Chapter 11
RETH
The shower glass is fogged, but not enough. Not nearly enough.
She’s under the spray, head tilted back, water sluicing over her bare shoulders, down the elegant line of her spine, over the perfect curve of her ass. Droplets cling to her like they’re as obsessed as I am.
My cock throbs at the sight—thick, heavy, already leaking for her.
I slide the door open. Sophia startles, turning, eyes wide for half a second before recognition melts into something darker. Need. Relief. That hungry little spark I’ve come to crave.
I step in, crowding her against the warm tile, her lips already parted, cheeks flushed. The water hits my back, hot and relentless, but it’s nothing compared to the heat rolling off her skin.
“I hate missing you.” I lean down close. “Missing you is a different kind of hell for me,” I rasp against her mouth then take it—deep, claiming, tongues sliding like we’re still on that rooftop and the rest of the world can burn.
The way she moans into my mouth, the way her hands rake down my chest—it’s too much and nowhere near enough.
I break the kiss, my fingers threading through her hair, tilting her head back to expose her throat.
I trace my tongue along the sensitive skin there, earning another desperate sound from her.
When I pull back, her breathing’s ragged, and I reach for the soap, lathering it slowly between my palms until the steam carries it—fig and iris, warm and green and the scent of the city layered over the woman she already was.
Sweet at the edges, cool at the center. Something that takes a moment to fully open.
Paris on her skin. Her underneath it.
Both at once.
“Turn around.”
Slowly, she does, and my gaze roves over her, my cock impossibly hard.
I start at her neck, thumbs pressing into the tight muscles there, then drag my soapy hands down her shoulders, over her arms, along the sides of her breasts without quite touching where she wants me.
Down the dip of her waist—that beautiful curve I’ve memorized from years of distance and weeks of proximity and every point between—her skin indescribably soft beneath the lather, warm from the water, warm from her. Over the flare of her hips.
“You said you’ve fallen in love with me.” I almost choke on the words. “It would be so much easier if you hadn’t.”
She glances over her shoulder. “I don’t want love that’s easy. I want love that consumes.”
“Until it hurts?”
“Even after that.”
I drop to my knees behind her, water pounding across my shoulders like a benediction, and my hands glide over the backs of her thighs, then up again, spreading her just enough.
I wash her slowly, reverently—fingers slick with suds tracing the crease where thigh meets ass, then lower, between her legs. There's an automatic roll of her hips, her ass pressing out toward me, and on my knees behind her, I go completely still.
God.
She does it without thinking. That's the part that destroys me—not the movement itself but the absence of decision in it. The way her body just knows, just reaches like it’s pure instinct.
I run my palms up the backs of her thighs again.
Slowly. Deliberately. Then over the curve of her ass, spreading the lather, fingers pressing in just enough to feel the give of her, and she does it again—that small, helpless roll, chasing the pressure, her hands finding the tile wall in front of her like she needs something to hold on to.
I press my mouth to the small of her back.
“Again,” I say against her skin.
She makes a sound that isn't quite a word, and her hips roll back again, more deliberate this time, and I slip one hand between her legs, gliding against her pussy, letting the lather slide over her swollen lips. There’s a quiver in her thighs when I touch her clit with the pad of my thumb—once, twice, just enough to make her whimper and push back against my hand.
For a moment, I simply watch her, watch the glide of water sheets through the valley of her spine. Watch her ass clench and ease, the small arch at the top, the way she tries to breathe through the building pressure.
I press my lips against her ass, drag my tongue along her wet skin, then turn her around.
Her back hits the tile; our gazes lock. And I see it immediately—the want in her hands, the way her fingers hover at her sides, uncertain. She wants to touch me. Doesn't know if she's allowed. Doesn't know where.
Her eyes drop to my shoulders, my arms, then come back to my face with that specific expression she gets when her professional brain and her body are having two completely different conversations.
While still on my knees, I take her hand, guiding it slowly, watching her face the whole time, and press her palm to the back of my head—fingers threading into my wet hair.
It’s the same way she did in the dining room when she looked up at me and said this is yours like she meant it down to the bone.
“Here,” I say quietly. “Keep it here.” I hold her gaze. “Don't go lower.”
She understands, and her eyes soften with it.
