Chapter 19
CHAPTER 19
RAVEN
W ater cascades over Earl’s taut shoulders, dripping down his chest and along the lean lines of his body. He doesn’t move, but his eyes devour me from afar. It’s as though he’s daring me to come closer, to break the barrier he’s so carefully erected between us.
The heat of the shower wraps around us, steam curling in the sizable stall.
I’m trembling—partly from the desire that’s been simmering under my skin all day long, partly from the emotions twisting inside me. My mind is full of the memory of the ravenous desperation with which he kissed me earlier—God, he kissed me like a starving man. It made me breathless and filled my heart with hope. But he stopped suddenly, as though terrified of what might happen if he let it go any further.
Now, as he watches me, I see that war inside him again. The way he loathes me, yet can’t seem to stay away. It’s that obvious hesitation, that struggle, that is what gives me courage. Maybe one day he’ll break and tell me why he pushes me away so vehemently. Why is he so furious at me?
But right now, all I want is him. To feel him. To let this tension between us snap.
I take a step forward, and the water streams over me. I’m close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body. His chest rises and falls sharply and his jaw is tight. Still, he says nothing.
Brushing my fingers against his wet skin, I gently push him so he is leaning against the tiled wall. He doesn’t stop me, just keeps watching as if I’m not quite real, a phantom that could vanish at any second.
Without a word, I lean forward, pressing my lips to his chest. His skin is warm and wet, the faint taste of him still not washed away by the water. I hear his sharp intake of breath, and feel the way his body stiffens under my touch. My lips trail lower, slow and deliberate, savoring every inch of him. I kiss the dip of his collarbone, the curve of his pectoral, the hardness of his abdomen. Each kiss feels like a small victory, a crack in the armor he is desperately trying to keep intact.
When my lips brush against his nipple, his head tilts back slightly, a low, guttural sound escaping him. It’s a sound I’ve heard from him before, one that never fails to make my knees weak. Emboldened, I swirl my tongue over the hardened peak, and his hands fly to my shoulders, gripping me tightly as though trying to anchor himself.
I glance up, meeting his gaze, and the sheer vulnerability in his eyes almost undoes me. But I don’t stop. I kiss my way lower, sliding to my knees on the wet tiles. The water droplets clinging to him glisten like tiny diamonds, and I’m struck by how utterly beautiful he is. He’s watching me, his chest heaving, his lips parted slightly as though he wants to say something but can’t find the words.
My hands trail along his thighs, trembling slightly as I take his gorgeous cock in my grasp. He’s heavy and hard, and I can feel the pulse of his arousal against my palm. I look up at him again, searching his face for any sign of protest. There’s none. Just a desperate, raw hunger that mirrors my own.
Slowly, I take him into my mouth, my tongue swirling over the sensitive tip. He groans, his head falling forward as his fingers tangle in my hair. The sound sends a thrill through me, and I take him deeper, savoring the way he fills me, the way his control begins to slip.
“Raven,” he rasps, his voice strained and thick with need. His hands tighten in my hair, guiding me, urging me to take more. I obey, letting him press deeper, letting myself become intoxicated with his taste and smell. He’s completely in control now, and I love it. I love that he’s letting himself go, even if just for this moment.
His hips begin to move, shallow thrusts that he tries to hold back but can’t. I relax my throat, letting him in further, and the sound he makes is almost feral. His hands grip my hair tighter, and I can feel him trembling, his restraint hanging by a thread.
“Look at me,” he commands, his voice low and breathless. I do, my gaze locking with his as I take him as deeply as I can. His eyes darken, his jaw tightening as he watches me, the intensity between us crackling like a live wire.
The feel of him overwhelms me—the smoothness of his skin, the pulsing heat against my tongue. Every inch of him seems to demand my attention, his arousal filling my senses. The faint saltiness of his seed, the musky scent of him in the steamy air—it intoxicates me, leaves me craving more. I can’t get enough, as though every part of him is designed to draw me further under his spell, to make me lose myself completely.
I pull back just slightly, wrapping my hand around his length to stroke him slowly, deliberately. My fingers glide from the base to the tip, slick and firm as I keep my lips and tongue working on him. I savor every reaction, the way his body jerks against me, how his breathing falters. Then I trace my tongue down the elegant line of his shaft, tasting every inch, letting it glide lower until my lips reach the heavy weight of him.
I press kisses there first, soft and reverent, before taking one of his balls into my mouth. The new sensation makes him groan, low and guttural, and I can feel his hand tremble in my hair. His reactions send a thrill through me, a wave of triumph, a surge of pride. I’m unraveling him. I’m making him come undone.
I suck harder.
When he finally spills into me, his release is shuddering and violent, his whole body tensing as he emits a strangled groan. I swallow every last drop, my own body humming with a strange mix of ecstasy and gratitude. Without his help, I wouldn’t have been able to schedule my father’s treatment. It had been the greatest source of pain and worry in my life; that I would lose my beloved father simply because I couldn’t afford his medical bills. But Earl made that terrible burden magically disappear. No matter how difficult he made things for me, I won’t forget this amazing thing he did for me and my father.
As I rise to my feet, my legs shaky, I meet with his gaze once more. There’s something different in his eyes now, something softer, more vulnerable. He reaches out, his hand brushing against my cheek, and for a moment, I think he might say something. But he doesn’t. Instead, he pulls away, retreating behind his walls once more.
