My Rose

19. Rose

Chapter 19

Rose

“All right, boy, skewer me. I’ve dropped my defenses, I’m an easy victim. Why, by now your arrows practically know their own way to the target and feel less at home in their quiver than in me.” ― Ovid

W armth curled around my shoulder and lay under my cheek, the steady beat under my ear soothing.

“Good morning, babe.” Briggs’ voice was sleepy, but it warmed me all the same as his body stayed pressed to mine.

“What happened to sleeping on the floor?” Not that I wanted to see him on the floor. Especially not with his bruise.

His fingers traced the curve of my shoulder, his tender touch conflicting with the rough texture of his hands. “You didn’t want me on the floor, Rose.”

“I never said that.” Did I?

“No? I must’ve imagined it then.” His lips quirked into a sly smile. “You seemed too comfortable in my arms for me to move to the floor. You fell asleep pretty fast. I think I got through maybe two pages before you were out.”

“And you just let me stay like this all night?” Heat flooded my cheeks, a mixture of embarrassment and something else that came alive whenever I thought about him. “I didn’t mean to, I’m—”

“Yes, you did.” His arm wrapped around me tighter, pulling me closer. “I hope the next words out of your mouth weren’t about to be ‘I’m sorry,’ or I’d have to rectify a few things.”

My brows pinched together. “Like, what?”

He shifted his hold on me. “For one, I’d have to remind you to stop apologizing. You don’t need to, and you didn’t seem the least bit apologetic about being this close to me last night.”

“Is there a two?”

“There is.” He swept his lips over my forehead, then slid out from beneath me and walked over to his dresser.

I turned toward his bookshelves. “Are you going to tell me what that is? ”

“No, babe. I’m going to go take a cold shower, and you are going to stay right there and wait for me to get back.” He grabbed a few pieces of clothing, then tossed his head over his shoulder. I hadn’t moved an inch, just as he ordered.

“Good girl.” The smile he gave melted me from the inside, my veins pulsing with liquid fire as the door clicked shut behind him.

Knowing he was behind that door, naked, made me want to go up to the door and peek through it. I was willing to bet he looked like a god under the water. I’d never wished to be a droplet of water before, but suddenly that’s all I wanted to be just so I could curve in and out of every hard, defined ridge of his body. Especially the parts further south.

I bit down on my lip and reached for my phone, turning my mind back to my friend who’d wronged me of losing my virginity the night before.

Rose: I can’t believe you told Briggs I was a virgin.

Jasmine: Was? Damn, that was fast.

Rose: Am. Was. Was and am.

Rose.: You suck.

Jasmine: I didn’t tell him, girl. He can probably just idk tell, honestly.

Rose: What is that supposed to mean? How can someone just tell?

Jasmine: Well, can you tell if he’s a virgin?

Rose: There’s no way in hell he’s a virgin.

Jasmine: There’s your answer, girl.

The water turned off and I tucked my phone away like it suddenly caught fire in my hand. The mahogany door opened, revealing Briggs in a low-slung towel, tousled, wet hair falling down over his forehead. Beads of water dripped onto the floor from the ends of his hair, mimicking the way my jaw had fallen at the sight of him. His abs and the deep cuts on either side of his hips—along with the bruise—were on full display. It was the first time I’d ever gotten an unobstructed and unfiltered look at him. He was beautiful—more like the actual personification of sex appeal or one of the Greek statues I studied. And his tattoos—each one that covered his arms made clear his appreciation for ancient art as they sprawled up and over his shoulders, reappearing along his sides. All except for the thorns that weaved in and out and the clock on the back of his bicep seemed to fit his chosen theme which oddly fit one of my biggest interests. Those thorns though—they caught my eye at the diner, but something about it felt more personal than I wanted to ask about.

“You didn’t move.” He smiled faintly at me as I snapped my mouth closed.

“Nope, I stayed.” My voice cracked as I tried to pry my eyes from the grooves along his hips, envisioning what they led to. “Didn’t you already grab what you needed?”

