Page 35 of Kiss Me Like I Didn't Kill You
I shove out of my own jeans and boxers, then haul her up bridal style with one arm hooked beneath her thighs. She latches onto my neck, clinging to me.
I stride into the walk in shower.
The water pours over us from above, heat drenching us in seconds. I set her down, her legs unsteady as she clings to me. She lets out a hiss when her back meets the cold tile, and I’m on her immediately, mouth at her neck, biting, sucking, tasting her.
Her scent clouds everything, crawling into my head, driving me mad.
I grip her arse in both hands, squeezing hard, dragging her against me as my mouth finds her breast. My tongue circles her nipple before I take it between my teeth and bite down. If it were up to me, I’d have her marked all over, bitten and claimed.
I move to the other, licking, teasing, while one hand closes greedily around the weight of her breast.She moans softly, and it riles me. She’s too quiet.
I want her screaming my name.
I make her sit on the built in chair in the shower, grateful it’s there.
I drop to my knees, and my mouth finds her centre in seconds.
I devour her like a man starved, because I am.
Starved of Ophelia Bellanti for too long, and now that I have her, I won’t let go.
My tongue circles her clit and I groan when her taste hits me. I suck, I bite, and I push two fingers into her in one swift thrust.
She moans louder now, but still not enough. Her hands grip my hair, holding me exactly where she wants me. And I go willingly. Because even after everything, I’m weak.
Weak for her. And fuck it if I don’t hate myself for it.
I quicken my pace, my free hand closing around her breast, tugging her nipple between my fingers. She tightens around me, and then she breaks apart, coming hard against my mouth and hand.
But I don’t stop. I keep licking, drinking her in.
Finally releasing her, I watch as she looks up at me, desire blazing in her eyes. She looks satisfied, yet not nearly enough.
A smirk tugs at my mouth before I can stop it. That’s her. Always insatiable.
I pull her to her feet and our mouths collide again, frantic, hungry, our hands roaming greedily. Her fingers wrap around my cock and squeeze, and a groan escapes me before I can bite it back.
In the next breath, I spin her around roughly and head straight for the drawer beneath the sink. I find what I’m after, come back behind her, tear the wrapper open with my teeth and spit it aside before rolling the condom on.
“Hands on the wall,” I order.
She obeys.
“This is what you want?” I ask, my cock teasing at her entrance.
She nods, breathless. I land a hard slap against her arse. “Use your words.”
“Yes,” she gasps, her voice breaking.
I slam into her hard, driving her tighter against the wall with each thrust. “Watch your head,” I grit out, my fist tangled in her hair, holding her steady.
“Fuck, you’re so tight,” I rasp. “Squeezing me so damn well.”
I drive into her harder, faster, fucking her with abandon.
Her hands stay braced against the wall, but she turns her head toward me. I bend down, catch her lips in a kiss, feeling her clench around me.
“This means nothing,” I tell her, my voice harsh.