"Turn around," he murmurs, his voice low, barely audible over the sound of our ragged breaths.
I hesitate, my heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. But there’s no mistaking the command in his tone. Slowly, I turn, my palms finding the cool, slick tiles of the wall. My breath hitches as I feel his hands on my hips, firm and grounding, guiding me into place. His touch sends a shiver down my spine, anticipation coiling in my belly like a spring about to snap.
"Hands on the wall," he says, his voice rougher now, more urgent.
I do as he says, bracing myself as the heat of his body presses against me. The angle bends me slightly forward, and I can feel the weight of his gaze burning into my skin. My breath comes in shallow gasps, the tension between us almost unbearable.
I reach back and my fingers wrap around his length. He’s so hard and so impossibly smooth. The way he throbs under my touch makes my knees tremble. The sound of his sharp inhale is a reward in itself, spurring me on. I stroke him slowly at first, teasing, savoring the way his hips twitch toward me, the way his breath hitches with each deliberate movement.
"Don’t stop," he growls.
I don’t.
I trace my fingers along his shaft, down to the base, and then lower still, my lips curling into a smile as I hear the low, guttural noise he makes. The air was thick with steam and the raw scent of desire. His hips jerk, his control slipping further with every touch.
His fingers slide down my body and brush against the slick, swollen folds of my sex. I gasp, my body arching into his touch as he strokes me with a precision that leaves me trembling. The wet heat of his fingers sends sparks shooting up my spine, and I can barely keep my balance as he teases me, pushing me to the brink. His fingers slip into me.
"You’re so silky," he murmurs, almost to himself, and I hear the awe in his voice.
"Please," I whisper, my voice trembling with need. I don’t care how desperate I sound. I just need him—now, completely, without reservation.
He answers without words, his fingers withdrawing only to be replaced by something much larger, much harder. The head of his cock presses against me, its size stretching me even before he fully enters. Slowly, deliberately, he sinks in, his hands gripping my hips tightly.
He’s so thick and seems to go so impossibly deep. I can feel every inch of him as he fills me completely. I brace myself against the wall, my breath coming in shallow, broken gasps. He doesn’t move at first, just holds himself there, buried inside me as though savoring the moment.
"Fuck," he groans, his voice raw.
"Fuck me, Earl. Fuck me," I beg, my voice barely audible.
That’s all it takes. His hips pull back, and then he thrusts in, slow and deliberate at first, as though testing how much I can take. But there’s no need—my body welcomes him, drawing him in with a hunger that matches his own. The rhythm he sets is almost tender, a stark contrast to the raw, animalistic need that burns between us.
Eventually, the tenderness gives way to urgency and his thrusts become faster and harder, each one driving me closer to the edge. The sound of water and our bodies colliding fills the stall. I cry out, unable to hold back the sounds of pleasure that spill from my lips, and his hand moves to cover my mouth, muffling my cries as though reminding me of the danger of being overheard. It’s an act of habit, something we’d had to do in our younger years so as not to get caught. There’s no need for it now, but it warms me either way. It’s almost like he’s lost in that time. It’s too easy to remember, impossible to forget, just how good it was—just how good we both felt to the other.
Fucking like this completely dissolves the antagonism between us, making it seem as though no time has passed at all and we are still the other’s soulmates. I melt into him on one particularly brutal thrust, my eyes rolling back, my back arching. He glues his body to mine, his hard hand curving around my waist like a vice as he keeps me from sliding down to the floor, like the pool of wax my entire body mass seems to have melted into.
His body rocks against mine, each thrust sending ripples of wonderful sensation through me. I cling to the wall for support, my fingers splayed against the slick tiles as he drives deeper, harder, until the world narrows to just us—him and me.
“Earl,” I gasp, his name spilling from my lips like a prayer. I feel as if I’m drowning in him and he must feel it too because his hands grip my hips like he’s afraid I’ll disappear. The tension coils tighter and tighter until it’s unbearable. He leans forward, his breath hot against my ear.
“You feel so fucking good,” he mutters, his voice hoarse, almost broken.
That takes me over the edge. My head falls back against his shoulder as my climax crashes through me, violent and unrelenting. It pulls his name from my throat in a desperate cry.
His arms wrap around me, one hand cupping my breast as his thumb brushes over the hardened peak, the other splayed across my belly, holding me against him. I feel him everywhere, his strength, his heat, the steady rhythm of his thrusts as he chases his own release. His fingers tighten on me, grounding me as I spiral in the aftershocks of my pleasure, my body trembling uncontrollably.
“Raven,” he growls, his pace quickening, more erratic now, and I feel it building in him, the way his body tenses, his breaths coming faster and rougher. I reach back, my hand finding his cheek, and he turns his head to press his lips to my palm, the gesture so tender it steals my breath.
When he finally comes, it’s with a force that makes him shudder against me, his grip on me unyielding as he spills inside me. The heat of him, the way he buries his face in the curve of my neck, the relentless spray of water falling on us as he groans my name feels like coming home.
As the last tremors fade, he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he holds me, his chest heaving against my back, his lips brushing over my wet skin in a way that feels almost reverent. I close my eyes and for the first time in what feels like forever, I feel whole.