Grace
Morning light spills through the floor-to-ceiling glass, pale and clean. For a moment I lie still, blinking against it, unsure where I am. The sheets smell like him, and when I move, I realise the scent of him clings to my skin, too.
Then it all comes back. The ballroom. The bidding. His hands. The masks.
I push myself upright, clutching the sheet around me, the cool air licking at my bare shoulders. Liam Orlov. The name sounds dangerous even in my head. I glance across the room; the space is empty, the faint sound of running water drifting from the bathroom.
He’s still here. I don’t know why he wouldn’t be. It’s his suite after all. But still. The thought steadies me and unnerves me in equal measure.
I slide out of bed, padding across the carpet, catching my reflection in the glass. My hair is a pale tangle, my lips still swollen, my body marked by the memory of him. The old Grace would be horrified. The new one just stares, a small, crooked smile pulling at her mouth.
The sound of the shower deepens, a steady rhythm behind the door. Steam curls out from the small gap where it doesn’t quite close. I hesitate only a second before stepping closer, drawn by the warmth, by the simple normalcy of water and silence after so much chaos.
I twist the handle and step inside.
He turns when he hears me, water streaming down his chest, slicking his dark hair back. For a heartbeat, neither of us speaks. The air between us thickens, charged, the spray pattering against his skin like a pulse.
His gaze trails down me, unhurried, deliberate. He lingers at the patch of dark hair between my legs and licks his lips. “Couldn’t stay away?”
I meet his eyes, stepping into the shower and joining him. The water runs through my hair, over my face, my shoulders. “Maybe I just didn’t want to face the world yet,” I say when I open my eyes again.
“Then don’t.”
He reaches for me, and when his hands find my waist, everything else dissolves, the city, the scandal, the questions waiting outside this room.
The rest is heat and water and the kind of closeness that makes time irrelevant.
The water cascades over us, hot and relentless, turning the world into a steamy haze that blurs everything except him.
Liam's hands slide up my sides, pulling me closer until our bodies press together, slick and warm.
I feel his arousal against my thigh, hard and insistent.
A thrill runs through me, mixing with the lingering ache from last night.
I tilt my head back, letting the spray hit my face, but my eyes stay on his, watching the way desire darkens his gaze.
His fingers dig into my hips, not rough but firm, like he is claiming me all over again, and I don’t resist. Instead, I lean in, pressing my lips to his collarbone, tasting the soap on his skin mixed with the clean rush of water.
I trail kisses down his chest, slow and deliberate, feeling the muscles tense under my mouth.
His breath hitches as I sink to my knees, the tile cool against my skin despite the heat surrounding us.
The water beats down on my back, but I focus on him, on the way he towers above me, his hand coming to rest gently on my head.
I’ve always hated giving head. I just never found myself wanting to do that.
But with Liam, it’s different. Maybe it’s the control of knowing I can make him feel good.
Maybe it’s that he has given me so much pleasure already that I don’t mind reciprocating.
Whatever it is, I’m faced with his hard cock and all I want to do is make him lose his mind in my mouth.
I look up, meeting his eyes through the steam, and wrap my fingers around his length, stroking him once, twice, feeling him pulse in my grip.
He groans softly, the sound echoing off the walls, and it spurs me on.
I lean forward, taking him into my mouth, my tongue swirling around the tip before I slide down further, as much as I can manage.
His fingers tangle in my wet hair, guiding me slowly. I set a rhythm, sucking and licking, hollowing my cheeks to draw out more of those low, guttural sounds from him. The water makes everything slippery, intimate, and I lose myself in the act. In the power of making him unravel.
He whispers my name, his voice rough and broken, and it sends a fresh wave of heat pooling between my legs.
I take him deeper, my hands gripping his thighs for balance, feeling the tension build in his body as he nears the edge.
But before he can finish, he pulls me up gently, his chest heaving, and crushes his mouth to mine in a kiss that tastes like need and restraint.
He spins me around then, pressing my front against the glass wall of the shower, the cool surface a sharp contrast to the warmth of his body behind me. My breasts flatten against it, and I gasp at the sensation, the steam fogging the pane around my outline.
His hands roam over me, one sliding between my thighs to find me already wet and ready, his fingers teasing my clit in slow circles that make my knees tremble.
I arch back into him, urging him on, and he positions himself at my entrance, thrusting in with one smooth, deep motion that fills me completely.
The angle is perfect, and I moan, my palms flat against the glass for support.
He sets a steady pace, his hips slamming into mine, the water amplifying every sound, every slap of skin on skin. His arm wraps around my waist, holding me steady as he drives deeper, harder, his other hand tangling in my hair to tilt my head back for a messy, heated kiss over my shoulder.
The pleasure builds fast, coiling tight in my core, and I push back against him, meeting each thrust with my own urgency. He growls against my neck, biting down lightly, and it tips me over, my orgasm crashing through me in waves that leave me trembling and crying out.
He swipes at the glass above my head to clear the steam, and finds the mirror across from the shower reflecting us.
He presses my back slightly, pushing my tits fully against the glass, then shatters, burying himself deep as he comes.
His release is hot inside me, his body shuddering hard against mine as we both ride out the aftershocks, breathless and spent and satisfied.