Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
ARENA
Who was he trying to kid? He’d come within two seconds. Bath time wasn’t going to last much longer than that. Well, maybe it would. Usually it took men some time to re-prime…especially with a cannon his size.
I glanced at his ever-present hard-on as he turned away, and I felt a moment of concern. Why didn’t it ever go down? Even if I was the first woman he’d been with, it should have wilted a little after popping one off in my ear.
It didn’t matter. Once I gave him a handjob, he’d probably want to nap like most men did post dip-drip-and-dash. If the door hadn’t been broken, he likely would’ve passed out already.
Although I never again wanted to repeat an infected interrupting oral time, the experience had been a little hot.
The blissed-out look on his face and his premature misfire had backed up his claim that I was the first girl to blow him.
I couldn’t really blame my predecessors for refusing the daunting task.
He was more than a mouthful. It could get dangerous if he were the forceful type.
I was banking on him being honest about preferring willing women.
Picking up the pitcher, I carried it to the bathroom. He arrived with a steaming pot of water. I plugged the bathroom sink and had him pour it in there. While he refilled the pot, I added cool water and put a towel down on the tiled floor.
My plan was simple: use the pitcher to wet him down in the shower, soap him up, and rub him until he came again. If he didn’t hit me with anything, I’d be nice and help him rinse. If he hit me again, he was on his own.
I already had my clothes off when he returned.
His hungry gaze swept over me.
“Into the shower,” I said. “The ceiling height is impressive. We might be able to set up a temporary shower in here. It won’t be hot like if we have power, but it’ll be decent.”
As I spoke, I moved to stand in the tub with the pitcher of water.
He joined me, his expression a mix of uncertainty, anticipation, and curiosity.
I poured water over his front sparingly, then set it down to reach for the soap.
Hands lathered, I started washing. He watched me, his gaze taking on a slightly unfocused edge.
Why did I like that so much? It made me want to touch him more.
My hands slipped down his chest to his abs. I had to add more water and more soap. But not when I went lower. Fisting him with both hands, I stroked his length, turning my wrists when I reached the tip.
He closed his eyes.
His breathing grew harsh.
“Arena. I—”
“You were interrupted last time. Just relax and let it happen.”
The words barely left my mouth when the first high-velocity blast hit my stomach.
He grunted. His hands closed over my shoulders, and his hips jerked forward.
I kept stroking and twisting, my rhythm unhurried and unchanged as it came shooting.
And shooting.
And shooting.
How much could he possibly have in him? This was the second time in less than an hour.
Maybe I really was his first. Well, first human. It would make sense, honestly. He was a bit scary to look at. I looked up at him, seeing his parted lips and heavy, adoring gaze, and felt a jolt of heat. He wasn’t scary anymore. He was…hot. Tempting.
I swallowed hard, more turned on by him than I would like to admit.
He groaned and leaned in to set his forehead against mine.
“What do you think? Is it still dirty?” I asked, not stopping.
“Yes,” he rasped.
Intrigued, I kept going. His breathing returned to normal, but not his cock. It didn’t deflate.
“Are you taking pills or something?” I asked.
“No,” he said, his fingers rubbing my shoulders. Silent encouragement to keep going? It wasn’t needed. I was fully invested and needed to know how many times he could come before his sledgehammer unsledged.
The soap started to dry on his chest. I rinsed him and kept going, once more lathering the part I was rubbing clean.
He came again.
No deflation.
I took a quick break to turn off the water on the stove, heated up what was in the sink, and gave him another “wash.”
Another orgasm.
It was just as intense. Just as plentiful. But it did seem to take a minute or two longer.
I rinsed and repeated seven times before I realized something was seriously wrong with him.
“If we keep going, you’re going to be sore.”
He nodded, looking unhappy.
“Are you already sore?” I asked. “You should have told me to stop.”
“I never want you to stop touching me,” he said quickly. “I don’t mind being a little sore. It is a good sore.”
Pretty sure I wouldn’t agree with him if the roles were reversed.
“Here. Let me wash you,” he said, taking the pitcher and pouring the warm water over my front. “My seed will dry and make you itchy.”
“It’s okay. I can wash myself,” I said.
He had his soapy hand on my belly before I could stop him, though. His big, warm hand felt really good as he rubbed slow circles over my skin. I was pretty sure I had a glazed-over vacant look in my eyes now, too.
Warm water washed down my front. He smoothed his hand over me, making sure all the soap was gone, then his fingers trailed lower to brush over my hair.
My breath caught, and my gaze flew to his.
“Can I wash you?”
He wasn’t just asking. He was waiting for an answer, his fingers not going any farther.
“Will you stop if I ask you to?”
The hungry intensity in his gaze had me doubting his quick promise.
How long had we been in the bathroom? Long enough for Gwen and Lettie to see the bra? Maybe. Did I want to take that chance? No.
“Yes, you can wash me…until I’m not willing anymore.”
His fingers brushed over my hair again, and I felt a thrill of anticipation. How long had it been since someone else did this for me? Too long.
Ready to see what he could do, I parted my legs just enough to give him access. He made a soft sound, like a growl, that sent a thrill through me. His hand slipped lower. My pulse picked up at the first brush of his fingers between my legs.
I watched his awed expression, his pupils blown wide, as he teased my folds apart.
The moisture he found there wasn’t only from the water.
Playing with him had been good for me, too.
I hadn’t realized how much until his fingertip grazed my clit and I almost fell over from a jolt of pleasure so intense my knees wanted to give out.
With an arm circling my waist, he pulled me to his side, lifting me and tucking me close.
“Relax,” he said softly. “I will hold you.”
The change of angle gave his hand more room to move. To explore. I rested my cheek on his chest as his fingers continued to tease me.
His finger traced several slow circles around my clit and dipped into my entrance, drawing more moisture before returning to my sweet spot. Heat spread outward as the pleasure I felt climbed higher and higher.
“Can we take this to the bed?” I asked without considering what that meant.
He left the shower with me, his finger not missing a beat. The danger of what I’d asked for didn’t register until he set me onto the comforter, his hungry gaze pinned to where he was touching me.
Would he press for more once I came? Would I have the sense to stop him?
Did I care?
I closed my eyes, focusing on his fingers. A warm gust of air on my breast had me arching. His lips brushed my nipple.
“Yes,” I breathed, my fingers delving into his hair, silently demanding he take the sensitive peak into his mouth.
He didn’t need any more coaxing than that. His lips parted. The hot wash of his exhale added to the storm growing inside of me. He sucked my nipple at the same time his finger slipped into my opening.
“Yes.” I lifted my hips, trying to impale myself.
His finger retreated, denying me the penetration I wanted by returning to my clit. Any disappointment I felt was very brief.
I climbed closer to that magical cliff, rotating my hips, tugging his hair, and occasionally begging. Just “please.” I lost the ability to articulate more than that somewhere along the way.
When his finger returned to my opening again, I was desperate. I needed penetration.
I grabbed his wrist and thrust my hips upward, fucking myself on his finger. It went deep, filling me in the best way.
And then he curled it, pressing right where I needed it.
I broke apart with a scream that he covered with his mouth. He kissed me hungrily, his finger still deep inside of me, drawing out one of the best, most needed orgasms of my life.
As it faded, an infected groaned and banged on the window, tearing me from my bliss.