Page 153 of Edge of Unbroken

“They all went to dinner, and Steve’s hanging out with Zack. I told your dad I’d keep an eye on you.”

“Did you tell him you’d be keeping that eye on me in the shower?” he asks with a nervous chuckle.

“Not exactly.” I take the bottle of bodywash from him and squirt some on my hand. “Let me get your back.” I motion for him to turn around.

His eyes move from mine over my wet, naked body before he turns his back to me.

I begin washing him, my hands gliding from his neck over his shoulders and to his upper back, lathering his smooth skin with soap. I marvel at the feel of him, the hardness of his muscles, how defined they are, even on his back—between his shoulder blades, his lats. I feel the temperature rising in my stomach, aware that it has nothing to do with the warm water.

I work my way down to his low back, then lower myself onto my knees. My hands follow my downward movement, gliding slowly over his firm backside, then down his hamstrings to his calves. Ronan doesn’t say a single word, but I can hear his breath deepening with my caress.

“Other side,” I whimper, unable to control my voice. My heart is hammering so hard in my chest, I feel out of breath.

Ronan turns around slowly, and I try to concentrate on working the soapy suds from his shins up to his knees rather than the fact that he’s already rock-hard. I press my lips to the three-inch-long scar on his right knee, then glide my hands carefully up to his muscular thighs and massage them.

A desperate groan escapes him when my hands continue their upward movement, coming unbearably close to his hardness without giving him the satisfaction of touching him there. Instead, I stand, squeeze some more bodywash into the palm of my hand, then begin to massage his chest and stomach, my hands memorizing his hard lines, like riverbeds carved into the earth.

His eyes are lidded, his lips slightly parted with lust when I finally reach for his erection.

“Shit,” he breathes and closes his eyes when I rub him, feeling the wet, silky skin of his manhood with my soapy hand, drawing small circles on his tip with my thumb. I love making him feel this way. I love being adventurous with him, testing my own boundaries, knowing I don’t have to be afraid and that I can trust him completely. I step closer, still stroking him, and his arms immediately come up my back while he kisses me deeply, massaging my tongue and carefully biting my bottom lip until it feels swollen. Our bodies are slick with water, making my nipples hard as they brush against his chest, and I let go of him, unable to focus on what my hands are doing to him.

He scoops me up, his hands firmly under my butt, and backs us against the shower wall, pressing my back against the cold tile. I shriek, but Ronan moves his lips to my nipple, drawing it deep into his mouth. The chill from the tile is replaced with heat and undiluted want spreading through my body. I wrap my legs tightly around his waist and begin grinding against him when his lips travel between my breasts, giving undivided attention to one pebbled nipple, then the other.

He moves his left hand around and under my thigh, then begins to softly stroke the perfect spot between my legs. “You’re so wet,” he breathes before continuing to worship my breasts with his tongue. Judging by the slickness of his fingers gliding against my sensitive flesh, I know he isn’t referring to the water. Ronan slips two fingers inside me, causing my resultant moan to echo through the shower enclosure. He stays right there, stroking, sucking, feeling me, forcing the tension to build within my core until it peaks and I come.

“I love you,” I moan and tighten my legs around him, grinding hard as I clench and unclench around his fingers.

He lets me ride the waves—watching me with hooded eyes—long enough for the most intense part to pass before he lowers me slightly, steps forward, and thrusts deeply into me. But he’s unable to maintain a good grip on my slippery skin, unable to keep his footing solidly on the wet tile floor.

He pulls out of me, and I frown at the sudden loss of our physical connection.

“No, don’t stop,” I plead.

“Fuck, I love how badly you want this. Don’t worry, I’m not done with you yet,” he growls.

With his right arm firmly under my butt, he turns off the shower, pushes the shower door open, then resolutely marches us out of the bathroom and to his bed, not bothering with towels or the fact that we’re both dripping wet.

Ronan lays me back against his pillows while positioning himself between my legs. “God, so fucking perfect,” he groans, sitting back on his knees. He puts a hand on each of my hips and pulls me toward him, slipping into me, thrusting so deeply it takes my breath away.

He immediately stops moving. “Baby am I hurting you?” he breathes, concern in his glossy eyes.

“No, keep going,” I beg, grabbing onto the bedsheet tightly. “You feel amazing.”

He begins to move again, thrusting slowly at first as he watches me intently, breathing hard. My eyes are equally glued to him. The muscles in his chest, shoulders, arms, and abs are tightly wound, flexed so beautifully I can’t resist the urge to grab on to his flesh and run my hands all over them.

I dig my nails into his skin and drag them down his beautiful pecs, leaving angry red trails in their wake. For a moment I think I’m hurting him, but judging by the look on his face, his hooded, glazed-over eyes, his wide pupils and heavy breathing, I can tell the pain mixed with the indescribable pleasure of our bodies melting together actually drives him further toward the edge.

He moves my right leg onto his left shoulder, and I moan with his additional depth. He’s reaching parts of me that cause stars to burst, a blinding pleasure making me feel as though I’m floating on clouds.

He groans, his head dipped, eyes shut tightly. “Fuck, I don’t think I can last.” His breathing is hectic, thrusts fast and shallow, and his face carries an almost pained expression as he tries to recenter himself.

“It’s okay. I already got mine; let me give you yours,” I whimper, a deep love blooming in my chest at the sight of him unraveling with my touch. This is what I want; I want to be his source of pleasure. Never pain. Only ever ecstasy.

As if he was seeking my permission, his body tenses and I gasp when I feel him lose himself to me, feel him come undone as he thrusts hard again and again, his fingers delving into my hips until his body relaxes and he releases a quiet, sated groan. He gently slips out of me, then lowers my hips to the mattress before dropping to his hands at either side of my shoulders.

I study his gorgeous face. His cheeks are flushed, his full lips slightly parted as he steadies his breathing, eyes closed, giving me the perfect view of his long lashes. Why do guys always have the most beautiful eyelashes? I lift my hand and stroke my thumb underneath his left eye and over the scar there, wishing I could erase it and everything that caused it in the first place.

He opens his green eyes and looks at me, his lips tugging into a smile. “I was not expecting you to walk in on me taking a shower,” he says. “But feel free to do that more often.”

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