Chapter 12 Luca
She thinks I've been here a few seconds. She's wrong.
I've been standing in this doorway long enough to watch her soap every inch of herself like she's auditioning for my patience. Long enough to hear the way she hums along with the music, off-key, like she's not naked and wet and making me want to drag her out by her hair.
She's dancing.
Arms raised, eyes closed, head tipped back into the spray like she owns every drop of water. Hips rolling lazily in time with the beat. The glass is fogged but not enough to hide the way she moves, as if no one could possibly be watching.
And she's smiling. Not the polite bride smile she gives in public. This one's wicked. Self-satisfied. Like she knows exactly what she's doing to me.
She turns under the spray, hands sliding over her hair, down her throat, across her breasts, so slow it could be a dare.
My mouth goes dry. Steam rolls over her skin, softening every line until she looks like sin blurred at the edges.
But there's nothing soft about the way she's moving. Slow, deliberate, baiting me.
She wants me to see every inch of what's mine and pretend I'm going to let her get away with it.
Her head turns, just a fraction. Those eyes find me through the haze. No surprise in them. No startle. Just that little smile, like she's the one in control here.
I slide my hands out of my pockets, slow.
Step into the steam. The music's pounding, some German noise she probably thinks will drown out the sound of me coming closer.
It doesn't. She feels me behind her. I see it in the way her breath catches, in the way her hands pause mid-rinse like she's deciding whether to keep playing this game or fold.
I'm close enough now to see the drops clinging to her lashes, close enough that the heat from the shower is mixing with the heat coming off my skin. I lean one hand on the glass, tilt my head.
"You done putting on your little show?" I'm deciding between kissing her and ruining her for the rest of the day. "Or you planning to keep making me stand here like a prick in the rain while you dance for me?"
Her smile widens just a little, and fuck if that doesn't make my cock throb.
"You like having an audience?" I murmur.
I step closer without asking. My suit jacket's already gone, my tie hanging loose around my neck.
The heat swallows me whole. The water hits my shirt, soaking it fast, but I don't care.
My hand finds her jaw, thumb brushing the corner of her mouth, tilting her head up until those eyes are locked on mine.
"Good thing you've got one who doesn't clap. I take payment a different way."
Up close, she smells like clean skin and expensive soap, her hair slicked back and dripping.
I crowd her back against the tile. "You always dance naked when I'm not home?"
Her lips smile. "Only when the music's good."
I let my hand trail up her arm, slow enough to make her shiver, then push her wrists up over her head until they rest against the wall. She doesn't fight.
"I should've come home sooner," I say, my mouth brushing her ear. "Could've enjoyed the whole performance."
The bass thrums through the walls. My shirt sticks to her stomach where I press against her. The water runs over us, too hot, but neither of us moves away.
I tilt her chin and kiss her. Tasting water and heat and that smug little smile she wears like armor. She parts her lips immediately, letting me in.
When I pull back, she's breathing harder, pupils wide.
I lower my mouth to her throat, biting just enough to make her gasp, then dragging my tongue over the mark. My hands slide down her sides, over her hips, and I lift her easily, pinning her to the wall.
She locks her legs around my waist. "I thought you had an important meeting."
"I did," I say, kissing the corner of her mouth. "Then I decided I had better things to do."
The music shifts to a heavier beat. She rocks her hips once, testing, and I tighten my grip.
"You like putting on shows?" I ask.
"Depends on the audience."
I take her mouth again, deeper this time, one hand sliding up into her wet hair to hold her there while the other grips her thigh. The water's so hot it's almost scalding, steam thick enough to make the air hard to breathe.
When I finally break the kiss, I drag my lips to her ear. "Next time you dance make sure I get a front row seat."
She's still pinned to the wall, legs locked tight around my waist, her skin slick and hot from the water.
I don't move right away. I make her wait. Let her feel my breath against her mouth while the bass from that damn song rattles through the walls.
Her fingers twitch against my shoulders like she's deciding whether to hold on or push me away. I press harder, making the choice for her.
"Are you always this reckless when you're alone?" I drag my mouth over her jaw.
She laughs, low in her throat. "You weren't supposed to be home."
"That's not an answer."
I run my palms down her arms, slow enough to make her goosebumps rise, then skim them over her ribs and under the curve of her breasts. She's warm and soft everywhere, and she doesn't flinch, not even when I let my thumbs brush deliberately over her nipples.
Her breath catches—barely—and I catch it in my mouth with another hard kiss.
The water is pounding against my back, plastering my shirt to me, soaking her until the scent of her shampoo is all over my skin. I grip the nape of her neck, holding her still while I take my time tasting her, like I've got the whole day to map every inch of her mouth.