I stay on my knees—the only throne I’ll ever kneel at—and look up the length of her. Worshipful. Starving. She’s flushed, nipples tight and begging, water streaming down her body like liquid silk.
My tongue traces the wet line down from her navel to her hip bone, soap beading on my lips as I draw slow circles. Her stomach tenses, her breath quickening with every inch closer, and keeps her hand exactly where I left it.
My nose nudges right where the slit of her pussy starts—soft, warm, slick with more than just shower water. I breathe her in, slow and deep, letting the scent of her cunt fill my lungs like smoke.
“I’ve dreamt about this every night,” I rasp, voice rough with months of deprivation. I close my eyes and nudge again, firmer this time, dragging the bridge of my nose down her folds, then curve my tongue, licking her all the way up until the tip brushes her swollen clit.
Her hips jerk. A broken sound escapes her throat.
I do it again, slower, savoring it, parting her with the flat of my tongue like I’m memorizing every inch I missed.
I lick her like she’s delicate and filthy at the same time—slow, sensual strokes that tease her entrance, circle her clit, then slide back down to taste her slick.
Every time her thighs start to tremble, every time her fingers tighten in my hair and her breath turns into those desperate little whimpers that make my cock throb painfully against my stomach, I pull back.
I press a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the crease of her thigh instead. Let her cool. Let her ache.
It’s a beautiful kind of torture, this tension that only heightens as I keep her right at the edge, refusing to let her tip over yet.
“Reth… please… I’m so close—”
“I know.” I nudge my nose against her again, right at that perfect starting point of her slit, rubbing it in lazy circles while I speak against her wet flesh. “I know exactly how close you are. I can feel it. I can taste it.”
I lick her once more—long, slow—lapping at her inner lips, dipping just inside her cunt, then swirling around her clit until her knees buckle and she’s grinding against my face.
Then I stop.
Again.
I rise to my feet, water streaming off us both, and pull her against me. My cock slides hot and heavy between her thighs, gliding along her soaked pussy without pushing inside. I kiss her deep, letting her taste how fucking addicted I am to her.
“You’re not coming yet, Cherry-red,” I murmur against her swollen lips, voice dark and low. “Not until you’re dripping down my chin and begging with my name like it’s the only word you remember.”
I shut off the water and carry her straight to the bed, setting her down as I get on, drop to my back, and drag her up my body with both hands locked on her hips.
“Up here,” I growl, voice already wrecked. “Now.”
Sophia’s thighs tremble as she crawls higher, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of my head. She lingers there for half a second—still shy, still sweet even when she’s wet for me.
I don’t let her hesitate.
“Sit. Don’t hover.” My arms hook around her thighs, and I pull her down. “I want your pussy smothering me like you missed me.”
“Oh, God,” she moans, and the second her swollen cunt makes contact with my mouth, I groan like a man who’s finally come home.
Jesus. She’s soaked. Hot. Sweet as sin.
I open my mouth wide and devour her, tongue dragging through her folds in long, greedy strokes while I bury my nose against her clit and breathe her in.
Sophia cries out, hands slamming against the headboard as her hips jerk. “You’re going to kill me with that tongue. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
I lick her deeper, fucking my tongue into her tight little hole, sucking on her lips, lapping up every drop she’s giving me.
“Fuck, listen to how wet you are,” I say against her cunt. “I’ve killed men for less noise than this pussy is making on my face.”
She moans—loud, broken, shameless—and starts rolling her hips.
I encourage every filthy movement, gripping her ass harder, pulling her down until my nose is buried in her dripping slit and my tongue is spearing inside her.
She rides my face like she’s lost every ounce of control, grinding her clit against my tongue, smearing her slick all over my mouth, my chin, my cheeks.
I’m in heaven and hell at the same time.
“You’re making me lose my mind.” Her thighs start shaking violently around my head. “I’m falling apart on your tongue.”
She reaches back, and a breath rushes from my lungs when she wraps her hand around my cock.
I groan against her pussy, my tongue stilling inside her because her touch is almost too much.
“Don't stop,” she gasps, tightening her grip and giving me a slow stroke from base to tip. “Please don't stop.”
I flick her clit with the tip of my tongue, and her hand on my cock falters, then stops entirely as her hips roll faster, chasing the pleasure building inside her.
