Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
Emily
Iset Grady down on the teak bench in the downstairs bathroom and turn the shower on full, adjusting the knob until the water runs hot enough that steam begins to rise in thick curls before I turn back to him.
His shirt buttons are mismatched, the top one through the second hole, and ink stains his fingertips. Three days of writing will do that. I work the buttons open one by one. The fabric parts, and I push the shirt off his shoulders to uncover the faint flush riding his collarbones.
When I drop to my knees, the tile is cold through my jeans. I hook my fingers into his belt, and he lifts his hips without being asked. The jeans slide down his thighs, past the knee that’s swollen and stiff, and I ease them over his ankles.
His underwear follows. He’s already semi-hard, and my breath catches. Drool floods my mouth, and I grip his thighs as I lean forward to wrap my lips around him, salt and heat flooding my senses.
There’s no finesse, only the raw need to have him on my tongue and feel him thicken to full hardness with every slow, deliberate stroke.
His breath leaves him in a hard rush, and his hips thrust up into my mouth as he grips my hair.
His thighs flex under my palms, the muscles jumping each time I take him deeper, and heat pools between my legs.
When I drag my gaze upward, I find him staring down at me heavy-lidded, his mouth fallen open, the composed and private man dissolved into want.
His breath hitches, his muscles tensing, and I pull back before he gets there. His cock slips free with a wet pop, and a protest leaves his lips.
“Not yet,” I murmur as I rise to my feet.
“Hurry up,” he demands, reaching for my belt. “Undress.”
I help him, my boots, jeans, flannel, bra, and underwear hitting the tile floor. Naked, I step into the shower first, the hot spray hitting my shoulders, and reach back to pull him in after me.
He follows, using my hands for support, before transferring to the grip handle mounted at hip height on the tile. A fold-down teak bench, built flush into the wall, offers additional support if needed.
Every accommodation I built into this bathroom I designed to support Grady, and he takes advantage of them without any sign of shame.
I fill my hand with shampoo. His golden hair is matted from days of neglect, and I work the soap through it with both hands, my fingers finding his scalp beneath. He tilts his head back into the pressure, eyes closed, and moans with pleasure.
When I finish washing him, he sits on the bench and takes the soap from me. I kneel without being asked, and his soap-slick palms glide over my shoulders, across the muscle of my back, and down the dip of my spine with a thoroughness that heats my skin beneath the spray.
Then his hands skate around my ribs to cup my breasts, thumbs circling my nipples, and my head tips forward to rest on his shoulder. He rolls them between his fingers, and when I rumble with pleasure, he urges me to stand and draws one of my knees onto the bench beside him.
“I hope this thing can handle both of us,” he murmurs, drawing me forward.
“It can,” I gasp as his mouth finds my right nipple.
Warm, wet suction draws me into his mouth, and I moan deep in my throat. He switches to the left, his tongue circling the hard peak before he sucks hard enough that my hand shoots out to grip the handle next to his head.
His hands trail down my stomach and pause at my hips. His wet lashes flutter. “What do I do?”
Without a word, I take his hand and guide it between my thighs.
He takes the direction without hesitation, and two fingers thrust into me while his thumb finds my clit.
The first stroke is careful, testing, but grows firmer when he discovers how wet I already am.
His mouth finds mine in a deep kiss that moves down to my jaw, my throat, sipping the water from my skin as his fingers spread inside me, finding the angle where my breath quickens.
When I reach for his cock, he catches my wrist and holds it away. “Not yet.”
My stomach tightens at the firm note in the command as he keeps his focus on me, reading every shift in my breathing and adjusting his pressure and rhythm to drive my pleasure higher. His thumb circles my clit while his fingers work, and my hips jerk.
“I’m close,” I warn.
His thumb circles my clit again as he continues to hit that spot, over and over. With a gasp, I come, and my entrance swells to lock around his fingers as my inner walls pulse.
Grady groans at the sensation. “That’s — God, Emily, that’s intense.” His fingers work through the grip and release of my muscles. “I can feel every pulse. Every single one.”
When I try to take him in hand a second time, he again holds me off, and the sensation of him remaining perfectly still while my body milks his slender digits draws a shudder from me.
With his fingers still buried deep, he asks, “How long does it last without a cock inside you?”
I swallow at hearing such a vulgar question from my gentle Beta. “The lock needs something to hold. It eases faster without the full engagement.”
“I want to feel it again.” His gaze never wavers as he waits for the lock to release. “Now that I understand what to expect, I want all of it.”
The memory of the pain I caused him rises, and I tense, afraid I’ll hurt him again.
Grady reads my hesitation. “Please, Alpha? I want it.”
