“No.”
I pull out of his arms and walk into the bathroom. “Got you,” I cry.
A white marble bathroom sits in all its grandeur.
“Fuck off.” He screws up his face. “How did you know that?” He turns the shower on and slams me up against the tiles. His lips take mine with hunger, and then he pulls me in under the water, clothes and all. We kiss, frantic and wild.
It’s hot and wet . . . and perfect.
Like him.
With our lips locked, he pulls my wet shirt off over my head.
“Who brought the roses over?” I ask.
He unzips my jeans and slides them down. “Elliot.”
I giggle as I step out of the wet pants. “You made your brother bring me flowers?”
“Yes.” He kisses me. His tongue swipes through my open lips. “He’s working with me on the romantic-anal thing. It’s a two-man job.”
I laugh out loud again. This man kills me.
He kisses me again, and as his clothes come off, we fall silent as we stare at each other.
His huge erection demands attention as it rests up against my lower stomach, and I take it in my hand and stroke him as we kiss. He’s more himself here. I didn’t realize he was quiet at my parents’ until we landed in the UK.
His dark hair hangs over his forehead. His lips are big and soft, and damn. His large muscular body is dripping wet and with that waiting erection . . . just for me.
I’m in heaven.
He smiles darkly as he lifts me off my feet and pins me to the tiles. He wraps my legs around his waist and slides in deep.
My body ripples around his as he takes me over. This is what he does so well: dominates me . . . fucks me so deep that I can hardly remember my name.
We stare at each other, the water running over our heads, arousal screaming through my senses.
His dark eyes hold mine as he pulls out and slams in hard.
“Ahh,” I cry out. The tiles are cold and hard on my back. Not that it matters now; when we are like this with each other, nothing else matters.
Brilliant and blinding orgasm is all that we can see.
He puts his two hands on my shoulders and pushes me up against the wall and steps back from me. “Lift your legs higher,” he instructs me.
My eyes flutter closed . . . fuck.
I lift my legs, and he spreads his legs wide for leverage and lets me have it. Deep, punishing hits. The sound of the water slapping between our bodies is loud.
The friction burns from his heavy cock as it pounds me hard.
So good.
His breathing is labored, and his eyes begin to roll back in his head. I smile triumphantly. This is when I love him the most.
When he is at my mercy, in this moment. I own him . . . and he knows it.
He grips my calf muscles as he holds me. I’m crumpled up against the wall like a piece of paper as he rides me hard.
And it’s good . . . so fucking good.
“Oh . . . ,” I moan. I try to hold it off, but I can’t. I need it. I shudder hard as a freight train of an orgasm slams me.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” he moans as he holds himself deep and comes in a rush. I feel the telling jerk of his body inside mine.
His eyes search mine, and I smile softly.
My tiger is tamed.
We lie on our sides in bed. The room is lit only by the lamp, and we stare at each other.