Page 47 of My Knight

Saylor

I stood just inside the shower with the hot and steamy water pouring down on me. It was the night before Leo and Brynn were supposed to come, and I was just ready for them to be here.

After dinner, I was ready to just shower and sleep.

And then Pirate stepped into the shower.

There was nothing casual about the way his eyes swept over me—wet hair clung to my shoulders, and water cascaded down my body. He looked like a man walking into something he already knew he’d get addicted to.

“Hi,” I said, breathless already.

He stepped under the spray, and his hands immediately landed on my hips. “Hi,” he murmured, low and rough in a way that went straight to my core.

His mouth found my shoulder, and his lips were hot against my wet skin. I leaned into him without even thinking. His hands slid around to my stomach and drew me back into him until I could feel every inch of his body pressed against mine.

“Still sore?” he asked as his mouth brushed just behind my ear.

“Little bit,” I whispered. “But not enough to stop this.”

That was all he needed.

He turned me to face him and backed me against the wall. His hands gripped my thighs, and in one fluid motion, lifted me. My back hit the tile with a slick thud, and I wrapped my legs around his waist like it was second nature.

The heat of the water was nothing compared to the heat of him.

His mouth found mine. There was no slow build-up or hesitation. This wasn’t about soft kisses or tentative hands. This was all tension and need. The kind of aching urgency that burned beneath your skin and refused to be ignored.

I moaned into his mouth as he rolled his hips against me. He was hard and ready. My hands tangled in his wet hair, and my nails scraped down his neck and shoulders.

“Please,” I breathed against his lips. “Now.”

He didn’t make me ask again.

One hand slid between us, and he guided himself in with one perfect, deep thrust.

I gasped, and my head fell back against the tile as he filled me completely.

“Fuck, Saylor,” he groaned. “You feel so good.”

My entire body clenched around him, overwhelmed by the sensation of him so deep. The position, the heat, the water, the pressure of him pinning me to the wall—it was all too much and not enough at the same time.

He thrust into me with strong, fluid strokes. The rhythm was steady and deliberate. Each one sent a jolt through me, and pleasure rolled up my spine.

The ragged sound of our breathing filled the shower like a song we couldn’t stop singing.

My hands gripped his shoulders as he drove into me again and again, every movement controlled but wild. His mouth was everywhere—my neck, my collarbone, my jaw—each kiss fed the fire building inside me.

“Look at me,” he growled, and I forced my eyes open.

He looked like sin. Water was dripping from his hair, his chest was slick, and his eyes locked on mine like I was the only thing in the world. Like he belonged to me.

“You’re mine,” he said, each word punctuated with a thrust.

I nodded, but it wasn’t enough.

“Say it,” he growled.

“I’m yours,” I gasped. “I’m—fuck—yours, Pirate.”

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