Page 143 of The Deliverance of Marek Sommers

Misha caressed my hips and back for a bit before dropping his hands to my thighs, running them over my trembling muscles. “Breathe, detka.”

“I’m trying. There’s not much room in there anymore.”

He chuckled and swept his hands back up my hips, circling one to the front, across my lower stomach, gently pressing against the area where his dick was nestled. “You have plenty of room.”

The added pressure from the outside sent a tremor through me, along with a pitiful whimper. He kept his hand there and wrapped the other around my cock, pumping it slowly as he thrust his even deeper.

I gasped, planting one hand against the wall before I fell and smacked my face on the bench.

Rolling his hips against me, he thrusted in and out in small, controlled movements that tagged my prostate. I hung my head, watching his hand glide up and down my shaft and roll over my crown, his tattoos glistening from the water.

“Just like that,” I sighed, pushing my ass against him, meeting his thrusts eagerly as they picked up speed.

Our moans filled the shower, echoing through the billowing steam in addition to the obvious sound of our skin slapping together. I doubted the water would cover much of anything since it was way louder than I’d anticipated, but I couldn’t help it. It felt too good.

He must have had the same thought because Misha stilled inside of me for a moment before sliding out altogether. He ran his hands up to my shoulders, pulling my torso upright and cementing my back against his chest. Wrapping his arms around my waist, he pressed kisses along my neck. “You’re not being very quiet.”

“You said you like it when I make noise,” I teased, stealing another kiss.

“I do. But we’re not the only ones here anymore.”

I groaned and tipped my head back against his shoulder. “See? Little fun sponges.”

Laughing softly, he let me go and rinsed himself under the water before grabbing the sprayer and washing me off. Before I even realized what he was doing, he’d turned off the shower.

“Hey, we’re not done.” I spun to face him with a mock glare.

“I never said we were.” He grinned and brushed his nose against mine. “But I think the bed is a better option.”

“You know, you can just say youwantto continue this in the bedroom. The want-thing applies to you too.”

“The only want I have is to make you happy.”

“You do like a challenge, don’t you?”

“Those who don’t take risks don’t drink champagne.”

“Oh. Speaking of champagne, we never actually had any with dinner. Want me to go get it?”

“I’ll get it. Go relax.”

“You’re impossible.” I pressed my lips to his before slipping out of the shower to towel off. Once I was relatively dry, I padded to the bed quickly and slipped under the comforter with a shiver while he darted down the hallway. Thankfully, he’d pulled on a pair of pajama pants first in case he ran into anyone along the way.

Rolling onto my stomach, I scrunched a pillow under my chin and gazed out at the twinkling lights of the city. It still felt like a dream—Misha and everything that had happened. I kept waiting to wake up and realize that’s all it was but it hadn’t happened yet.

“You’ll be happy to know that everyone is asleep,” Misha said when he returned, leaning over to kiss me as he pressed a champagne flute in my hand. “Including the dog.”

“Great. Now where were we?” I took a quick sip, ignoring the bubbles tickling my nose, and set the flute on the nightstand next to his.

As soon as my hands were free, I pounced, devouring his mouth as we toppled to the mattress. I pushed him onto his back, licking and kissing my way down his body. Flicking my tongue over his nipples, I teased them briefly before continuing south, worshiping every muscle between his pecs and his dick, mindful to keep my distance from the bandage on his side.

Dragging his pants off, I let them drop to the floor, settling between his bare legs and kissing the inside of his thigh. When I finally got to the main course, I licked my lips, stroking his shaft and watching his foreskin slip over his glistening crown. Touching the tip of my tongue to his slit, I glanced up, meeting his hungry gaze before swallowing as much of his cock as I could.

“Fuck, Marek.” His fingers dove into my damp hair and he bit his lower lip, watching me intently as I bobbed along his length, licking and sucking every inch of him.

Gripping the base of his shaft, I spit a mouthful of saliva over the head of his cock and let it slide down. I slicked my palm over it and spread it around, varying the speed and tightness of my grip.

“That’s so good,” he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut.

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