He leaned against the dresser, eyeing me over in amusement. “I did. I just wanted to see if you listened.”

“Did you expect me to not?” I sat up and crossed my arms.

“Kind of. You have a knack for not listening to me if you haven’t noticed.” The edge of his lips curled but then dropped as he moved to the foot of the bed. I silently begged for the towel to fall, for some drastic surge of air from one of the several vents in his room to force it down, or for his movement to shimmy the towel to his ankles .

I swallowed, struggling to keep my focus on his eyes. “You don’t always have the best reasons for telling me what to do.”

“Is your safety not a good reason?”

I worried down on my lip, thinking back to his previous commands—getting in his car late at night, letting him drive me home, taking me away from parties, and taking away my phone when I was going to call someone he hated. Someone who turned out to be a really shitty person. I released my lip and rolled my eyes. “Fine. I guess you do have valid reasons. But I didn’t have a reason to not listen to you just now. Where was I going to go, wander your house without you?”

I expected him to laugh or smile, but he exhaled deeply and pressed his palms flat to the top of the footboard, a look of vulnerability donning his perfectly formed face that was so new to me, it was startling. “No. I figured you’d come to your senses and leave.”

“You thought I would leave?”

“Yes,” he replied pointedly like I was the insane one for questioning it.

“Why would I do that?”

The tip of his tongue darted over his bottom lip. “I’m not a lucky man, Rose. Being with you—it’s probably the luckiest I’ve ever been.” That vulnerability he was lying bare to me was still there. My stomach knotted.

Compelled to right it all, I lifted on my knees and moved to the edge of the bed, meeting him as he stiffened beside one of the posts. He sucked in a breath through his teeth as I touched the curve of his jaw. “I want to scream at whoever made you feel like you have to have luck to get anything you want.”

A crease formed between his brows briefly, and then his eyes lit up as he smiled. “I do love it when you scream.”

If my cheeks weren’t on fire before, they certainly were now. I gently smacked his cheek, and his smile widened. “Stop joking so much, I’m serious. I’ll even make you a deal. I won’t apologize anymore, and you will stop thinking you deserve any less, that you are no good for me. I’ve seen what no good is and had the harsh reality of it slapped in my face, but you? You’re one of the good ones, Briggs.”

His touch was warm as he cupped my neck, his full lips brushing over mine into a soft kiss. It didn’t matter what amount of pressure he applied to my lips—every kiss sent electrical zaps throughout my body.

“You slap me but then call me ‘good.’ What do I get if I’m bad?”

I narrowed my eyes and landed another subtle slap. “A harder slap,” I answered, burying the urge to ask what I’d get for being good like he called me earlier. I pressed my thighs together at the thought—that heat settling low, making me ache for him. He glanced down to where my knees were clamped shut, and I cleared my throat. “How are you feeling?” My fingers trailed down to his side, finding the bruise and stroking as delicately as I could.

He groaned deeply. “Better,” he said, taking my hair between his fingers at the nape of my neck. “Much better.” A rough tug tipped my head back, giving Briggs access to kiss in a calculated, slow line down my neck. My legs shook, the ability to keep my knees and thighs pressed together becoming harder. Briggs stopped along the curve of my neck and shoulder, where his lips and tongue worked to lick and suck in an area that made me feel weightless.

I gasped. “Briggs, you’re going to leave a mark.” I couldn’t stop the moan that left my lips as he demanded more, his tongue lapping along my skin between the sharp stings from his teeth.

He paused long enough to answer with a sound that reminded me of an animal—a masculine groan erupting from deep within his chest. “Good,” he supplied, then went back to the same spot as I let my body fall apart in his hands. His mouth—fuck, his mouth was incredible. I wanted him to do that everywhere—to lick, and suck, and tease me until I melted into an indeterminate puddle at his feet. If this was anything like what sex with him would be like, I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to leave. I’d live in his bed until the end of time.

When he finally pulled back, and I came back down from the heavens, I wasn’t sure what to do with my humming body. My limbs no longer existed as I sagged back onto my heels.

