Chapter 11
Selene
I want him.
It’s insane.
I just met him. I haven’t done anything with any man before. But this isn’t just a man.
He’s dominance incarnate.
Towering height. Corded muscle. Tattoos so intricate they tell silent stories across his skin. His five o’clock shadow along his jaw. And fuck, that deep, brooding stare makes my stomach clench.
I trace my hands down his broad chest, feeling the hard ridges of his abs—all eight of them—following the trail of dark hair leading to the deep cut of his V.
His boxers are already tented, thick beneath the fabric.
I bite my lip.
He’s holding his breath. His whole body tight as my fingers dance along the band of his boxers.
I look up at him through my lashes, licking my lips as my hands tease at the fabric.
A large, calloused hand wraps around my wrist.
Not stopping me—guiding me.
He presses my palm to his cock, letting me feel all of him.
I whimper, my thighs clenching at the hard length beneath my fingers. But it’s the metal that makes my breath stutter.
Piercings.
I can feel them along the underside of him, teasing against my palm.
His other hand grips my chin, tilting my face up so I have no choice but to drown in his blue gaze, pupils blown wide with hunger.
“What do you want, malyshka?” His gravelly voice scrapes against my nerve endings, sending a full-body shiver down my spine.
“I-I want to taste you,” I whisper, my voice breathy, needy.
He nods once. Releases my chin. My hand.
I drop to my knees, the hot spray of the shower beating down my back.
Slowly, he tugs his boxers down, and holy fuck.
My eyes widen.
Thick. Long. Heavy against his lower stomach. And those piercings.
Eight of them.
“I’ve never done this before.” Never even wanted to the voice in the back of my head adds.
I hesitate, flicking my gaze up to him, waiting for his disgust.
But his head tilts back, and he groans.
Groans.
“Don’t worry, dusha moya,” he rumbles. “Take your time.”
I swallow hard and wrap my fingers around his base. His cock twitches in my grip, and a bead of pre-cum leaks from the tip.
I lean in, licking it away.
His taste spreads over my tongue—salty, masculine, addictive.
His hands slam against the shower wall.
A dark chuckle rumbles from his chest. “Fuck, moon.”
Encouraged, I circle my tongue around his tip, then along his base teasing the metal, before I wrap my lips around him and suck.
His whole-body tenses. A sharp inhale.
I take him deeper, sliding my tongue along the ridges of his piercings, reveling in the way he shudders.
Slowly, I work more of him into my mouth. Breathe through my nose. Relax my throat.
He’s so big.
I barely take half before he nudges the back of my throat. My fingers squeeze the thick base still in my grip, my mouth hollowing as I suck harder.
“Fuck.” His head drops forward. “That’s a good girl.”
The gravel in his voice makes my pussy throb.
I whimper around him, desperate, my free hand sliding between my thighs.
I rub slow, tight circles over my clit, moaning as I match the rhythm of my mouth—sucking, licking, stroking faster.
One of his hands tangles in my wet hair, not forcing, just holding. As he watches me.
My core tightens.
Pleasure builds, coiling low in my stomach. I take him deeper, swallowing around him.
“I’m going to come down that pretty throat,” he rasps. “And you’re going to swallow every drop.”
I moan my agreement.
His cock pulses—thick, hot, throbbing—then he spills with a deep, guttural growl.
I cry out as my own orgasm crashes over me, my body trembling, my thighs squeezing around my hand as I swallow him down.
Every last drop.
“You, lyubimaya, are a godsend, and I’m not even a believer.”
I giggle as Kaz pulls me to my feet, his strong hands steadying me. His lips brush against my forehead before he captures my mouth in a kiss—hot and possessive. I whimper as his tongue claims mine, my fingers gripping the hard muscles of his biceps.
Too soon, he pulls away, but my lips chase his, desperate for more. He chuckles darkly, shutting off the shower before stepping back.
I grab some towels and turn to find him watching me, his gaze locked on my body, lingering on the curve of my hips and the swell of my ass.
“You like what you see, big guy?” I tease, winking as I shimmy my hips.
Kaz grunts, shaking his head with a smirk. “Too much.”
Just as he steps toward me, his expression turns serious. “We need to restitch your wound.”
Right. The bullet wound.
I sigh, walking over to the counter and awkwardly hopping onto it, my body still sore. “There’s a first aid kit in the drawer,” I point out.
Kaz grabs it, stepping between my legs, his fingers grazing my thighs as he rests his hands there. His eyes soften—just a little—before he reaches for a disinfectant wipe. “Do you—”
The door bursts open.
“Oh, good. Here I thought I’d find you two trying to kill each other.” Dario’s amused voice fills the space.
Kaz doesn’t even blink. “Unless moya malyshka sucking my soul out of my cock is considered trying to kill me, then no.”
I gasp, my face heating, but I can’t help the breathy laugh that escapes me. The shock on Dario’s face makes it even better.
“Well, glad you two have been busy.” Keir’s voice is smooth, but there’s an edge beneath it.
He steps into the bathroom, his hazel eyes flicking between Kaz and me.
His clean-cut bearded jaw tenses as his gaze lingers on my body—on the fresh bruises, the cuts, the way Kaz is standing between my legs.
His gaze darkens. “What exactly are you two doing?”
“Kaz was just about to restitch my wound,” I explain, my pulse kicking up for an entirely different reason now.
Keir steps closer, his presence thick in the already-steamy room. “Without anything for the pain?” His voice is low, smooth.
“I, uh… yeah. Should be fine.”
Keir stops beside Kaz, his body radiating heat. My heart hammers as his large, calloused tattooed hand glides up my thigh, slow and deliberate. I inhale sharply, my legs instinctively clenching around Kaz’s hips.
“You’re already wet, princess,” Keir murmurs, dragging his fingers along my inner thigh, so close to where I ache.
Kaz presses a cloth to my wound, and I exhale shakily.
Keir’s fingers stroke higher, brushing against my slick heat. “I think you need a distraction,” he whispers.
A whimper escapes me as finger strokes me, sliding through my wetness with a slow, teasing stroke. My hips jerk forward, seeking more. The sharp sting of the needle pushes into my skin at the same moment Keir presses a single finger inside me.
I cry out, my head falling back, pleasure and pain mixing into something dizzying.
Dario curses. “Jesus fucking Christ.”
Keir groans, his finger flexing inside me. “Fuck, you’re tight.”
His eyes widen slightly, “Untouched.”
Heat coils low in my stomach as he curls his finger just right. My free hand flies up, tangling in the back of his hair, my body rocking into his touch.
Kaz hums in approval. “She takes pain well,” he observes, tying the last stitch.
Keir slides a second finger inside me, his thumb circling my clit. “Of course she does,” he murmurs, watching my face.
A desperate moan rips from my throat, my pussy clenching around him.
His fingers retreat, and I whimper at the loss—only to gasp when he pinches my clit before he brings his fingers to his lips and licks them clean, his hazel eyes locked onto mine.
“Tastes even better than I imagined.”
My breath hitches.
Kaz winks at me. “Your stitches are done.”
Then walks out of the bathroom but I barely process it.
Because Keir just dropped to his knees.