15. Riley
Riley
Mason lifts me into his arms like I weigh nothing at all, one strong arm tucked securely under my knees and the other wrapped firmly around my back.
I’m still trembling from everything we just did on the bed, my body soft and glowing and wonderfully sore in the best possible way.
Every muscle feels loose and satisfied, yet a fresh wave of warmth keeps blooming low in my belly.
I rest my head against him, listening to the steady, powerful thump of his heartbeat beneath my cheek.
His skin is warm against mine, slightly damp with sweat, and he smells like sex and pure, rugged man.
Every step he takes makes my sensitive breasts brush against the hard planes of his chest, sending little electric sparks racing through me.
I feel so small and protected in his arms, like nothing in the world could touch me while he’s holding me like this.
My thighs are sticky and slick, and the gentle friction of his skin against mine as he walks reminds me exactly what we just shared.
I’ve never felt this wanted before. Never felt this cherished.
Mason turns the water on, and a few minutes later thick clouds of warm mist swirl around us, carrying the faint earthy trace of soap.
He steps into the shower stall with me still cradled against his chest, the hot spray hitting us both at once.
The water is perfectly hot, cascading over my shoulders and back in soothing, steady streams that make me sigh with deep pleasure.
It feels like heaven after the intensity of what we did.
Mason sets me down gently on my feet but keeps one strong arm wrapped around my waist to steady me.
He reaches for the shampoo bottle on the shelf, his big hands moving with surprising gentleness.
“Let me take care of you,” he murmurs, his voice like gravel but full of that protective warmth I’ve come to crave so much.
He pours a generous amount of shampoo into his palm, the bottle making a soft click as he closes it.
Then he works the shampoo into my hair, massaging my scalp with slow, firm circles.
Ahh, it feels so good. His fingers are strong but incredibly careful, working through every single strand until my whole head tingles with pleasure.
I lean back into his touch with a soft, contented moan, my eyes drifting closed as the tension melts from my body.
“You feel so good,” I whisper, my voice coming out breathy and full of wonder. “No one’s ever taken care of me like this before. Not like you do.”
He makes a low, deep sound in his throat, almost a growl of satisfaction, and turns me gently to face him. His hands glide over my shoulders, down my arms, then across my collarbone and over my breasts.
He’s so gentle as he washes me, his rough palms sliding over my skin with soapy warmth.
His thumbs brush tenderly over my nipples, circling them until they tighten into hard peaks again.
The sensation is electric and slow and deeply sensual, making fresh heat bloom low in my belly.
Water streams between our bodies, making everything slick and warm and intimate.
His touch moves lower, over the soft curve of my stomach and hips, then between my thighs.
He cleans me carefully there, his fingers gentle and thorough on my sensitive area, washing away the evidence of what we just shared.
I shiver and lean into him, my hands resting on his solid chest, feeling the strong beat of his heart under my palms.
Mason rinses me thoroughly, his hands never rushing, every single stroke full of care and quiet hunger.
The steam swirls around us like a private cocoon, sealing us in this moment where nothing else in the world exists.
Just his hands on my body, the hot water raining down, and the steady, reassuring beat of his heart under my palm.
I feel completely cherished. Completely safe. Completely his.
When he’s finally done he leans down and kisses my forehead, his lips lingering warmly against my wet skin. “My turn, little one,” he says, voice low and husky.
I take the bar of soap from him, my hands a little shaky with nerves and excitement and leftover desire.
He’s so big, so powerfully built, every inch of him hard muscle and hard strength.
I start at his shoulders, running soapy hands over the broad expanse of his back, feeling the way his muscles shift and flex under my touch.
The water makes everything slippery and smooth, the soap gliding easily over his skin.
I move lower, tracing the strong lines of his spine with my fingertips, then around to his chest. My fingers explore the ridges of his abs, the trail of dark hair leading down, and then lower still.
His cock is still hard, thick and heavy, jutting proudly from his body.
I stare at it, completely fascinated. It’s so big, the head a deep, flushed color and glistening with water and the evidence of his arousal.
I wrap my soapy hand around the base, feeling the incredible heat and the way it twitches strongly in my grip.
Mason groans deeply, his head falling back against the tile wall with a soft thud.
“Riley,” he rasps, his voice strained with need. “You don’t have to do this.”
“But I want to,” I whisper, looking up at him through the falling water and steam.
My voice is soft and full of genuine desire.
“I’ve heard my friend Jessie back home talk about how much men love this.
I want to make you feel good too, Mason.
I want to taste you. I want to take care of you the way you take care of me. ”
He makes a rough, broken sound in his throat, his large hand coming to rest gently on the back of my head.
I sink slowly to my knees on the warm tile floor, the water cascading over my shoulders and back as I lean forward.
His cock is right there in front of me, thick and hard and waiting.
I wrap my fingers around the base again, feeling the heavy, pulsing weight of him, the velvety skin stretched tight over steel.
I press a soft, tentative kiss to the flushed tip, tasting the salty bead of moisture there.
Mason’s groan echoes off the tile walls as I...