Elle
He grabs one of the thin, mini shower heads from the wall before slipping onto the bench behind me. His fingers slide beneath my breasts as he pulls me into the cradle of his hard thighs, then onto them so that his dick is splitting my ass and the slippery head presses against my clit. But he doesn’t push and break my barriers. He’s so thick that it almost hurts, in the best way.
“Lean back, dove.”
I do, falling against his chest as he runs the gentle stream over my head, avoiding my face. The pressure’s just enough to tingle my scalp, then my breasts, then my nipples. When the water trails to my stomach, he hooks his feet around my ankles and pulls my legs apart.
“ Oh! ” I jump when the stream hits my clit but the second it does, I notice something I hadn’t noticed in the car through my stockings. An annoying, fuzzy coat of ginger hair. Fuck. Shaving had been the last thing on my mind at the hospital and Libellule, where I spent every waking hour helping with renovations and pampering my feet.
Heat that has nothing to do with the steamy water or his cock growing slicker by the second beneath me rushes through my veins as I try to close my legs.
“What are you doing?” he asks, spreading me as wide as my legs will allow.
I catch sight of us on the opposite, shiny glass wall. Though our water-splattered reflections are faint, I can still see how crass it looks. How…erotic it looks and feels when he drips the water over my clit again, and this time the sensation is twofold because I’m more exposed.
I grab at his triceps, that flex beneath my hold. “Me? What are you — ”
“I’m washing you, Dove. How can I lather you if you’re not wet first?” he says darkly. “Don’t tell me you’re soaked already?”
The pressure, not just from the shower head but in my core is coiling so tight that I’m going to — I squirm and buck against him but his legs are like fucking lead weights, his calf muscles, so built from ballet flexing as he keeps me pinned open.
His fingers part me, and when he pulls them away a second later, I can see that it’s not water coating them. Not water that stretches between them as he pulls them apart pointedly.
“I — ” A sharp intake of breath cuts off my words.
“You what? ”
I dig my nails deeper into his muscles. “Stop! The pressure is — ”
“Building, isn’t it?”
But the second a wave of ecstasy begins to roll through me, he moves the shower head innocently away.
“Wait!” I grab his wrist, but he lets the head rattle to the floor a second before his foamy fingers are massaging my scalp. It’s so gentle compared to the intensity a moment before, that I can almost drift off to sleep if my clit wasn’t still pulsing, crying at the loss of sensation.
“You told me to stop. Or did you not mean it? Do I need to hear Simon says first?”
I glare into his eyes, which are filled with mirth and haziness that isn’t from the steam.
These stupid fucking games of his.
Like a pouty brat, I ram my head into his chest, which rattles with a deep chuckle as he continues to lather me. It's so soothing that I almost relax. Almost , because then he's stroking down my body, his fingers curling around my neck and ticklishly tracing my collarbones. He works soapy bubbles over my nipples, rolling them between his fingers, and squeezing me tight so that my breasts push together like two slippery balloons about to pop.
His chin digs into my shoulder to watch as he circles the peaks and traces the deep creases underneath before trailing to my belly. The position he has me locked in makes another roll appear in my stomach, much to my humiliation because, of course, he has none. But any embarrassment I feel over my stomach dissipates when he tries to touch my slit again, and his fingertips drift into that fuzz.
I grab his wrist. “I can do that.” I try to dislodge him, but he curls his fingers, causing me to whimper in pain as I tug the hairs, too.
“I’m good at shaving,” he says lowly. “I do it every morning.”
“Like I’d trust you with a blade.”
“You should.” He grabs it off the ledge, and the bright silver gleams beneath the shower lights. It’s not the cheap kind that I buy in packs of three from the corner shop. It’s the kind you need a stone or strap to sharpen. The expensive kind I’d never used before. “Because it’s incredibly sharp. One flick and you could sever your clit. Have you used a straight blade before?” he asks, grazing it down my stomach.
I recoil at the cool touch, suddenly petrified, but since he’s behind me, I only sink further into him.
“I take that as a no. So if you want it gone, I insist on doing it.” He slips from behind me, settling on his knees in front of me. But before he can pull my ankles apart, he looks at my feet, at the dozens of razor-thin scars still halfway healing. Then he’s bending over them, kissing them. Every single one. When he raises his head, his eyes are shiny with unshed… tears?! They sparkle like polished onyx as he massages and stretches them gently, pressing on each stress relief point I’d learned through the physiotherapist’s instructions. Had he learned the instructions, too? His movements are too meticulous not to be rehearsed. Had he practised on me? In my stupor, when I felt tugs at my feet, was that the therapist? Or him?
