Chapter 27 #2
Her gasp tears through the heavy silence, sharp and soft all at once. My other hand finds her hip, dragging her against me until she feels how hard I am, until she knows exactly what she’s doing to me.
“Swag—” she starts, but it’s broken, breathless, already surrendering.
“Say it,” I demand, voice gutted, raw. “Say you’re mine.”
Her lashes flutter, her lips trembling, and then she whispers it, but it undoes me anyway.
“You know I’m yours.”
“That’s right,” I growl, hooking my hands beneath her thighs and lifting her onto the counter in one motion. She gasps, legs spreading to make room for me, and when I step between them, there’s nothing but heat, skin, and the sharp edge of need.
I push her back against the mirror, mouth claiming hers while my hand slides down, fingers dragging over damp skin, teasing until she arches off the counter, desperate beneath me.
“Fuck, bee,” I mutter against her lips, my breath hot and shaky. “Dripping for me already, aren’t you? Couldn’t even stay clean for five minutes.”
She makes this broken, helpless sound, and I’m gone. I sink into her in one hard, relentless thrust, groaning into her neck when I bottom out, when she clenches tight around me like her body’s begging me to stay.
“Jesus, baby,” I rasp, forehead pressed to hers, breath ragged. “That’s it. Take me. Take all of me.”
I set a punishing rhythm, rough and deep, each thrust driving her higher, wrecking her piece by piece.
Her nails dig into my shoulders hard enough to sting, and I love it, need it, eat it up.
Every gasp, every whimper, every time she moans my name feeds the dark, filthy part of me that wants to mark her so thoroughly no one, especially Ricky Langston, will ever doubt who she belongs to.
When she breaks beneath me, shattering with a cry that’s half sob, half surrender, I follow right after, groaning her name like it’s the only prayer I’ve ever known. I hold her through it, crushing her against me, burying myself so deep she couldn’t wash me off if she tried.
“You’re mine, Jo-Leigh. There’s no running from this. No hiding. No fucking washing me away.”
The counter’s still vibrating beneath us when I pull back, breath sawing out of my chest. She’s flushed, her hair sticking to her face, lips swollen from my mouth, chest rising and falling like she can’t get enough air.
But I’m not done.
I grip her chin, forcing her to look at me. My thumb drags slow over her slick, kiss-bitten mouth, and my voice comes out low, ragged, dark enough to scrape bone.
“You thought you could wash me off?” My gaze drops to where her body’s still clinging tight to mine. “Guess I’ll just have to make sure you can’t.”
Before she can answer, I’m hauling her off the counter, her soft gasp hot against my throat. I don’t give her a chance to find her balance before I’m carrying her the two steps to the shower and shoving the glass door open.
The steam rolls out thick, swallowing us whole. The water beats down, hot enough to sting, soaking us instantly, her damp hair slicking back as she braces both hands against the tile behind her.
“Swag—” she breathes, voice unsteady, but it’s not a protest. It’s need.
I press my chest to hers, crowding her against the wall, the water running in sheets between us, dripping from her jaw onto my lips. My hand fists in her hair, pulling her head back just enough that I can drag my mouth down her throat, biting until she gasps my name like a confession.
“Say it,” I demand against her skin, my free hand gripping her hip so tight she’ll feel me tomorrow. “Say who you belong to.”
“You,” she whispers.
I nip at her jaw, harder this time, forcing her eyes back to mine. “Louder, little bee. I want the whole fucking world to know.”
Her head hits the tile, breath ragged, water sliding down her flushed cheeks.
“You,” she cries out, voice cracking under the weight of it. “I’m yours, Swag. Always yours.”
That breaks me. I spin her, pressing her chest against the slick tile, her palms splaying flat to catch herself. My hand stays on her throat, the other braced at her hip, guiding her back onto me as I sink into her from behind in one hard, relentless thrust.
“Fuck,” I groan, burying myself deep. “Tight little thing. So perfect for me.”
The sound of skin-on-skin mixes with the pounding spray, sharp gasps and broken moans bouncing off the walls.
I set a brutal rhythm, relentless, punishing, each thrust dragging a sound from her throat that’s half plea, half surrender.
Her hands scrabble against the tile, nails scraping for something to hold onto, but I pin her there, keeping her exactly where I want her — where she needs to be.
My name falls from her lips over and over, breathless and cracked, until it devolves into incoherent sounds, and I can feel her trembling, right there on the edge.
“You don’t get to wash me off, bee,” I rasp against her ear, my voice shredded, desperate. “I’m going to put myself so deep in you, you’ll taste me. Every time you breathe, every time you close your fucking eyes, it’ll be me.”
“Swag—please—” she chokes out, body arching, breaking beneath me, and that single word pushes me straight over the edge.
I slam into her one last time, holding her tight when she comes apart around me, my own release tearing through me, hot and violent and all-consuming. I groan her name into the wet curve of her neck, teeth biting down just enough to leave proof.
The water’s still pounding when I feel her start to come down, her body trembling against mine, her breath ragged and soft in the steam-thick air.
I should stop.
I should let her breathe.
But I can’t.
Because in the back of my skull, there’s Ricky Langston’s fucking face.
The thought of him — of him looking at her, touching her, thinking he has any right to her — lights me up in a way I can’t smother. And then I’m moving before I even register it, spinning her around to face me, caging her in against the tile with my body.
Her lips are parted, cheeks flushed, damp lashes clumped from steam and sweat.
“Swag…” she whispers, breath shaky, still trying to catch up.
“Don’t,” I bite out, my hand sliding up her ribs until I’ve got my palm pressed flat between her breasts, feeling her heartbeat slam against my skin. “Don’t say my name like that unless you’re ready to handle what it does to me.”
