25. Storm #2
“It doesn’t hurt, Bee,” he whispers, seeing my expression. I lift my gaze to his and he smiles. “It can get wet.” He reaches into the shower and the water comes down with a rush, steam blooming almost instantly.
Still getting used to that.
“And it can certainly . . .” he sweeps his eyes over me, “. . . take it’s time in the shower with you.”
Lifting me down from the counter like I weigh nothing, he slides down my panties. Reminding me of the last time he did this. And if it was any indication of what’s to come, I’m going to melt into a puddle.
I flick my eyes down to his boxers. “You suddenly shy, hotshot?”
“No. Get in,” he commands and there’s only a hint of playfulness in his tone.
I do what he asks. In what’s come to be the only time I do what he asks without question. When I’m hungry for what’s to come if I comply.
He guides me under the spray, warm water coming over my skin, washing away the emotional day. I have my back to him when I sense him step in behind me. His hands on my waist. Pressing me against his front.
I gasp when I feel him.
I flip around, eyes wide when I catch his length. His injured hand is wrapped around it, almost controlling it. “Fuck, Storm.” He pushes me against the cool tile. “You have no idea what you do to me.” He chuckles softly. “I don’t know who’s in more trouble—me or you.”
God, I hope it’s me.
Is it wrong to want this man to ruin me?
His touch turns reverent, deliberate, and my breath catches as his mouth finds mine again.
Claiming me. I tip my head back, fingers curling into his shoulders.
Nothing but heat, steam, and the man of my dreams looking back at me like he’s memorizing me.
Like he can’t believe that for tonight, I’m his.
And a look that quickly shifts into a promise that he’s about to worship me.
“Yes,” I whimper out of sheer need for all of it. “Please.”
I don’t know why I beg. I’ve never begged. But I’m so afraid of this stopping. Of him teasing me then leaving me, that my plea is a direct indication of how weak in the knees I am for this man.
What his confession, what I finally discovered in the last twenty-four hours, did to me, to my self-esteem, my worth, my dignity.
He came for me that night.
He’s come for me now.
And if I could just accept that this isn’t forever—that Silas Thorne is bound to leave again—then I can protect my heart.
I can save myself another decade of pining and regret.
I want to say it out loud.
One night.
Almost like a mantra. But the last time I did that, I ended up cold and alone.
“Get out of your head, Bumble Bee.”
I open my eyes to look up at him. His dreamy blue eyes. “But you’re in my head.”
“Yeah?” He kisses me softly. “What part of me?”
I cock my head to the side. “I’m not worried about that, hotshot.”
“Good, because I’m going to make you come so hard first, this pussy will be ready for it.” He drags his lips along my jaw, stopping by my ear, swiping a finger along my wet center. “She’ll suck me right in.”
My head falls back on an exhale. “Great,” I swallow. “Let’s—let’s give that a go.”
He chuckles, the bastard. Then reaches for something on the shelf. “Turn around.”
I bring my eyes back to him. “Sure you can handle my back to you again?”
He smirks with no response and I turn.
A generous amount of shampoo is lathered into my hair, his fingers raking into my scalp, then pulling me back under the spray to rinse. Soapy suds sliding down my body. He turns me back and I wrap my arms around him impatiently. “Good enough, let’s go.”
He smiles against my lips, growling through his throat like he might just like the idea. But then he reaches for the bar of soap, running it down my back, over my ass, then back up in smooth, tender motions with his right hand. His left holding me like he’s afraid I might slip.
He lets me do the same and even though it’s just his arm that’s hurt, I’m careful with him everywhere. Taking in every glorious inch of him.
“You’re right,” he rasps, turning to face me. “We’re clean.” He smirks. “And if you keep touching me like that,” he growls and kisses me, his erection hard against my aching skin. “Fuck, Storm.” Taking my hand, he sets it on the shower handle. “Hang on.”
“What? Why?”
Hooking his left hand behind my knee, he lifts and holds it against his hip, leaving me wide open for him.
He takes my chin in his fingers and lifts.
“Keep your eyes on me.” His hand dropping is my only warning before he dips two fingers inside me.
I gasp and tighten my grip on the handle as he slides those expert fingers in and out of me, watching as my arousal intensifies, taking pleasure in each pump.
I clench and tighten everywhere, meeting his thrusts with my hips. “Oh—Silas.”
He grips my ass, holding me in place as I come hard on his fingers, crying out as he holds me upright against the cool tile, burying my head in his chest as he drags out my orgasm. I’m breathing hard and still shaking when he sets me down.
“I need to be inside you.”
Shutting off the shower, he attempts to dry me off, but I’m quicker with two working hands, wrapping the towel around myself and grabbing the other for him, starting with his arm, which I dry off gently, then take the same bandage and wrap it for protection.
I’m scared he’ll lose control with me—and I refuse to jeopardize his recovery. “Please be careful,” I whisper.
“With you? Always.”