“Fucking beautiful.” Briggs shook his head as he turned to walk back to the en-suite. As I snapped out of my daze, I had to cover my mouth to hide a gasp before he fully stepped into the en-suite and closed the door. Besides the fact that his back looked like he’d just been attacked by some feral animal, I was more stunned at the tattoo that sprawled his entire back. I’d only seen pieces of it at the gas station through the open sides of his shirt, and beyond knowing one existed there, I hadn’t taken a look at what it actually was. I stared down at my fingernails, my heart sinking as fast as it had reached pure bliss because across Briggs’ back was a tattoo of the Greek titan Atlas, posed bending forward painfully as he supported the weight of the very world on top of his shoulders, just as he was forced to do by the gods themselves.

A knock sounded a few minutes after Briggs went back into the bathroom. I paused, unsure if I should be the one to answer, but the knock came again—this time, more rhythmic. A practiced knock Briggs would more than likely understand, yet I remained clueless.

I walked to the door and pulled it wide open.

“Sorry, I was looking for—”

“Rhonda?” Briggs was beside me in seconds. His brows furrowed as he looked back at her. “Is everything okay?” The worry in his voice made me melt a little more for him. His dad might not have taught him kindness, but he learned it all the same. Better than most.

“Everything is fine.” Briggs stepped past her to look down the hall. “He’s not going to be home for a while longer. They have advised not to be on the roads for now,” Rhonda added.

“What—” My thoughts abandoned me as I rushed to my phone.

“It’s the snow, isn’t it?” Briggs asked while walking over to the window. He shifted the curtain to the side as Rhonda nodded while looking at me and where I stood beside the bed. I had one lengthy text from my grandparents, letting me know they were worried at first, but then they saw my location and assumed I was with the heir apparent and was safe .

I really needed to start watching the news, or at least the fucking weather report.

“There was a storm last night?” I asked.

Rhonda nodded again. “Yes. At least seven inches of snow fell overnight. They are saying it will be twelve inches by tonight.” I turned to look at Briggs, surprised to find a sense of relief in his posture. “I also have breakfast ready for you both downstairs.”

“Thank you, Rhonda. We’ll be down soon.” She nodded again and reached for the knob, pulling the door closed.

“I didn’t know there was a storm coming.” I sat on the edge of his bed, tapping my fingers on the back of my phone that rested on my thigh. The mattress dipped beside me, Briggs no more than an inch from me.

He was quiet for a moment before he asked, “Will you be okay staying here?” Staying? I fell back on his bed, and not two seconds later, he was lying beside me, propped up on his elbow as he looked down at me.

“I don’t have to work for another three days. I just have to call my grandparents. They’ll be worried about me if I don’t.” I was more than old enough not to have to call and check-in, but it would mean a lot to them if I did.

“Okay.” He watched as I lifted my phone and called them. He watched as I confirmed I was with him and that I was safe—which made him smile—and he watched as I asked if they were okay. When I hung up the phone, he was still watching me.

“What? Do I have something on my face?” I wiped my hand over my cheek .

He caught my hand, and I noticed he didn’t flinch from moving his side like he had the day before when he shifted with quick movements. “No, Rose. Nothing is on your face.”

“So you were just looking at me?”

“I was admiring you. There’s a difference,” he clarified.

His eyes trailed down as he continued his admiration. Unlike what August’s gaze and touch did to me, his was more than welcomed. I didn’t feel dirty or like bugs were crawling on my skin, thinking only of an escape. The sensations Briggs put my body through were quickly becoming an escape. I sucked in a breath when the back of his fingers found my side and then slid down and down.

“What are you doing?” I whispered, my breaths becoming uneven as his hand moved back up to just beneath my breast.

“Thinking,” he replied. “Envisioning.” His hair was still damp from the shower, and some strands had fallen in a way that covered a part of his forehead. It was a different side of him, a less controlled side than I’d seen before. All of it was. Staying at his house had opened my eyes in ways I wasn’t expecting. I wanted to run my fingers through his hair, tug him down on top of me, and wrap my legs around him. I just wanted him, all versions of him . Everywhere.

