His fingers play with my nipples as he thrusts. His eyes are holding mine in the mirror, and there’s no way I can move, no way I can get away from him. I tip my hips back, and he takes this as the invitation it is. And moves faster.
Within seconds he’s pounding me hard. I feel so full and so empty at the same time, and he’s thrusting harder and faster, deeper, and I feel like I’m on fire.
Suddenly he pinches one nipple hard, then lets go of it and reaches around me. The second his fingers touch my clit, fireworks explode, and I scream. I’m nothing but the pulsing, clutching, demanding sensation pouring through my body, the orgasm unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. And I thought the last climax was as much as I could take. This one doubles, triples it, riding waves of pain, pleasure, pressure, and sheer ecstasy.
Cain bites my shoulder. I feel his body go taut, and in the mirror I see his eyes close. Suddenly he’s pulsing inside me, his come spurting hot. A low growl comes from him, and his fingers holding my breast clutch so tight it hurts.
We’re bound together there for a long moment, unable to escape from the wrenching pleasure. Finally I start to feel myself breathing again, and his body loosens a little, easing away from me. He’s still for a long few seconds, then he drags in a slow breath.
“Jess,” he says, and nothing else.
I meet his eyes in the mirror. We’re both quiet for a long time, and then I remember why we’re here together in the first place. Because my father sent his men to teach Cain a lesson.
Shit.
“Cain…” I start, but he shakes his head as if he can tell I’m about to say something serious and he doesn’t want to hear it.
“Shower,” he says, and draws me away from the sink.
I let him lead me into the shower and watch while he adjusts the water. I feel wobbly, like my legs might not hold me, but they don’t give out. When the water starts to fall on us, it feels so good I move into Cain’s arms, letting him hold me while the steam rises.
After a few long seconds with water running down over us both, I lift my head from his chest and lick a rivulet from his tattooed pec—right off the lion’s scowling face. Then I reach behind him and take a bar of soap off the little shelf in the corner.
He watches, curious but not trying to stop me. I run the soap over his chest, down his belly, to the root of his cock. Gently I lather him up, cleaning his shaft. Then I remember he’s not so much into gentle. So I let my nails move over his delicate skin, scratching lightly at the protruding veins.
His head goes back and he lets out a satisfied rumble. I scrub him clean, squeeze him until he’s semi-hard, then go to my knees.
“Ah, Jess,” he says, the words so quiet I can barely hear them. As I take him into my mouth, he slides a hand into my hair.
I have no idea if he can come again so soon, but his cock sure seems up to it, hardening quickly in my mouth. I take him in as deep as I can, teeth scraping but not too hard. I know he likes it rough, but men can be fussy about their dicks. For good reason, I suppose. I roll my tongue around the head, feeling the heat grow there, then I open my mouth, letting some of the shower water come in, then closing my lips again around his rock-hard shaft.
He seems to be holding back, so I reach around him and clasp his buttocks, pulling him a little closer and urging him to thrust. He does, carefully, but then quickens the pace as I pull him deeper and deeper into my throat. I swallow around the head and then let him slide out, back in again. It becomes a steady rhythm, and I start to lose myself in it.
“Jess, Jess,” he says suddenly, his fingers pulling at my hair like he wants me to pull off. But I keep him where he is, cock head at the very back of my throat, and I swallow as he comes.
#
We finish showering and dry off then slide naked into bed together. It’s nice there, just lying there under the blankets, his arms around me. The heat of his body dispels the chill of the after-shower coolness of my skin.
Exhausted, I try to pull myself back together, but it’s hard to breathe, and I literally hurt from his relentless pounding, from his hands digging into me. Not that I’m complaining. I’m riding a wave of post-climax adrenaline and anger. Not at Cain. At everything else. Everything that closes us both in.
I press my face against the hard slope of his chest. With my ear against him, I can hear his heart beating in a content, even rhythm. The soft hair between his pecs, and his skin, with its lines and patterns of ink, is still damp. He smells of soap.
“Cain… We can’t go on like this.” The words are soft, and I’m not sure when I decided to say them. As they come out of my mouth, I wonder what I’m going to say next.