Page 85 of Inarticulate

“Promise me.”

He gave a gruff nod, his fingers digging into the bottom of the towel.

“Good.” She grinned at him. “Now finish this.”

A growl vibrated into her back as he smoothed his hands over the material at her thighs, her waist, up to her chest. With provoking restraint, he released the hold of the towel and let it fall to the floor in a flourish.

He appraised her, placing a high value on her body if the intensity of his gaze was anything to go by. There was a clink of his belt, a grate of a zipper, then the warmth of skin to skin at her thighs, his erection nestling into her ass.

She wiggled, adoring the friction, and received a hiss of appreciation in return.

He gripped the wet strands of her hair, pulling them into a makeshift pony to release droplets of water down her back. The invigorating wave washed along her spine, to the crack of her ass, and then the heat of her pussy. She gasped at the barely there brush of sensation, the fluid mingling with her own and cascading down her thighs.

“Do it again.” She wanted more. Needed more.

He wove her hair around his fist, pulling to the point of pain, causing a rush of chilled water down her back.Oh, God.It was akin to being teased with a feather, the slightest movement igniting an explosion of tingles.

She closed her eyes, sucked in a breath, and became malleable as he leaned into her, bending her over. The brush of his palm wove around her hip, to her abdomen, then lower, to her clit. She jerked with the first touch, the initial rush of perfection. Her core fluttered, his fingers and the head of his cock sliding through her slickness at the same time.

“Keenan…”

He leaned to the left, reached for a drawer below the counter, rifled through the contents. She jolted when he slammed it shut with a huff and then leaned to the right to do the same. This time he came up with a shiny silver packet, his shoulders loosening in relief.

“Crisis averted?” she drawled.

He gave her a playful glare. “Yes.”

She grinned as he tore open a packet and sheathed himself, his muscled arms tensing with the chore. Then he was positioning himself between her thighs, the smooth latex parting her folds and gliding through her wet flesh. She bit her lip, waiting, and inhaled tiny little gasps. The buildup was enough to inspire an orgasm, the inner walls of her sex already pulsing, silently begging.

She bucked, instigating the first plunge of his cock into her sex. It was a culmination—their seduction coming full circle to finally start afresh. And God, it felt like heaven and hell. Right and wrong. Skirting responsibilities had never felt so good. The virginal buzz of professional defiance made him all the more alluring.

His focus met hers in the mirror while his fingers worked lazily back and forth on her clit. There was no rush for him, no starvation. He held her captive in his arms, in his gaze, and then slammed home, his cock driving a moan from her throat.

She wanted to deny the power he had over her, wanted to suppress it and hide it away for nobody else to see. Yet there it was, a vivid picture in the mirror, the truth her only vision.

“Make me come.”

He grabbed her hair again, sending more water cascading down her back to the place where they joined. He pulled tight, controlling her, not only with his grip, but the overwhelming focus in those eyes. His stare touched her with the same ferocity as his hands. She could feel it sweeping over her neck, her breasts and lower, delving to the place where his fingers stroked her clit.

He moved inside her with mastery and control. Every plunge long and slow and deep, every withdrawal gradual and teasing and flawless. She moaned for more, sinking into his adoration and lapping it up with each gyration of her hips.

He didn’t loosen his grip on her hair, he kept her like a slave. But the invisible bonds of attraction were tighter. They squeezed her lungs and tensed her womb. Everything about him was undeniable—the rough scratch of his stubble, the control in his arms, the passion in his lips.

The press on her clit became harder, and she moaned at the unconscious buck of her hips. The only sign of his waning restraint was the almost imperceptible flare of his nostrils. The tiniest flicker of irregular breathing that made her moan again, over and over, inspiring his thrusts to a faster rhythm.

She bit her lip to fight the need to kiss him, and gripped the wrist between her legs. All she needed was a little more. A tiny bit faster, the slightest bit harder. She clutched tight, silently begging with the clench of her hand, her molars, and her pussy.

“You make me wild.”

He drove his teeth into her neck, announcing he felt the same. Obliterating her with a connection that was entirely wrong, yet undeniably right.

Her core fluttered, once, twice. The orgasm was there, within her grasp, and she closed her eyes to let pleasure take hold. But Keenan didn’t allow it. His withdrawal from her body was severe, along with the aching release of her hair. He gripped her chin instead, demanding she watch before he nudged his cock back against her entrance and sank home in a harsh thrust.

He drove into her over and over, his features tightening, his restraint buckling. There was no way she could hold out. He was too thick inside her, the delicious fullness and the press against her clit absolute perfection.

She kept her eyes open this time and cried out with the first chaotic pulse of her pussy. Her nails dug into his wrist, her other hand reached for his hair, pulling his mouth to her neck. His suction and teeth ensured he’d retreat after leaving a mark.

His deep growl inched under her skin, his rhythm lost to mindless bucking as he entwined their euphoria. It didn’t stop. Her core continued to succumb to his orgasm, clutching tighter and tighter until finally satiation and exhaustion slowed their movements.

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