“Envisioning what?” My voice came out choppy, like my breathing.

“You.” He leaned in to kiss my neck, and I all but stifled the crazed moan that almost shot from my mouth. “Are you still curious if I shower in oranges?”

Yes. “Maybe.” He bit down on my earlobe, and my toes curled in. Against my shoes. Shit, I was still in my shoes ?

“Do you want to know what else I did in the shower?” His breath was warm as it danced over my skin. I really wished he hadn’t gotten dressed. “Did you hear me, Rose?” He kissed my neck, then bit down over the mark he’d made earlier, just enough to bring out that moan I’d stifled before. “Do you want to know what I did to myself in the shower? What things you made me do?”

I nodded and his hand started to trail up further. His palm met with the underside of my breast, cupping it firmly. Possessively. I pinched my eyes closed and arched into his touch, my body demanding more, just as badly as my mind was. My lips parted, my breaths as heavy as the air in the room. And then, all of his warmth suddenly left me, and I opened my eyes as he stood and walked into the bathroom, leaving me with the fire he’d stoked.

I didn’t know what to do. I lay there, panting and pressing my palm to my chest as I tried to calm the storm that was brewing inside me.

He stepped back into the room, and seconds later, his body was between my legs. He bent down over me again, this time covering my entire body as he rested his weight on his elbows. Still, noticeably no flinch from any pain on his side. Maybe he wasn’t lying before. Jasmine told me to find my Lois Lane, but I think I just became that Lois Lane in the equation because Briggs sure seemed a lot like Superman. And holy shit, Superman was between my legs.

“I’m grabbing our breakfast and bringing it up here.” The steady stream of water hissing in the background brought me back to Earth. “I left a towel out for you. Feel free to wear whatever you want in my closet. Just leave out the clothes you’re in now for Rhonda to get and wash for you.” He kissed my cheek and then abandoned me all over again. I swear the room spun. One minute, he looked ready to tear into me. The next, he was telling me to go shower in his bathroom. “Oh, and about what I did in there?” I sat up, meeting his gaze that had darkened several shades. “I guess you’ll just have to use your imagination.”

He winked, and everything in me turned to goo.

The second he left his bedroom, I bolted for the bathroom. Stripping down like my life depended on releasing the heat in my body, I got right into the obscenely large walk-in shower. That pressure in my body went nowhere as I found the soap that smelled like him. Several minutes went by where I was rubbing the orange-smelling soap everywhere I could, trying to picture what Briggs looked like in the shower, what parts he rubbed the same soap all over, but struggled when I got to the part he’d kept hidden beneath the towel. That towel . It might be the new unwanted object in my nightmares besides the grandfather clock I’d hidden in and flames that taunted me.

I pried my eyes open beneath the water, my gaze skirting over to the mirror across from me. The reflection had an unobstructed view, my naked body standing in the shower behind floor-to-ceiling panes of thick glass. The marble along the walls made the room feel colder than it was—so unlike my 1980s retro-fit bathroom that still had wallpaper, though it was peeling at the top by the ceiling from the moisture over the years. My eyes fell to his bedroom through the mirror, one of the posts from his bed and the almost regal armchair only increasing the magnificence of the space, along with… oh no.

I never closed the door.

My heart raced as I looked at the towel on the counter, then back at the door, then at the towel again. The faint sounds of his bedroom door opening caused me to freeze in place before I could exit the shower.

Wrapping my arm around my breasts, my other hand flew up to cover my mouth, like he wouldn’t be able to find me exactly where he told me to go, with the door wide the hell open. I saw trays of food stop mid-air before I could see his body, and then the trays went back.

And then he came into full view—sans trays.

My hand fell from my mouth down to cover my—

“Stop.” My splayed hand stopped on my stomach, my knees locking together. I stayed still as Briggs stepped into the bathroom and made his way to the counter, leaning back against it with a predatorial look about him that made me shiver. He glanced down at the towel beside his hand on the counter, then back at me. Biting down on his smirking lip, his perusal continued down while my heart thundered under my ribs.