When I finally pull back, I keep my hand in her hair, tugging just enough to bare her throat. I drag my teeth along it, slow and deliberate, then bite down hard enough to make her gasp.
She squirms against me. I press her tighter to the wall.
"You were dancing," I remind her, my lips brushing the mark I just made. "Like you wanted someone to watch. Why?"
"Maybe I did." Her voice is softer now, threaded with something she's trying to hide.
I shift my hand to her hip, my fingers digging in. "Then maybe you're going to finish the show for me."
My control is razor-thin, the kind that makes every touch feel like a choice I might not stop making. I slide my hand between us, dragging my palm down over her stomach, feeling the way her muscles tighten under the slow sweep of my fingers.
Her eyes meet mine, steady, unblinking.
Daring me to fuck her right here in the shower.
I don't look away when I finally touch her, slow enough to make her press her head to the wall behind her. The water's roaring, the music's pounding, but all I hear is her breathing change.
"Careful," I say, my thumb tracing lazy circles on her clit. "You keep giving me shows like this, you're not gonna be able to stop me."
Her mouth curves, but she doesn't speak. She just moves against my hand like she's teasing me right back.
I hold her there, keep her pinned, keep the pace exactly how I want it. Until she forgets all about her damn music and the only song she's moving to is mine.
Her head tips back, water streaming down her face, her lips parted like she's already halfway gone.
That's the moment I lose my control.
I turn her, pinning her front to the tile, my chest to her back, my mouth on her shoulder. I bite down—hard—and feel her shudder.
"You want to dance for me?" I growl against her ear, sliding my hand between her thighs again. "Then you finish it for me. Right here. Right now."
Her hips jerk when my fingers find her, stroking through the wet heat. She pushes back against me, and I reward her with a deeper grind of my palm. The music is nothing now, only background to the sound of her breathing going ragged and the way her nails scrape against the slick wall.
She's rocking against me now, chasing the friction, every move making me harder. My other hand grips her hip like I own it—because I do—keeping her exactly where I want her while I work her with my fingers until her thighs are trembling and her head falls back on my shoulder.
"Tell me," I say against her neck, "did you think I'd watch you dance and not touch you?"
With one hand I unbuckle my belt, unzip my pants and drag out my cock.
She gasps when I slide into her from behind in one hard thrust. The sound she makes is low and filthy, echoing off the tile.
I keep her pinned, my hand around her throat now, tilting her head back so I can see her eyes when I move inside her, slow, punishing strokes that make her whimper and clench around me.
Her hands slap against the wall, trying for balance, but there’s only me. Every thrust drives her forward into the tile and right back into me again. I kiss her jaw, her cheek, the corner of her mouth, tasting steam and skin.
“Is this what you wanted when you were dancing for me?”
I grip her hip in one hand, her throat in the other, holding her exactly where I want her. She tries to push back—tries to take more—and I give it to her in hard, deep strokes that make her gasp every time I bottom out.
“Keep your hands there,” I growl against her ear. “Don’t move them.”
She nods, but the way her fingers flex against the wall tells me she’s hanging on by a thread.
I keep her pinned, every thrust calculated, slow enough to make her ache, hard enough to make her knees go weak.
My thumb strokes lazily over the column of her throat, feeling her pulse race under my hand.
Her hair is plastered to her neck, slick and dripping, and I bend to bite her shoulder, teeth sinking into soft skin before I soothe it with my tongue. She moans—low and breathless—and it goes straight to my cock.
“You like this? Being fucked like you’re mine?”
“Yes,” she gasps, voice breaking.
That single word rips the last of my restraint apart.
I slam into her harder, faster, forcing her to take every inch until her palms slide on the wet tile and she has to brace her forearms against the wall.
My hand drops from her throat to her breast, squeezing, rolling her nipple between my fingers while I drive into her from behind.
Her head falls forward, breath coming in short, desperate bursts. “Please,” she manages, and I know exactly what she’s begging for.
I don’t give it to her yet. I hold her right at the edge, my pace brutal and unrelenting, until her legs are shaking and she’s making broken little sounds that tell me she’s close to losing control.
“Now,” I order, my hand sliding down to her clit, stroking in tight, hard circles that match every thrust. “Come for me.”
The sound she makes when she breaks is pure sin—half scream, half sob—as she clenches around me, her whole body shuddering. I ride her through it, hips grinding deep, chasing my own release until I’m spilling into her with a groan that echoes off the glass.
For a moment we stay like that, her cheek pressed to the tile, my chest to her back, both of us panting while the water pounds over us.
Then I kiss her shoulder, still buried deep inside her. “Next time,” I tell her, my voice low and final, “you start that dance in my lap… so I can finish it before you ever hit the chorus.”