Stolen from the Hitman: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance(124)

“Good girl,” he husks into my ear before kissing me softly, the water still flowing hotly around us even as his thick girth remains lodged deep within me.

His tenderness is so welcome after our rough sex, and I nuzzle into him, enjoying his praise. It’s strange to have seen so many different sides of this man, sides I’m sure he’s never shown anyone else. And I know he’s seen parts of me that I’ve kept hidden.

“Mikhail,” I whisper, but my word is lost to the pitter patter of the shower, the warm water washing us clean of what we’ve just done.

The roughness of our lovemaking flows so seamlessly into the tender embrace we share now, like the water that runs over our flesh. His thick arms wrapping around me, his mouth finding mine, only the coarseness of his stubble adding any roughness to the moment as his tongue delves deep into my mouth.

We stand like that for so long in the shower, until finally, he softens enough to tug easily from my folds, and he reaches over, grasping some soap and bringing it to my shoulder blades. This killer’s tender, loving hands carefully work away the sweat, blood, and dirt of the hardest day in my life so far.

“Thank you,” I murmur, and he smiles at me, as if he weren’t wiping away the stains of my torture. He acts so pure, so innocent, even though I know he’s not. He’s a cold-blooded killer, after all. But he’s more than that too, isn’t he?

He takes hold of my arms, so thin and slender compared to his thick forearms and bulging biceps. With such tender care, he cleans my rope-burnt wrists, peppering my lips and face with kisses as he moves from one appendage to the other, slowly taking care to clean me from top to bottom. Cupping my breasts one at a time, soaping them up and rinsing away the foam.

Then at last, when he’s done and he seeks to bring the soap to his own body, I interrupt him. Reaching out to wriggle my slender fingers into his grasp and take the bar of soap to do for him what he did for me.

It’s not purely selfless. I love the way his ribbed muscles press into my soapy fingers, and I feel out the deep crevices and beautiful hills of his body. He’s masculine perfection, his body honed in that gym where we first made love, and on the job where he’s saved my life repeatedly, and I’m fascinated by him.

Even as the water grows cooler and goosebumps arise on both our bodies, we don’t want to part. We don’t want anything to disturb this perfect, tranquil moment that’s stretched out between us. He takes the brunt of the cold on his back as my fingers trail down, finding his masculinity, letting the soap cleanse him of my feminine scent.

Despite our recent lovemaking and the chill water spraying his backside, he stiffens in my grasp. That hefty cock in my palm throbbing bigger, thicker, its veiny surface expanding until at last, he’s more than clean and he shuts off the shower.

“Here,” he says, reaching out of the shower to pluck up a towel and wrapping it around me. He’s still dripping, but he picks me up in his arms, carrying me out of the bathroom and into the bedroom nearby. He doesn’t give a damn about the trail of water we leave behind, but he lays me down on the edge of the bed and slowly towels me off before using it on himself. And I get the added joy of watching him stand before me, half-erect, wiping away glistening moisture from his ripped physique.

It feels like the calm after a storm, everything feeling so electric and fresh, and when he tosses the towel aside, I reach for him. I want to feel his weight on mine, to become one again.

“You’re gorgeous,” I say as I look him up and down, drinking in his scars, his beautiful tattoos, his rugged masculinity. I want to lick him all over, to taste his clean flesh, to make him feel good.

He places one knee upon the bed then lifts me up, laying me down in the middle of the mattress before lowering himself over me. Despite all that thick, hard muscle weighing him down, he holds himself up with ease, kissing my lips, my face, my neck, letting his free hand roam over my breasts and torso.

This time, unlike our rough and hard fuck in the shower, he’s gentle and slow, even though I feel his dick so hard and pulsating, pressing along my smooth inner thighs. Mikhail’s rock-hard and throbbing with need for me again already, but he takes his time, exploring my newly cleansed body as if discovering it for the first time all over again.

I feel naked, but not in the physical way, even though I am. It’s like he’s reached into my core and sees me as I really am, all the flaws I try to hide, and simply accepts them. Usually, being naked comes with a sense of vulnerability, but he makes it feel something so much deeper than that.

I watch as his tongue trails along my hip bone, leaving a little roadway of saliva that quickly dries away, and then he kisses closer to my sex and I shiver. I’m already so sensitive from my earlier orgasm, and now, he’s so near to the source of that torturous delight.