“Briggs, I—”

He tapped a finger to his lips, silencing me as he continued. The veins in his arms shifted as he looked up at the ceiling and gripped the edge of the counter, where his knuckles turned as white as the snow outside. I believe he muttered fuck, but I wasn’t sure over the sounds of the water. Or maybe it was all the blood rushing through my body and settling right behind my eardrums .

“Get back in,” he ordered. Briggs’ head rolled back down from the ceiling at the same time I moved my hand that had been covering my breasts to push the hair from my face, my forearms feeling no better than sandpaper to my sensitive, peaked nipples. The 'fuck' he gave this time was much clearer than the first. But I still didn’t move my feet. His eyes moved to the bathroom door, then back to me. He shook his head, that smirk turning wicked. “Get back under the water, baby.”

I rolled my lips in and stared back at him. His eyes tracked my movement as I side-stepped my way back until the water hit my arm, rippling over my right breast and down my stomach. Pressing my eyes closed, I let the water continue its assault on my taut body, doing nothing to ease the ache of knowing he was standing there, watching me. Though I could no longer see him, I could feel him. I could’ve sworn I heard the splash of each water droplet exploding on the tile once it left my body. Allowing one eye to peek at him through the now steaming glass, my breath hitched at the sight of his eyes cutting through as if no amount of fog could get between what he wanted. The way he was looking at me, I wasn’t sure anything would stop him from whatever he was envisioning doing.

Yet, he wasn’t moving. He stayed there, looking almost tortured, like a trapped lion in a cage too small to contain him.

A barely audible question cut through that barrier. “Don’t you want to go eat?” Before I could watch him leave, I shifted my wayward focus to the way the shower hummed as I stepped completely beneath it, lifting my head and closing my eyes to finish rinsing off the orange soap that still bubbled in my hair and on my skin. Focusing on the scent was harder as I peeked again— he was still standing there . I’d never felt that type of empowering freedom before—seeing what my naked body was doing to him.

“Not hungry for food anymore.”

Running my fingers through my hair, I blurted, “Well then, join me if you want.” I’d intended to make it sound like a joke, but it came out more like I was putting myself up for auction, begging him to come closer. I pictured him in the shower more times than I could count since the night he kissed me. 'I’m a big boy' never sounded so hot before that night.

My eyes flared open when I felt his touch on my side. His touch was —

“Rose,” Briggs said as he stepped in closer. His fingers grazed over the burn mark along my ribs, his head towering above me. The water from the shower began to roll from the back of his head to the tip of his nose like he should have been in a commercial selling some erotic form of a super-soaker. “You shouldn’t have said that.” That joking tone I’d tried and failed for—I doubted he even tried . He’d been clutching the countertop so hard just moments before, anchoring him to the spot like it was the only thing keeping him from doing what he was doing now. That surge of empowerment was reaching new heights as he looked between us—nothing but the thick air of tension in those inches of space.

My fingertips poked into his soaking shirt as it clung to the hard ridges of his body, my hand working up to the side of his neck. I glanced down, noticing his sweatpants were still on. “Your…your clothes. Don’t you want to take them off?” A large tent in the fabric drove me to keep my focus there a moment longer, and I swallowed at the visual before snapping up to meet his eyes.

His head tilted to the side as his touch trailed further down, just like his eyes had done when he took in my body. “No,” he finally let out, but it looked like it took a lot of effort for him to come to that conclusion.

I frowned all too noticeably. “Why?” I was a virgin, and I’d never actually seen a naked man in person before, but I knew that once I finally got to see Briggs naked, I’d never be the same again.

The rough tips of his fingers prickled just beneath my navel. “I told you, not in this house.”

I sucked in my bottom lip, desperately wanting to see him change his mind. After waiting at least five torturous seconds with no movement, I whispered, “So why are you in here with me?”