Her eyes widen, pupils blown wide, and when she whispers, “I can handle it,” it shatters whatever thin thread of restraint I had left.
“Yeah?” I rasp, grabbing her wrist and pressing her hand to where I’m already hard again. “Then you’re about to prove it.”
She gasps, and I don’t give her a chance to protest. I hook my hands under her thighs, lifting her effortlessly, pinning her to the slick tile with my hips locking hers in place.
Water cascades over both of us, soaking her hair, streaming between our mouths when I crash into her kiss.
It’s filthy and messy. My teeth scrape her bottom lip, my tongue taking, demanding, until she’s moaning into me, nails biting down into my shoulders.
I line myself up and thrust into her in one sharp, brutal stroke, burying myself to the hilt. Her cry echoes off the bathroom walls, sharp and wrecked, and fuck, it makes me groan against her neck, biting down just hard enough to leave a mark.
“That’s it,” I growl, setting a relentless rhythm, every thrust harder than the last. “Take me. Take every fucking inch. I want you sore tomorrow. I want you thinking about this every time you sit, every time you breathe.”
Her nails rake down my back, leaving hot trails that sting under the spray, and she whispers my name like it’s the only thing tethering her to the earth. My hand fists in her hair, yanking her head back so I can look into her wrecked, beautiful face.
“You feel that?” I rasp, my breath harsh and uneven. “That’s me, Jo-Leigh. No one else gets this. Just. Me.”
Her breath hitches, her legs tightening around my waist like she’s afraid I’ll let go.
“Always you,” she gasps, voice breaking, body trembling beneath me. “Only you, Swag.”
“Damn right,” I snarl, snapping my hips forward, grinding deep until she whimpers against my mouth. “Say it again. Say you’re mine.”
“I’m yours,” she cries out, nails clawing at my neck, leaving sharp crescents in my skin. “I’m yours. I’ve always been yours.”
The words kill me.
I thrust harder, faster, chasing both of us over the edge until her body locks tight around me, her moan dissolving into broken, breathless sounds as she comes apart.
I follow with a groan that rips straight from my chest, spilling into her with one last deep, unyielding thrust. But I keep moving through the aftershocks, slow, dragging it out until her head falls to my shoulder, boneless and trembling. My lips find her ear.
“You hear me, baby? I’ll never let you go. Not now. Not fucking ever. And if Ricky Langston so much as breathes your name, I’ll put him in the ground.”
The words hang in the steam, low and lethal, and she shudders against me — not from fear, but from the weight of knowing I mean every goddamn word.
I stay inside her, holding her against the slick tile, water cascading down us both, my body locked around hers like I’m keeping her in place by force of will alone.
My teeth graze her jaw, my breath ragged against her wet skin.
The spray hisses around us, steam thick enough to choke on, and my chest is heaving.
I cup her jaw, forcing her gaze to mine, holding her there until I’m sure she feels it — the storm in me, the line I’m about to cross and take her with me. My voice comes out low, rough, shredded to pieces.
My thumb drags over her bottom lip, smearing water across her skin. “Nobody fucking breathes near you without knowing you’re mine.”
Her breath catches, lashes clumped and wet, pupils blown wide as her thighs flex around my hips.
“I know,” she whispers, soft but certain. “I’m yours, Swag.”
It’s not enough. Not tonight.
“Say it louder.” I press my forehead to hers, every muscle pulled tight, holding her pinned between me and the slick tile. “Say it so there’s no doubt. So Ricky Langston hears it from wherever the fuck he’s standing.”
Her voice trembles but doesn’t break, “I’m yours.”
That’s when the leash snaps. I spin her, pressing her chest flat to the glass shower door, the water running down both our bodies, dripping between her thighs.
My hand fists in her hair, yanking her head to the side just enough to expose the column of her throat, and my mouth is there instantly — teeth scraping, biting down hard enough to make her gasp.
“Swag—” she moans, the sound raw, and I growl against her skin, my tongue soothing the sting before biting again, lower this time, where her shoulder meets her neck.
“Gonna leave marks,” I mutter against her damp skin, each word guttural and unsteady. “Gonna paint you up so good, everyone sees. Every time you look in the mirror, you’re gonna remember who fucked you like this.”
Her nails scrape helplessly against the glass, leaving streaks of steam as she pushes back into me, needing more, needing everything.
I grip her hip hard enough to bruise and thrust into her from behind, sharp, brutal, deep.
She cries out, voice breaking, and it makes something savage inside me bare its teeth.
I bite her again, higher this time, marking her where the shower spray can’t wash it away, where anyone close enough to look will know exactly who she belongs to.
“Ricky wants to play games?” I snarl into her ear, my pace relentless, fucking her harder than before. “Let him. I’ll make sure every inch of you screams my name before he ever gets the chance to breathe yours.”
“Swag—fuck—” she gasps, her voice dissolving into broken, breathless sounds, her body shaking around me.
“That’s it, baby,” I rasp, dragging her hips back to meet every thrust. “That’s mine. Your sounds, your body, your fucking soul. Mine.”
She shatters beneath me, clenching tight, moaning my name until it breaks apart into desperate little sobs. I hold her there, chest to her back, teeth sunk into her damp skin while I follow, spilling deep, groaning into the curve of her neck as my body locks hers in place.
We’re both trembling when I finally pull back, chest pressed to her spine, my breath ragged against her ear. My hand slides around her throat, thumb brushing lazily over her pulse, grounding us both as the spray beats down hard and hot.
I kiss the spot I’ve just marked, tasting sweat and steam and her.
“You’re branded now, bee. Nobody touches you. Nobody claims you. And if Ricky Langston so much as looks at you again I’ll bury him.”
The promise hangs heavy in the air, darker than the steam swirling around us.