Page 49 of Ransom
"A little."
"Good."
He huffed out a laugh.
I tightened my hand and his pulse jumped under my thumb. He closed his eyes for a second, and when he opened them, the green had darkened.
I reached past him for the soap and worked it between my hands until I had a lather, then put my hands on him and started washing him down. When I reached the bruise, I pressed on it harder than I needed to, and he hissed through his teeth but didn't pull away.
"You like that?"
"I like your hands."
"That's not what I asked."
"I like it when you hurt me a little," he admitted. "Pain tells you you're alive."
"I know." I moved past his cock on purpose, down the line of hair, close but not on it. His hips chased my hand. I moved past again. "Turn around."
He turned. I worked the soap over his back, down to his ass, and between his cheeks. He tried to push back against me.
"Hands on the wall."
He sighed, but obeyed.
I washed him there, slowly, one slick finger pressing against his hole and not pushing in. He made a sound and pushed back against my hand, and I pulled away.
"Stay still."
"Ransom."
"Stay still or I stop."
He stilled. His shoulders shook with the holding.
He turned his head, cheek against the tile. "I want you inside me."
"You had me inside you four hours ago."
"Want it again."
"Greedy."
"Yeah."
I leaned in close to his ear. "You'll be walking around all morning with it leaking out of you. You good with that?"
He pushed back against my finger, and my finger gave a quarter inch, and his mouth opened against the tile.
"Answer me."
"Yeah."
"You like that?"
"Yes."
"Say why."