“Because you asked me to.” His hand moved down inch by inch, his touch conflicting with the texture of his hands so much that I could almost mistake it for the water. I gasped when those skilled fingers stopped right above my…

“Are you wet, Rose?” The way he spoke made my thighs clench together. A desire I’d never known before roared to the surface.

“I’m in the shower, so…yes?” It came out like a question. I wasn’t naive enough to truly believe he was talking about the shower. No, I knew what he was asking. My mind was short-circuiting from the notion of exactly where his hand was trailing down to, the feeling of him being this close with so few barriers became an undeniable rawness that I wanted to explore.

His other hand reached up until he was holding the back of my head, tugging on my hair, forcing my gaze to rise abruptly toward the ceiling and out of the water. I let out a shriek.

He made a noise low in his throat. “I wasn’t asking about your skin, Rose. I was asking if your pussy is soaked for me.” Water droplets kept falling on my chin and neck. I swallowed, wishing the wetness would settle in my throat and on my tongue. I nodded, rolling my lips in as I fought against the desire to stand on the tips of my toes, hoping it would send his hand to where I wanted him most, although I found it difficult to ask for him to move there, to touch me there.

Briggs smirked, and I whimpered, shifting my attention to the tiled wall to avoid feeling even more embarrassed. “Have you ever touched yourself, Rose?” The inflection in his tone softened, and he loosened his grip on my hair when I didn’t answer. I didn’t know how to answer. “Look at me,” he ordered. My gaze darted back to him, his irises thinning as his pupils grew. “Have you ever made yourself come?”

My lips parted as heat flooded my cheeks. His hand moved from my hair, settling along my cheek. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, baby.” Briggs pressed his lips to the edge of my ear, and I leaned into him. “I make myself come right here, in this shower, right where you’re standing.” Another whimper escaped my lips, and he groaned in response. “And do you know who I’ve been thinking about when I fist my cock, Rose?”

I shook my head, still unable to form coherent thoughts into words that would pass my lips. He pulled his head back, his brows furrowing together before he yanked my head back further like I’d given a wrong answer. “I think about you. I think about—” His other hand slid further down until his finger rested right above my slit, but instead of sinking into me, he landed a slap, and I gasped at the roughness of it. “That. I think about the sounds you’d make as I touch you.” Briggs slid his finger along the edge of my slit, eliciting a growl from deep in his chest as he leaned in close to my ear once more. My eyes fluttered, the tension pooling low in my stomach reaching unprecedented levels. “I think about how wet you’d be just from my fingers. I think about how you’d feel wrapped around my cock as I fuck you so hard, you’d forget to breathe.” A single finger entered me, and I moaned without inhibitions. Water dropped down my face, pooling around my bottom lip as my mouth fell slack.

“Briggs, please,” I begged, my hips seeking more friction as I ground against his hand.

“Fuck, Rose. You’re incredibly tight.” He nipped along my neck—sucking and biting whatever skin he could. I didn’t get a chance to look at myself closely in the mirror earlier, but I was sure I was covered in hickeys as if they formed a necklace, and the fact that Rhonda probably saw them hadn’t even phased me before. I wondered if she was used to it—seeing women come and go from his house, leaving with marks like cattle being sent in for branding. I quickly pushed those thoughts out—he said he was mine as much as I was his, and I believed him .

“I am?” I blushed harder, overcome with embarrassment at my question and the intense amount of slickness between my thighs that had nothing to do with us being in the shower.

I could hear his teeth grinding together as he replied, “So fucking tight for me. All for me.” My skin was on fire, my body going weak in his hold. “Is this how you touch yourself?” I yelped as he jerked on my hair, his finger pushing in deeper, curving in not-so-gentle strokes. When he started making circles along my sensitive clit with his thumb, my knees almost buckled to the floor. “Is this what makes you come? You like fucking my fingers, imagining it’s my cock buried deep inside you?”

