20. Chapter 20 #3
He turns me around, and I brace my hands against the tile as he kneels behind me. The soap slides down my legs, and his hands follow — strong and thorough, working the lather over my calves, my thighs, the backs of my knees. When he reaches my ass, he pauses.
Then his teeth sink into the curve of my cheek, just hard enough to leave a mark.
"Fuck—" I jerk forward, and he holds me in place with one hand on my hip while his mouth works over the sting, tongue soothing the indentations his teeth left behind.
"You'll have a bruise," he says, and I can hear the satisfaction in his voice.
"Good."
He stands, and I turn to face him. Water streams down his chest, catching in the dark hair, and his cock is hard again — jutting toward me, thick and flushed. I reach for him, but he catches my wrist.
"Sit," he says, nodding toward the built-in bench at the far end of the shower.
I sit. The stone is warm from the steam, and I lean back against the wall as he crosses to me, his eyes dark with intent.
He doesn't join me on the bench — not yet.
Instead, he kneels between my parted knees and resumes his so-called cleaning, his hands sliding up my inner thighs with agonizing slowness.
"You missed a spot," I say, breathless.
"Did I?" His fingers brush the junction of my thighs, teasing, and I lift my hips toward him. He chuckles — a low sound that vibrates through me — and finally, finally, his hand presses against my pussy, palm grinding against my clit while his fingers dip inside.
I moan, head falling back against the tile. The water is cooling, but I don't care. His fingers work me with the same methodical precision he brings to everything else, curling to find that spot, his thumb circling my clit in tight, relentless strokes.
"Come here," I manage, reaching for him. "I want you inside me when I come."
He pulls his hand away, and I whimper out loud at the loss.
"I know, baby. I've got you."
Then he's sitting on the bench beside me, his back against the wall, and his hands are on my waist, guiding me into his lap. I straddle him, knees bracketing his hips, and immediately sink down onto his cock in one smooth motion. Like I need it. It really feels like I do.
We both groan. He's a big man and fills me completely, bottoming out in this position. I pause for a moment to adjust, my breath coming in little gasps as I press my forehead to his. Water drips from his hair onto my shoulders.
"You take me so fucking well," he says, pressing a kiss to the corner of my mouth.
"Matt — fuck. I need—"
"I know what you need." He says trailing kisses down my throat. "You need to move."
I do. I roll my hips, finding a rhythm that makes my thighs burn and my breath come in short, sharp gasps. His hands grip my waist, guiding my pace, and his mouth finds my breast — tongue swirling around my nipple before his teeth close over the peak, tugging just hard enough to make me cry out.
His hand slides from my waist to the small of my back, then lower.
His fingers trace the cleft of my ass, slick with soap and water, and I feel one fingertip press against the tight ring of muscle there.
Not pushing — just circling, testing. "Still good?
" he asks, low, against my ear — the question from this morning, the next time arriving sooner than either of us said out loud.
"Yes," I breathe. "Yes, Matt."
"Relax," he murmurs against my breast. "Just my finger. Just the tip."
I force myself to breathe. His finger presses forward, breaching the first ring of resistance, and the sensation is — different.
A fullness I'm not used to, a stretch that borders on too much and then dissolves into something electric.
I clench around his cock and his finger simultaneously, and the dual sensation makes stars burst behind my eyelids.
"That's it," he says. His voice is rough, strained. "Ride me. Take what you need."
I move faster, bouncing on his cock while his finger slides deeper into my ass, and the pleasure builds like a storm — sudden and overwhelming. His free hand finds my clit, thumb working in tight, relentless circles.
The orgasm rips through me, my body clenching around him in waves, and I think I hear myself screaming his name but it sounds distant, muffled by the roar of blood in my ears.
He follows me over the edge moments later, his hips bucking up into me, his finger withdrawing as he grips my hip with both hands and holds me down while he comes.
We stay like that for a long moment, breathing hard, the water running lukewarm over our spent bodies. His forehead rests against my collarbone, and I can feel his heartbeat pounding against my chest.
"Okay?" he asks, echoing his question from our first time, the word muffled against my skin.
I laugh, breathless. "Very okay."
Drake calls at three in the afternoon.
Frey's car's been spotted outside the Garner Gallery. Four hours before the scheduled walk-through, three hours before Ramirez's team was due in position. He is already scoping the location.
I look at Matt across the kitchen where we're still working.
"He's moving faster than we planned for," I say.
"Yes," he says. He is already reaching for his phone.