Page 51 of Cold as Stone
She moans, hips rocking into her hand.
“Good girl,” I groan, fisting my cock. “Fuck, look at you. So fucking wet for me. So greedy. You want me to watch you fall apart, don’t you?”
She nods, eyes half-lidded, lips parting with another shaky gasp. Her free hand braces against the tile, her movements turning frantic.
“You’re perfect, Kya. So fucking beautiful. You don’t even know what you do to me,” I grit out, stroking harder. “You were made to be worshipped. You hear me?”
“Lee…” she gasps, fingers trembling. “I’m?—”
“Let go, baby. That’s it. Let me hear you say my name when you come. Let me hear what mine sounds like from that pretty little mouth.”
She cries out, loud and unrestrained, my name ripped from her throat. And that’s all it takes. My vision blurs, my body tenses, and I come hard, thick stripes of release spilling over my hand, hips jerking as I grunt her name.
The steam clings to the air, heavy and silent.
Her chest heaves. So does mine.
She leans her forehead against the glass, eyes glazed, lips swollen. And I swear to god, if she lets me in there, I’ll spend the next hour on my knees showing her what real fucking devotion feels like.
She reaches behind her and flicks the tap off.
“Best shower ever,” she says breathlessly as she steps out, wrapping herself in a towel.
“We’re going to be the death of each other,” I mutter, adjusting my jeans.
“Probably. But what a way to go.”
By the time we’ve both recovered, the coffee maker has finished gurgling, and the pancake batter is waiting.
Kya shuffles in just as I’m flipping the first batch of pancakes, now wearing an oversized sweater that hits mid-thigh and fuzzy socks. Her hair is damp, but she’s brushed her teeth. I can tell because she’s not covering her mouth anymore.
“You’re actually making pancakes,” she says, cupping the coffee I hand her.
“I’m a man of my word.” I slide a perfect golden pancake onto a plate and hand it to her. “Syrup?”
“Yes please.” She takes a long, reverent sip of the coffee, and I watch her shoulders relax, her eyes flutter closed, and what can only be described as a moan of pure satisfaction escape her lips.
“Better?” I ask, trying not to think about how that sound affects me.
“Marginally human now,” she admits, taking another sip. “Give me five more minutes and I might even be pleasant company.”
I flip another pancake, grinning. “I like grumpy Kya. She’s adorable.”
“You say that now, but be warned. Grumpy Kya is a menace to society.”
“I agree. Calling me into that bathroom was diabolical.” I stack pancakes on her plate, adding syrup and a pat of butter. “Eat. You’re too skinny.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. When’s the last time you had a proper breakfast? And don’t say coffee counts.”
She’s quiet for a moment, cutting into her pancakes. “I don’t really… eat breakfast usually. Coffee and maybe a granola bar if I remember.”
“Jesus, Kya.” I lean against the counter, studying her. “You run a bar, work fourteen-hour days, and survive on coffee and granola bars?”
“I’ve been busy?—”
“You’ve been neglecting yourself,” I correct. “Good thing you’ve got me now.”
