Page 74 of Hunted By Valentine

He takes his time lathering my entire body in a citrus smelling soap that I recognize from him. His touch is deliberate and slow. No nook or cranny goes untouched, and by the end I’m a trembling mess.

Arousal and an overwhelming feeling of being safe, of being cared for, courses through my veins. I turn in his arms, lifting myself up on my toes and cup his stubbled cheeks. “Thank you,” I murmur before fusing our lips together.

Valentine lets me set the pace as he holds me tighter, one hand splayed on my back, the other cupping the nape of my neck. He matches me stroke for stroke, our tongues in perfect sync.

Moaning into his mouth, I blindly reach behind me for the soap. Once I have it, I end the kiss and squeeze some into my hand. I slide my palms across the impressive expanse of his shoulders, continuing down his chest and abs.

Like he did with me, I wash him everywhere, making sure he feels the sense of being cared for that he gave me. As I look up, his dark eyes catch mine. His lips are slightly parted and there’s a look of wonder on his handsome face.

“What are you doing?” he rasps.

If he has to ask, I’m not doing a good enough job at showing him. Spurred on by what I want him to feel, I lower myself to my knees. Gently cupping his balls, I rub my nose across his pubic bone. The coarse hairs tickle my skin in a delicious way.

Wrapping my hand around the base of his shaft, I squeeze lightly and stroke upward, watching as a bead of water forms at the tip. My breath hitches, and I kiss it away, tasting the mix of soap and his unique flavor. His whole body tenses, and he exhales a long, shuddering breath.

“Ruby,” he groans, his voice strained with a mix of desire and restraint.

With slow, deliberate movements, I take him into my mouth, swirling my tongue around his head before sliding down his length. The warm water from the shower and the steam in the room create a cocoon of intimacy around us.

I close my eyes, losing myself in the rhythm, in the sounds he’s making—small gasps and deep moans that echo off the tiled walls. My hands explore his thighs, his hips, every inch of him within reach. Each touch is an unspoken word, each caress a promise.

He threads his fingers through my wet hair, careful to avoid the stitches on the back of my head. The gentle pull makes my scalp tingle, a stark contrast to the more intense sensations building in me. I glance up, and his expression is a perfect mix of pleasure and vulnerability, like he’s balancing on the edge of something he can’t quite control.

“You don’t have to, Pet—” he starts, but I cut him off by taking him deeper, my cheeks hollowing with the effort.

His protest melts into a guttural moan, and I feel a surge of satisfaction. Not just from the power I hold in this moment, but from the knowledge that I’m giving him something real, something more than just physical. Me—I’m giving him me.

I slow my pace, teasing him with light flicks of my tongue and gentle kisses. His breathing grows ragged, his body a taut wire ready to snap. Pulling my mouth off him, I look up. “I want to, Valentine. Let me give you this.”

Taking him back into my mouth, I up my pace. While one hand still massages his balls, the other slides around to grip his firm ass, pulling him closer. The sounds of the shower mix with his escalating moans, creating a symphony of raw need and passion.

The air is thick with steam and the scent of his body wash, a heady mix that’s almost intoxicating.

Valentine’s grip on my hair tightens, then loosens as if he’s fighting against himself. His hips start to move in a subtle, involuntary thrusting motion, meeting me halfway. The sounds he makes grow more urgent, more desperate, and I know he’s close.

His hips begin to move in sync with my motions, thrusting gently, testing the limits of my willingness. I meet each of his movements with equal fervor, my own arousal a burning ache that I temporarily set aside for him.

“Ruby,” he growls, almost animalistically. It’s a warning. I can feel him tensing, every muscle in his body coiling as he teeters on the brink. “Fuck! Don’t stop, Pet. Drink me down. Take all my cum.” His hand slides to the nape of my neck, holding me in place.

I double down, sucking harder, my tongue working frantically.

The explosion of tension in his body is immediate and violent. Valentine groans deeply, the sound reverberating through the tiled shower walls. His hands on my neck tighten, his fingers trembling as he holds me in place.

The taste of him is salty and potent, a rush of warmth that I swallow greedily. He sags against the shower wall, spent, his breathing coming in uneven heaves.

I pull back slowly, giving him a last, tender kiss before standing. The water cascades over us, washing away the evidence of our encounter. His hand finds my cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle.

“Pet,” he says softly, and there’s something in his voice that makes my heart stutter. Something tender and fragile. “You didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to,” I interrupt, placing a finger on his lips. “You needed it.”

He takes my hand and kisses it, then pulls me into an embrace. The heat of his body contrasts with the cooling water, creating a disorienting mix of sensations. For a moment, we just stand there, holding each other.

Letting me go, he takes a step back. “That was unexpected,” he muses.

As he speaks, I watch him mentally distance himself from me. I get it, he’s used to being in charge, used to having all the power. But I need him to see that I’m not trying to take that from him; I’m trying to help so we can share it. I’m about to say just that when my stomach growls.

He laughs. “Let’s get you fed.”

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