The steam floated down around us, blurring my vision. My head fell forward onto his chest, my breathing becoming erratic and my brain turning to mush. Were all men like this? Did they all use the words he did as they did what he was doing? “I can’t hear you, little viper. You’re usually more talkative than this.”

Little viper? “Yes,” I moaned as he pressed in harder, the heel of his palm now slapping my clit with every thrust. I winced as what I pictured was another finger was added, but the pleasure quickly took over. It was too much, yet not enough at the same time.

“I won’t fuck you for your first time in this house. But I can make your cum drip from my fingers as you beg me for more. I can get you ready to take me when the time is right. Would my good girl like that?” Oh. Shit. His voice was husky, like he was barely holding himself together as the pressure quickly built between my thighs, my brain firing off nerves I didn’t know I had. My other hand moved to support my body against him, and when my fingernails dug into his chest through the sopping fabric, he moaned.

“Please, Briggs.”

“Please, what?” His two fingers curved up inside of me, wringing as much pleasure as he could from me, making me whimper into his chest. He pulled his fingers out of me only to slap me roughly over my parted core, making me cry out before he plunged them back in. “What do you want, Rose?” His grunts were strained, his control slipping at a dizzying pace.

“Mo…more,” I begged. My hand reached over his shoulder as I fought to get closer to him, but he pressed deeper into me at the same time, keeping me from feeling his body against mine. Even though he was clothed, I wanted him closer. Needed him closer.

His thumb started to circle faster and then slowed. On and off, he switched the speed and pressure, and it was driving me to the brink of insanity. “Has anyone ever touched my girl like this?” I tensed up, and his fingers stilled. “Am I the first person to touch you like this?” he asked as he pulled my head back from his chest by my hair. I whimpered as he rotated his wrist, wrapping my hair around his knuckles. I looked at the wall, unable to admit just how inexperienced I was.

“I am, aren’t I?” His hand rotated again, pulling my head back to look at him. “Tell me my hand is the only one you’ve fucked besides your own.” I nodded, but he tightened his hold on my hair and shook his head. “Stop avoiding the fucking words and use that beautiful mouth of yours, Rose. Tell me I’m the only one who has touched you like this. ”

“Y-yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, you’re the only one that’s ever touched me.” His eyes flared, and then his lips were on mine, his tongue ebbing with each cry of pleasure. His fingers started moving again like the reward they were, my legs growing immensely weak under his touch.

“My Rose,” he whispered against my mouth. “You’re all mine, do you hear me?”

“Yes,” I breathed out. “God, yes.”

His hand released my hair and wrapped around my back, then went lower until his forearm rested at the base of my spine. Seconds later, my thigh was raised by his force, my back arching as it met with the wall of the shower. I whimpered again as I anchored my leg around his waist, his hard body pressing me deeper into the cold tile for more leverage, which only added to the insane amount of pleasure he was delivering elsewhere. I instinctively linked my hands behind his neck, trying to hold on as he continued to drive his fingers into me in a way that kept stealing my breath and thoughts.

“Fuck, your cunt is so perfect.” He was breathing just as hard as I was, the new angle of my legs allowing him to reach further inside me. “I want to hear you tell me exactly whose pussy this is.” His fingers kept working me in harsh thrusts as his arm moved to support more of my body, his hand firmly cupping my ass.

“Y-yours.”

“That’s it, baby girl. Mine.” He glanced between us at my breasts, where more water flowed over. “You’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen, but waiting for you will be worth it.” He released my leg to slap the side of my breast, and I whimpered more at the sensation, my nipples growing uncomfortably too tight as the weight of them swayed from his torment.

“Briggs, I’m close.” I let my head fall back against the tile, every nerve ending bursting at the seams.

“I know, Rose. Come for me. Come undone for the man that owns your perfect little cunt. Mark me as yours.” His tongue swept into my mouth the moment the pressure became too much. His thumb moved to flick, and my leg started to tremble. My explosion came hard and fast, his bruising fingers digging into the fleshy part of my ass while his eyes locked onto mine. I fell apart for him as he held me there, watching me come undone—all for him.