Page 43 of Bedding his Innocent Mistress

She nodded, strolling into the shower and crashing straight into him. Her body was on autopilot— he the fixed destination. His lips found hers and he pushed her back against the wall, under the warm jet of water. It powered over her, hot and relaxing. Her hair plastered down over her face like a pelt and his body on hers was strong, wet and soapy. Her breath rasped as his hands ran over her flesh, and when they reached her breasts, she made a deep noise of pleasure.

“I’m so sensitive from last night,” she whispered thickly.

He ran his mouth over her jaw, seeking her earlobe and pulling it into his mouth. Her knees almost buckled, and then, she let them. She dropped to the floor of the shower, so fast that he was instantly confused, but her eyes lifted to his and her intention seared him.

“Ivy,” he said, not sure why the word came out as a warning.

She dug her fingers into his thighs and pushed him backwards. When he connected with the tiled wall, she took him into her mouth and this time, she didn’t stop.

She felt him throb, and heard his low, guttural moan, and she rolled her tongue over his tip, tasting him, craving the power of making him come, just as he had done to her, again and again and again.

He swore in his own language and his body jerked.

“I …”

“I want to taste you,” she murmured, her fingers clamping around his length as her mouth took him once more.

“Jesus.”

And he surrendered to it, powerless finally to fight the tide of her sensual will-power. All restraint had an end point, and she’d found his.

She held him as he exploded, her fingers twisting around to his buttocks, and keeping him deep in her mouth when he might have pulled out. And then, when his trembling had stilled, and she could just tell he was looking down at her, she stood. Her eyes met his, a smile playing at the corners that he would never, in all his life, forget.

“Good morning,” she murmured, her hands on his hips.

“I’ll say.” He cupped her cheeks, his eyes sinking into hers. “How do you feel?”

“Like a sex-goddess,” she winked.

“That’s just what you look like,” he promised. And out of nowhere, he flicked her nipple, hard enough to make her back bow and press her closer towards him.

“Are my breasts ever going to feel normal again?”

He padded his thumb over her cheek. “That depends,” he said thoughtfully.

“On?”

“On how often you stay over.” His wink was pure flirtation, but the question was one she didn’t want to address. It spoke of a permanence and reliance that were anathema to her.

“Perhaps I’ll have to invest in a pair of nipple clamps for myself,” she murmured.

His laugh was throaty with disbelief. “And use them without me? I don’t think so.”

“Mmm, you’d never know,” she grinned.

He pressed his mouth to hers, lightly, and then lower, to her breasts. “I know everything about these now. In fact, I sort of consider them mine.”

Mine.

The tiny little word was fingernails on a blackboard.

She’d never be anyone’s again.

He dropped a hand to her feminine core, his finger pressing against the cluster of nerves that were already stretched so thin, so taut. The nerves that had been tingling all night. He kept her pinned against the wall with his body as his hand moved her to new heights of awareness, pushing her harder, faster, making her head spin and her eyes water until finally, she came crashing back down to earth, her body weak and her brain fried.

“God, you’re good at that,” she muttered.

His smile showed he knew exactly what he did to her. “Hungry?”

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