near built like him. My dad kept his horny band of bastards away from his princess. I’ve never fucked or been fucked by anyone who wasn’t white collar. Boring. I’ve never had anyone unleash themselves with me. There was always a thin line with those men between what they found exciting and what they found whorish. A nice, proper woman didn’t do the wild things she had in her head. She didn’t ask for what she truly craved and she didn’t lead them into it. She never, ever, took control.

The only time I’ve ever been wild was the one time I needed to defend myself, but assault is not the same thing as consensually engaging with someone and I do know that. Maybe because it happened to me later, or possibly because he wasn’t able to do anything more than scare me after I fought back. The injustice of the situation curdled my blood, but I never lumped all men into the category of abuser and was never thrown straight back into trauma with other people after.

I don’t think there’s anything I could do that could emasculate someone like Raiden. The beast inside of him, chained up and obscured, cries out to the elemental parts of me.

I double his fingers up and suck two of them into my mouth. His eyes get hazy with lust. He moves his hand away gently and places it on my hip, silently asking permission. I nudge his hand up, under the hem of my soaked tank.

He tries to peel it up. It rolls up a few inches on itself and stops. He gets the other hand there and tries to forcefully get it off. It doesn’t budge.

I lift my arms in the air, laughing. What a disaster we are. It’s a disaster that I don’t mind one bit.

“I’m going to eviscerate this,” he grinds out as his frustration spills over.

“Don’t you dare.” I work my shirt up myself, peeling the waterlogged fabric over my breasts. Before he can attack my bra and tear it in half in his desperation, I undo the clasp and throw it with a wet smack outside of the tub.

As annoying as the unwanted attention is, there are rare moments when I appreciate my breasts beyond measure. Right now, seeing the awe on Raiden’s face as he drinks me, half naked, fills me with warmth.

I have never in my life thought that I was made for a man. I belong only to me. Right now, I wouldn’t mind sharing. I drag my eyes from Raiden’s face and drink my fill of him in equal measure. I wouldn’t mind him sharing himself either. I think we’d be a good fit. A match for each other.

I palm one heavy breast, running my fingers over the slick nipple. It’s already standing well on end.

Raiden drops to his knees. It’s not a narrow tub—more short and wide—but it’s still a bad fit for a man his size. He’s paying zero attention to the water now. He’s eye level with my breasts. He cups one, the orb heavy, overflowing his palm.

“Fuck, Widow.”

He ravages my breasts, biting and suckling them. His mouth is warmer than the shower, wetter, divine. He scrapes his teeth over my nipples, sending hot pulses down to my clit. I writhe against him, half struggling against the sharp sting of the bites, half arching into him for more of the divine sweetness of his mouth.

He sucks my nipple deep into his mouth while he undoes the zipper of my jeans. If he thought getting my tank off was difficult, these jeans barely go on dry.

“Want to taste your cunt, babe. Want to be inside of you with my fingers, my tongue, my cock.”

I caress his face, turning it up to me. “Don’t call me babe. If you can get me out of this shower and remove my pants without tearing them in half, then we’ll talk. And don’t use that word. I don’t like it.”

I do realize that I was the one who called his club prudish and ridiculous and here I am, flushing red because I don’t like that kind of language. It always bothered me to no end hearing my dad’s club brothers talk like that. I got used to what they do, how rough they are, pretty much everything. Got used to the club whores, the drugs, the booze, and everything else that went with hard living. I canfuck thisorfuck that,but I just can’t with the C-word. It makes my skin crawl.

Raiden studies me hard, which makes me blush deeper.

He shuts off the water, stands up, and gets out of the tub. He drips all over the floor, but he passes the lone black towel to me.

“Sorry.” It’s a rough, scratchy apology, but it’s sincere. “You won’t hear it from me again.”

I unwind the towel from my shoulders, my face still hot, my body a thousand times hotter. I share it with him, draping it around our waists, trapping it between our bodies while I twine my arms around his neck and arch up to kiss him.

“If you’re up for a challenge, I’d still like these jeans off. Badly.” I turn my face into his neck. The strong scent of clovesstill remains, mixed with the bodywash. “Just between us, just for today, just here, it’s not Widow either. It’s Ella.”

Chapter 9

Raiden

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