But then his fingers wrap around my ankles, and he’s prying them apart and sliding me forward until I’m open and just a few centimetres shy from his lips and nose that tickle me with shallow breaths. His elbows dig into my thighs, pinning them flat like he always did in stretch class.
“Don’t move … Simon says, don’t move.”
Each swipe of the razor sends a tingle racing through me as I watch his head between my thighs. As he fingers my clit, moving it left and right to get the closest shave. His slippery thumb slides along my opening, carefully pulling the skin taut. When the tip slips in a fraction, I jump, and he swats me with the flat of the blade, the wet slap sending a shock of terror and boiling heat through me.
“I told you not to move.”
I bite my lip to keep from cursing him and showing him that he has any effect on me. But it’s nearly impossible to remain composed when the blade slides down my right ass cheek, then the left in one precise stroke. Even as he grabs the shower head to rinse the blade he never loses focus on my slit.
I touch his handiwork. Damn, it’s smoother than I ever got it. I can only imagine this must be what a wax feels like.
“It’s so soft,” I say in awe, and before I can stroke myself again, he’s peeling my fingers away and squeezing them in warning.
“What — ”
“Simon didn’t say.”
“Gant — ”
“You’re right, I hate other men and their names. Gant didn’t say.”
I gape at him incredulously. “I can touch myself if I want — ”
Warm water blasts me as he grabs the shower head again, his elbows digging deeper into my thighs to keep them flat. My stomach tightens, my back arching.
“If I’m hands-free, you have to be hands-free too. It’s only fair.”
What the hell does that even mean?
I can’t string the words together to ask as I try to wrench my fingers from his grip, but it’s relentless. My other hand is useless, the energy draining from the limb as it all shoots to my pussy. It’s too much this time, too overstimulating, as I tremble.
“ Stop it ,” I hiss, but I don’t want him to stop or show me mercy.
“That's not how the game works. Gant didn’t say.”
“I’m not playing!” Liar! A moan escapes my lips, and his eyes darken. If I could see his pupils, they’d be pinpricks zoning in on me.
“Of course you are. You set the rules, and I’m following them. I’m not touching you, penetrating you,” he says pointedly at the stream.
“Gant — ” I don’t know why I say his name or why I reach for his neck and force his head lower until I can kiss him. The warm wetness of his mouth makes me that much wetter as I suck on his tongue until I can’t because my moans won’t allow it.
He pulls back, sticks out his long tongue, and lets a slick drop roll onto mine, and I swallow it ravenously.
“Such a pretty baby, drinking from me.” He slaps my ass, and the jiggle sends my clit out of the stream's blast for a millisecond before it’s pummelled again. “Open. Drink more.”
I’m going to explode as I give him my tongue again, and the second I swallow a second time, I know I can’t hold it.
“Gant,” I pant. “ I can’t. ”
He watches me mercilessly for another beat until, finally, he smiles cruelly. “Gant says cum .”
He releases my fingers, pulls back my hood and blasts the stream straight onto my clit and that’s when I lose control. My hands desperately slip and slide across the wet glass walls as my knees hit the tile, shudders wracking me uncontrollably. Still, he doesn’t let up. He devours my lips and swallows my moans.
“If I can’t sink into you, melt into you,” he says between kisses. “Not even my fingers, or my tongue, then just let me smell and taste my pretty pussy. Just a few licks.”
Just a few licks.
“ Please….please let me drink from my cunt.”
I blink down at Gant Auclair. Gant Auclair, who’s on his knees, his black eyes wide, his features twisted like he’s in pain.
“You’re that desperate?” I blurt, and he nods, gripping my thighs tighter.
“I need it. Give me a taste, Dovey, a nibble. Help me get through the night.”
He sounds like a damn addict.
“Why should I?” I ask, still breathless, and the steam only makes it worse. I’m heaving, gasping for air to recover, and he follows the jiggling motion of my tits hypnotically.
“Because I’ve been so fucking good,” he grovels, a deep whine I’ve never heard in his intonation. “Can’t you see how much of a good boy I’ve been? How good I’m being?” His thumb swipes my clit. “My pussy’s right here, soft and open just beneath my nose, my lips. Let me lick it.”
The night’s events come rushing back, and only in Gant’s deluded brain can he think he’s ever been good. But as he pants between my legs, those eye whites visible as he gazes up at me, how can I deny my deranged little fiend?
