Page 75 of Deep Feelings & Shallow Graves

My cock throbs, vicious and sudden.

“Good,” I say. “Because I need to touch you like I might never get another chance.”

And then I step under the water and put my mouth on her.

The water beads across her skin like it doesn’t deserve to stay. I catch a droplet with my tongue, just beneath her collarbone, and her breath stutters like she wasn’t expecting that. She still doesn’t get how fucking precious she is to me.

I take my time with the washcloth. Rinsing blood off her arms, down her sides, between her thighs. I make sure to be gentle. But I’m thorough, too, too thorough maybe, because she presses her thighs together when I linger, and her fingers curl in the fogged-up glass behind her like she needs to brace for impact.

“You’re allowed to feel good,” I say, voice husky against her hip. “After everything. You get to come back to your body now.”

Her breath hitches. She nods. And when she parts her thighs, it’s invitation and surrender all at once.

I let the washcloth fall, and then I slide two fingers between her lips, teasing her open.

She’s already slick, already needy. And fuck, she smells like skin and sex and hot water and home.

“God, sweetheart…” I groan, mouth at her neck. “You’re soaked, and it’s not the shower.”

“Carson,” she says, and it’s breathless, desperate. “Please.”

I slide my fingers in. Curl them just right, slow and steady, until her knees start to give. I support her with my free hand, thumb circling her clit, and watch her. Watch every gasp, every flutter of her lashes, every roll of her hips against me like she’s trying to fuck herself apart on just two fingers.

“That’s it,” I whisper. “Just like that. Let me feel you melt.”

She bites her lip. I bite her shoulder. Her body arches into my mouth, into my hands, into the need.

When she comes, it’s quiet and sharp, head back, thighs trembling, pussy clenching around my fingers like she’s trying to keep me inside her.

“Good girl,” I rasp, burying a kiss in her hair as she shudders. “You did so good for me.”

She sags against me and I hold her up, rinsing her off while she comes down, letting the water wash everything away except the heat burning low between us.

She’s still warm from the shower when I lift her into my arms, her body limp but pliant, like she knows I’ll carry her wherever she needs to go. And I will. Through blood, through fire, through every fucking mess the world wants to throw at her, I’ll carry her.

But right now, it’s just to bed.

The lamp’s still on. Soft. Golden. I sit her down on the edge of the mattress, lean in, and kiss her, still trying to taste the echo of her climax on her tongue.

I reach for my hat on the nightstand. The same damn uniform cap I threw off earlier like it didn’t matter. It does now.

I settle it gently on her damp hair, the brim tilted just enough to make her look fucking dangerous. A queen in stolen armor. And I sink back onto the mattress behind her.

Flat on my back. Eyes locked on hers.

“Now,” I say, voice ragged, “sit on your throne.”

Something hot and wicked sparks under her skin, and then she straddles my chest like she was born for it. She slides forward slow, wet heat dragging up my sternum, and when her thighs cage my head and I feel the weight of her settle over my mouth, I groan like it’s a prayer.

She’s already soaked. Already swollen.

When I grip her hips and pull her down like I’m starving, I mean it. I devour her. Tongue dragging through every wet inch, lips latching onto her clit like I’m afraid someone might take her away from me if I stop.

She grinds into my mouth, hat shadowing her eyes, head thrown back like a fucking goddess receiving her due.

“That’s it,” I growl into her cunt between licks. “Use me, sweetheart. Fuck yourself on my face. Drench me. Feed it to me.”

She does. Fuck, she does. She rides me like she owns me, and maybe she does, because I’d let her. I’d beg her. I’d die for this.

---