The words cut straight through me. From his mouth, in that tone, with the water running between us and his fingers still inside me, I can’t refuse.
And the small, knowing smile that crosses his lips tells me he understands exactly what those words do to me.
Bending, I kiss him, driving him back into the tiles with the force of it.
He groans into my mouth. “Take me to bed, Alpha.”
I towel Grady dry first because his skin is still pink from the hot water, and he’s shivering despite the steam.
My hands move across his shoulders and down his chest, the terry cloth catching every drop.
Then his legs, his hard cock tempting me, but I learned my lesson in the shower.
My Beta has a plan, and I won’t ruin it for him.
He stands still for it, one hand on my shoulder for balance, and when I finish with him, I dry myself quickly before tossing the towel over the shower rod.
I walk him out of the bathroom and to the bed, where a simple linen duvet covers his queen-size bed.
The sheets are cool when I pull them back. “Lie down.”
He does, and I arrange the pillows behind his shoulders before I lift his left leg and extend it straight, supporting the knee with a folded towel from the wardrobe.
His good leg bends, foot flat on the mattress. “I’m fine, Em. Really.”
I give him the look, and his mouth closes as he settles into the pillows without another word.
When I’m satisfied with the position, I straddle his thighs and take him in hand, giving him a couple of firm strokes. He groans, and his eyes close for a second, then open to fix on mine with a desire that tightens my stomach.
I position myself and sink onto him, moaning as he fills me, hot and thick. I’m still sensitive and swollen from my earlier release, and my inner muscles clench around him, learning his shape.
His hands find my hips, urging me into motion, and I roll my hips, testing the angle.
His grip tightens, fingers digging into the meat of my hips, and he pushes me back down onto his length.
We set a rhythm, deep and rolling, my body doing all the work, keeping the strain off his bad leg. Each downward stroke draws a groan from him, his hands flexing and releasing.
I shift forward, changing the angle, and his head sinks into the pillows. His breath goes uneven, his hips thrusting upward.
“I’m not going to last,” he gasps out, apologetic. “Em, I’m sorry, I —”
“It’s okay.”
My fingers find my clit and circle, sending heat coiling low in my belly. My pace quickens, my thighs working, each downward stroke deeper than the last, and I don’t look away as I push myself back toward the edge.
His breathing goes ragged, his hands on my hips bruising, and his chest rises fast.
The orgasm hits full force as my inner walls clamp down around him in deep, rhythmic pulses, and the sensation tears a moan from my throat.
Grady groans, driving deeper, and his whole body shudders through his release. Hot cum floods my channel, and his hands lock on my hips, holding me in place.
“Fuck, that’s incredible.” His hips give another aborted thrust. “God, Em, that’s—”
I lean down, and my mouth finds his. He kisses back with the urgency of a man who’s just discovered an entirely new side of himself, and my lock is still holding him deep inside me while we both come down.
His hands move to my back, pulling me closer, and I shift carefully so my knees support most of me.
We lie locked together, his heartbeat steadying. I lie half-draped across him, one arm braced beside his head. The gray morning light has strengthened, filling the bedroom.
Then his stomach rumbles, loud enough that we both hear it, and Grady groans. “Sorry. I can’t remember when I last ate. How long will we be stuck like this?”
I tuck my face into his shoulder and laugh at the impracticality of our situation. “We probably should have grabbed food before coming to bed.”
He laughs, his whole body shaking beneath me, and he turns his head to kiss my temple.
“Next time, we’ll plan better,” he says, his voice quieting. “And when your Rut comes again, I’m going to be there for all of it. Taking care of you.” He cups the back of my neck, fingers threading into the hair at my nape. “I intend to be better prepared.”
I lift my head.
He stares back with certainty, unafraid, and the last of the fear I had arrived at the cabin with this morning dissipates.
I kiss him again, slow and thorough, my mouth moving with his. He holds me there, one hand on the back of my neck, the other spanning my spine, until my body yields around him, the grip easing until he slips free.
Carefully, I shift down to draw his right knee into my lap and work my thumbs into the joint with slow, careful pressure, checking for new stiffness. The muscle yields under my hands, and Grady lets out a soft sound of relief that tells me I’ve found the right spot.
When his stomach rumbles again, louder this time, we both laugh.
“Food,” I say.
“Food,” he agrees, covering my hand on his knee and squeezing once. “Afterward, we’ll take a nap together.”
My lips part to protest. It’s Monday, and there’s work to do.
“Please, Alpha?” he asks, tilting his head to the side to expose his throat, and my mouth closes.
What my Beta wants, my Beta gets.