He leans forward, his forehead grazing my pubic bone as he inhales my scent before uttering pathetically, “Just a few drops. Be merciful, Dove.”
A rush of slick makes me spread myself wider. I grip his neck and push my pussy against his lips. “ says you get three licks. That’s it. ”
The first one is broad, his tongue splitting me but not entering. The second is a fast flick of my clit and on the third, he cheats by latching on, his tongue swiping over it relentlessly. My ass leaves the bench as his fingers grip my ass to cradle me against his face.
“That’s it, baby,” he mumbles between feral licks, completely forgoing my command. “Soak me. Let’s do it together.”
He sucks my clit while his tongue swirls it maddeningly. His fingers leave my ass to press rhythmically on my pubic bone, sinking it low even as my ass creeps higher. On the final push that anchors me to the bench, I erupt, a gush of slick rolling down my walls as something hot and thick splatters me.
The shower head drops from the bench to the floor and for one second I think it’s water shooting up onto my cheek and beneath my chin, but then I look between us at his cock. It's still jumping with aftershocks and covered in just a speck of creamy white. The rest is on the undersides of my tits, my pubic bone, my stomach. But his hands were on me the entire time. They’re still digging into my thighs.
“ Hands-free? ” I mutter incredulously as he rubs my stomach, spreading it like soap. I bite back a moan as he massages it over my nipples, his eyes transfixed at the creamy puffiness as he squeezes them between his knuckles.
“A first.” He’s not remotely embarrassed as he works his sticky fingers over my slit and I know if I’d let him, he’d push it inside of me and paint my walls.
“You like that visual, don’t you?”
“Of me seeping out of the deepest parts of you? Yes. All that work. All that mixing. All that us , dripping out so we can see our efforts right on your greedy pussy. There’s no better visual.”
Tingles shoot through me all over again at his crass words, and immediately, I shut my thighs and shove away from him because I’m keeping my word to myself. I’m choosing me. Protecting me until I can separate my heart from sex, and I’d just pushed the limits. If I went further, I’d hate myself even more, and who can love me but me?
I rinse myself off and get to my jellied legs like nothing’s happened as I grab a towel and ignore his penetrating gaze.
He follows me to the vanity as I pull open a drawer and find what I hoped I would: an extra toothbrush. What I hadn’t expected was rows upon rows of skin and hair care products because they aren’t his, they’re mine . They’re all the products Aria and Stassi had gifted me that I couldn’t afford, but they’re brand new and sealed. All honey and vanilla scents right down to the body oils.
I guess I really was that plain without even realising it.
“You knew I’d come?” I ask softly, not sure how to feel. On the one hand, he prepared for my arrival. On the other, he knew like he knew I’d end back up in his arms. No matter what. And what does that say about me? That despite everything, I’m still here with him.
“I’m glad you didn’t jump to another conclusion,” he says. “Like that I’d ever invite someone else into our bedroom besides you.”
Our bedroom.
I squeeze my towel tighter and open the rest of the drawers, mostly for something to do other than falling into his eyes. There’s even makeup I’d admired from Stassi and Aria.
“Drink this before you brush,” he says as I grip the already-charged electronic toothbrush.
When I look up, he’s holding a blue energy drink. From the condensation on the bottle, it’s chilled. Is there a damn fridge in here? Then I see it, half hidden in the cabinet behind him. Each shelf is lined with chilled skincare products and drinks.
“Why?”
“We’ve been in this steamy room for a half-hour. You just had a big release and a long night of running through a freezing forest in stockings.”
I look at the plus and minus symbols on the bottle as he cracks it open and holds it to my lips.
“You even thought about my electrolytes?” The doctor recommended them for a few days since the medications made me so nauseous I was hardly eating.
“When it comes to you, , I’ve thought of everything. There’s no detail I haven’t considered.”
My intestines clench. Everything? It makes me wonder just how much he knows.
I look into his eyes and can find no answers, just those endless pits.
“Sip it, baby.”
He tugs my hair, tips my head back and presses the bottle to my lips, his thumb on my chin.
I swallow hard and accidentally follow his orders.
How is he always one step ahead? For now.
Maybe I did need Rin more than I thought.
“I want you to be comfortable here with me. Take what you want, whatever you need. Don’t even wake me to ask.”
Wake him to ask?
I stare at his dick that’s already hard again and brushing my navel.
“Do your skincare, dove,” he says, glancing into his fancy mirror that never fogged. “I’m about to do mine.” He rubs his fingers, still sticky with our slick, across his lips like he’s applying his nightly lip balm.
The toothy grin as he does so sends my heart racing.