Page 73 of Victorious: Part 2
I picture her stepping toward me, steam curling around her as if she’s some untouchable goddess. She presses her body to mine, skin on skin, her lips at my ear, whispering every filthy thing she wants me to do to her. I imagine her hands wrapping around me, stroking slowly while her eyes hold mine with that knowing, wicked glint.
I let out a guttural sound and reach for myself, finally giving in. My hand wraps around my length, already painfully hard,and I start stroking slowly, imagining it’s her.
Her touch.
Her mouth.
Her hips grinding down against me as I drive into her again and again until she’s moaning my name like a prayer.
The water slaps the tiles around me, masking the ragged sound of my breathing. My other hand fists against the wall as I move faster, chasing the high, desperate to find some kind of relief from the tension that’s been building for days.
Behind my closed eyes, a vision of her riding me, head thrown back, hair spilling down her spine, her nails digging into my shoulders, only makes my hips buck harder against my hand.
Her lips on my neck.
My name on her tongue.
“Fuck…Clover.”
A tingle ripples down my spine, and my legs instantly begin to shake. My breathing quickens as my pulse skyrockets. I pull harder on my cock, begging for that epic release I have needed since this trip started. My skin prickles in goose bumps while I bite down on my bottom lip, trying like hell to keep quiet. My balls pull up, that adrenaline surge ripples through me as I slam my fist into the tiles with a strangled groan, my muscles seizing when cum erupts from me, slamming into the tiles. I let out a guttural moan as I collapse forward, forehead pressed to the tile, trying like hell to catch my ragged breaths.
After a few minutes, attempting to calm my heart rate, I steady my legs and use the water to wash everything away. Even after I’ve come down, I still feel her, burning under my skin, seared into every part of me.
I’m so fucking screwed.
Shaking my head, I let out a small laugh, knowing she probably heard all of that, and just figure I need to get on with it. So, I scrub the three days of grime off me in record time, myhands still shaking from my release, but my heart won’t settle. Once I’m fully clean, I turn off the faucet, jump out, wrap a towel low around my hips, take a deep breath, open the door, and step out into the hotel room.
Clover is sitting cross-legged on the bed, dressed in sleep shorts and a tank top, her laptop open in front of her, and Dracula curled up beside her as though they’re conducting serious business.
She doesn’t even look up.
“Good shower, it sounded…hot?”she asks, voice full of smug innocence.
I shoot her a glare. “Don’t start.”
She bites her bottom lip as if she’s trying not to laugh. “You sounded like you were…reallygetting clean in there.”
I groan, grabbing my clothes and turning away. “I hate you.”
“Liar,” she singsongs.
She’s right.
And she knows it.
I turn my back to her and let my towel hit the floor with a wet slap. I don’t miss the small gasp Clover releases before I pull my jeans on over my bear ass, and follow with a shirt. When I finally turn back to face her, her cheeks are flushed as I approach the bed and sit beside her. The tension between us is thick, but there’s something else now too.
Ease.
Humor.
Like maybe we’re figuring this out, one stolen moment at a time.
“What are you working on?” I ask, breaking her from staring at me like she wants to devour me.
She clears her throat, then glances down at her laptop. “Going through all the content from our trip for my client.” She turns the screen so I can see. Photos, videos, notes. “Looking at howit evolved from what was supposed to be marketing material to, well, something more.”
I settle beside her, close enough to view the screen but far enough away that I’m not completely losing my mind. “Show me.”
