Page 34 of Luca
My control is razor-thin, the kind that makes every touch feel like a choice I might not stop making. I slide my hand between us, dragging my palm down over her stomach, feeling the way her muscles tighten under the slow sweep of my fingers.
Her eyes meet mine, steady, unblinking.
Daring me to fuck her right here in the shower.
I don't look away when I finally touch her, slow enough to make her press her head to the wall behind her. The water's roaring, the music's pounding, but all I hear is her breathing change.
"Careful," I say, my thumb tracing lazy circles on her clit. "You keep giving me shows like this, you're not gonna be able to stop me."
Her mouth curves, but she doesn't speak. She just moves against my hand like she's teasing me right back.
I hold her there, keep her pinned, keep the pace exactly how I want it. Until she forgets all about her damn music and the only song she's moving to is mine.
Her head tips back, water streaming down her face, her lips parted like she's already halfway gone.
That's the moment I lose my control.
I turn her, pinning her front to the tile, my chest to her back, my mouth on her shoulder. I bite down—hard—and feel her shudder.
"You want to dance for me?" I growl against her ear, sliding my hand between her thighs again. "Then you finish it for me. Right here. Right now."
Her hips jerk when my fingers find her, stroking through the wet heat. She pushes back against me, and I reward her with a deeper grind of my palm. The music is nothing now, only background to the sound of her breathing going ragged and the way her nails scrape against the slick wall.
She's rocking against me now, chasing the friction, every move making me harder. My other hand grips her hip like I own it—because I do—keeping her exactly where I want her while I work her with my fingers until her thighs are trembling and her head falls back on my shoulder.
"Tell me," I say against her neck, "did you think I'd watch you dance and not touch you?"
With one hand I unbuckle my belt, unzip my pants and drag out my cock.
She gasps when I slide into her from behind in one hard thrust. The sound she makes is low and filthy, echoing off the tile. I keep her pinned, my hand around her throat now, tilting her head back so I can see her eyes when I move inside her, slow, punishing strokes that make her whimper and clench around me.
Her hands slap against the wall, trying for balance, but there’s only me. Every thrust drives her forward into the tile and right back into me again. I kiss her jaw, her cheek, the corner of her mouth, tasting steam and skin.
“Is this what you wanted when you were dancing for me?”
I grip her hip in one hand, her throat in the other, holding her exactly where I want her. She tries to push back—tries to take more—and I give it to her in hard, deep strokes that make her gasp every time I bottom out.
“Keep your hands there,” I growl against her ear. “Don’t move them.”
She nods, but the way her fingers flex against the wall tells me she’s hanging on by a thread. I keep her pinned, every thrust calculated, slow enough to make her ache, hard enough to make her knees go weak. My thumb strokes lazily over the column of her throat, feeling her pulse race under my hand.
Her hair is plastered to her neck, slick and dripping, and I bend to bite her shoulder, teeth sinking into soft skin before I soothe it with my tongue. She moans—low and breathless—and it goes straight to my cock.
“You like this? Being fucked like you’re mine?”
“Yes,” she gasps, voice breaking.
That single word rips the last of my restraint apart. I slam into her harder, faster, forcing her to take every inch until her palms slide on the wet tile and she has to brace her forearms against the wall. My hand drops from her throat to her breast, squeezing, rolling her nipple between my fingers while I drive into her from behind.
Her head falls forward, breath coming in short, desperate bursts. “Please,” she manages, and I know exactly what she’s begging for.
I don’t give it to her yet. I hold her right at the edge, my pace brutal and unrelenting, until her legs are shaking and she’s making broken little sounds that tell me she’s close to losing control.
“Now,” I order, my hand sliding down to her clit, stroking in tight, hard circles that match every thrust. “Come for me.”
The sound she makes when she breaks is pure sin—half scream, half sob—as she clenches around me, her whole body shuddering. I ride her through it, hips grinding deep, chasing my own release until I’m spilling into her with a groan that echoes off the glass.
For a moment we stay like that, her cheek pressed to the tile, my chest to her back, both of us panting while the water pounds over us.
