Page 47 of Devil's Bride

Even that had ultimately made me wet.

Hungry.

No, I’d been famished.

I laughed softly and covered my mouth with my hand, reliving the rest of the night. He’d carried me to bed, bringing the wine moments later. There’d been no discussion at first. He’d opened the bottle, offered me a glass, and had crawled into bed. Barely five minutes later and he’d fucked me again.

My pussy was sore, but the ache was warm, the insides of my thighs still sticky. I looked over at him, hating myself all over again for basking in his stunning good looks. The sheets had fallen to the point where the deeply carved V in his chiseled pecs shifted all the way to his massive thighs.

Unable to help myself, I pulled the sheet away, once again admiring his entire physique including his cock. Holy shit, he was huge, so much so I’d feel the throb between my legs for hours if not the full day. Why did that make me happy?

I pushed back a groan and carefully returned the sheets, shifting further to the side of the bed and easing out from under the covers. With my feet on the floor, I glanced over my shoulder. Right now, I needed time alone. And the bathroom.

His bathroom was as lavish as his bedroom, the massive space equipped with a three- or four-person shower and a gorgeous old-fashioned claw-foot tub that had been slightly modernized and was much larger. Everything was striking yet very cold, the colors far too masculine, but suited him perfectly.

I found toothpaste and a new toothbrush and snickered. How many of these did he keep since he likely had a new squeeze over a few times a week? As my mouth foamed, I stared at myself in the mirror.

I’d bet all my chips at the wrong time. See where it had gotten me? I’d need to play this much more carefully or next time, I wouldn’t be able to save my family.

Or myself.

No longer capable of looking at my ugly reflection, I rinsed out my mouth, then decided I had to scrub off his horrific scent. I couldn’t stand it any longer. The odor was like dense woods and a hint of rainwater, exotic spices and citrus. How could anyone stand the combination?

It took me a few seconds to figure out how to start the shower and I huddled next to the door until I was certain the water was hot.

At least he had good tastes in shower gel and shampoo. I closed my eyes as I stood under the huge water spigot, finally allowing myself to take gasping breaths. They turned into a single, horrid-sounding sob that racked my chest.

I allowed the heated tears to fall as I reached for the shampoo. Only one week ago everything in my world had been okay. Better than okay. Now this.

I lathered my hair and sucked back the tears, allowing anger to fill the void. Eventually, the emotion would crush out all despair. It had to. I had no other choice if I wanted to survive and keep my father’s immortal spirit alive.

Finally, a laugh bubbled to the surface. Was he looking down on me now and frowning or applauding me? It was tough to tell with my father.

I was so lost in the flush of anxiety that I didn’t hear a warning. There’d been no crackle of electricity as I’d experienced with Jago before, but suddenly, he was there invading my space in the shower.

Gasping, I frantically washed soap from my eyes, immediately clawing my way to the shower door. But that would mean I’d need to get by an immovable object.

“You’re not going anywhere just yet. Are you,mi ángel español,” he whispered in my ear.

I wasn’t his Spanish angel. I wasn’t his anything.

Jago wrapped his arms around me, but took my hands away, placing them on the tile before proceeding to finish washing my hair.

A part of me wanted to push him off, even to scream at him to leave me alone, but the action felt sensual. Soothing. I closed my eyes, allowing him to use the conditioner as well. He was gentle in his actions, something that surprised me. He’d been rough the night before, but no man had ever provided me with so many amazing orgasms.

When he was finished, he turned me around, curling his finger and using it to lift my head so I’d be forced to look into his eyes. When I wasn’t wearing my heels, he towered over me. As he rinsed my hair, I fingered the tattoos on his chest, tracing the emblem that reminded me of a firebird.

He said nothing else as I toyed with him, and when I felt his cockhead pressing against the top of my pussy, I bit back a moan. He was physically exquisite, his cock long, thick, and hard. Every muscle was perfectly sculpted, his shoulders so broad I wondered how he fit them through a typical doorway.

When the water ran clear, he rubbed his two index fingers down the sides of my neck to my chest, taking his time to roll them under my breasts.

“Perfect,” he muttered before cupping them, using his thumbs to work my nipples until they were rock hard and aching. He lowered his head, every move methodical. When he pulled one hardened bud into his mouth, I gripped his shoulders and slowly eased my head back. The water continued cascading down both our bodies, steam already rising in the gorgeous space.

He shifted to my other nipple, licking and nipping until I couldn’t hold back a moan. He growled in appreciation. Even more so when I rubbed the flat of my hand down his taut stomach to his groin. The second I wrapped my hand around the base of his cock, he sucked in his breath.

“Are you wet for me, Genevieve?”

“No.”

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