“Reth,” she cries, voice breaking. “I can't—I'm going to—”
Her breathing turns into desperate little sobs. I can feel her getting close, that perfect flutter against my tongue.
“I’m right there… don’t pull away. I’ll do anything,” she begs, voice breaking. “Please.”
I suck her clit between my lips and growl, “Look down here. Look at what you do to me.”
She looks down, and that does it. Sophia shatters with a scream, grinding down as her orgasm rips through her without looking away from she’s fucking my face.
Her pussy pulses and floods my mouth, and I keep licking her through it—slow, filthy, greedy—drinking every drop while my own cock jerks with a need to fuck.
She’s still trembling when I finally pull her down my body, her slick cunt dragging a wet trail over my chest and abs. I grip her hips, position her right over my still-hard cock, and thrust up into her in one brutal stroke. I bottom out inside her.
“Fuck,” I groan.
Nothing in this world has ever felt like this. Every inch I force inside her meets perfect, silky resistance, her walls fluttering and clenching around my thickness like they’re trying to pull me deeper and never let go.
“Ride me,” I snarl, voice raw. “Take what’s yours.”
Then she starts to move. And fuck… the way she rolls those hips.
It’s slow at first, deliberate, like she’s savoring every thick inch stretching her open. A sinful grind that drags her clit against my pelvis on every downward stroke.
She leans forward, palms braced on my chest, and circles her hips in filthy, hypnotic figure-eights—tight little rotations that make her pussy clench and flutter around me.
“God, I missed this cock,” she gasps, voice husky and wrecked. “Missed how full you make me.”
I grip her hips hard enough to bruise, watching in rapt obsession as she fucks me like she owns me. Because she does. Every roll, every slow, devastating grind has my abs tightening and my balls drawing up tight.
She rises until just the head of my cock is stretching her, then sinks back down with a wet, obscene sound, taking me to the hilt again and again.
Her tits bounce with every movement, nipples tight and begging. Her head falls back, honey hair spilling over her shoulders as she rides me harder, faster, chasing that perfect angle that makes her whimper my name like a prayer.
“That’s it,” I growl, thrusting up to meet her, then grab her tit and squeeze. “Just like that. Fuck me exactly how you need it, Cherry-red. Use me.”
She does.
Her hips roll faster, deeper, more desperate—grinding, circling, slamming down until the sound of her soaked pussy taking my cock fills the entire room. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful or more filthy in my life.
And I let her have me completely.
“That’s it—fuck, just like that,” I growl, voice shredded, rolling and pinching her perfectly pebbled nipple. “Ride me like you own me. Take every fucking inch.”
Sophia’s head falls back, lips parted on a broken cry as she chases her pleasure. Sweat slicks her skin. Her pussy is a vise, and I feel her start to fall apart.
Her thighs lock, trembling violently. Her inner walls ripple and clamp down hard, pulsing around every thick inch of me. She grinds down deep, clit crushed against my pelvis, and shatters with a raw, keening scream of my name.
“Nazareth—fuck—!”
Her cunt spasms violently, gushing hot and slick all over my cock, drenching my balls, my thighs, the sheets beneath us. Wave after wave of her orgasm milks me so perfectly I see stars.
“This pussy has ruined me.” I slam up into her harder, fingers bruising her hips as I fuck her through her orgasm like a man possessed. “I hope it fucking kills me.”
The pleasure hits me like a freight train. My balls pull tight, spine locking, and I come with a guttural, broken roar.
I buck off the mattress as I spill into her, cum flooding her cunt, pulse after pulse, filling her until it leaks out around my cock with every savage thrust. I keep driving into her, grinding hard, forcing every drop as deep as it will go.
It’s violent. Messy. Devastating. And I empty myself inside the only woman who’s ever broken me open.
For a long moment, the only sounds are our ragged breathing, and the feel of our wet cum stained between us.
Not once have I ever thought this possible for me. To want the pleasure, to crave the desire. But it’s all her. Only her.
Forever. Her.
I pull her down against my chest, still buried to the hilt inside her, and wrap my arms around her like I’ll never let go.
“Don’t ever leave me again,” she pants against my chest. “Promise me.”
My heart cracks a little. Bleeds a little. Aches a lot. Because of all the things I can give this woman, she’s asking of me the one thing I can’t.
And it’s the worst fucking feeling in the world.