Page 125 of The Bratva Stalker's Ruthless Claim
“Kiss me, Mike,” I say softly, my voice barely a whisper over the steady hum of the shower.
He hesitates, his hands pausing on my shoulders, his eyes searching mine with a mix of longing and concern. “You need to rest, Ellie. You’ve been through enough today.”
I groan, the sound vibrating in my throat, and refuse to let him pull away. I wrap my arms around his neck, my fingers tangling in the damp hair at the nape of his neck, and crash my lips to his.
It’s not a gentle kiss. It’s desperate and hungry, a silent demand for him to stop being careful and start being mine. I need the heat, the friction, the reminder that I’m alive and that he’s here with me. My tongue sweeps against his, tasting the salt and the steam, and I press my body flush against his, letting the water run between us as I pull him closer.
He groans into my mouth, his resolve crumbling instantly. His hands, which had been so gentle moments ago, suddenly tighten on my waist, pulling me up until I’m forced to wrap my legs around him. He pins me against the tile wall of the shower, the cool stone a sharp contrast to the scorching heat of his skin.
“Rest is the last thing I’m going to let you do now,” he growls against my lips, his hands sliding down to cup my seat. “If this is what you want, Ellie, I’m going to give it to you until you can’t stand. Because I miss you so fucking much.”
He lowers his head, the spray of the shower hitting his back and cascading over us in a warm, relentless sheet. He captures one of my nipples in his mouth, suckling hard while his tongue swirls around the sensitive peak. I cry out, the soundechoing off the wet tiles, and I writhe against him, my skin slick with soap and water.
The sensation is overwhelming—the steam, the pounding water, and the sharp, focused heat of his mouth. I ache for him, a deep, hollow throb in my core that only he can settle. My fingers claw at his wet shoulders as he switches to the other breast, devouring me as if he’s trying to swallow the very memory of our time apart.
He licks a path down my stomach, his hands shifting to my thighs to spread me wider. I’m shaking, my breath coming in short, panicked gasps as he finds the center of my heat with his thumb. He grinds against me, using the water as lubricant, and I’m losing my mind, my head thumping back against the wall.
“Mike, please,” I sob, my voice breaking. “I can’t take it. Just…please.”
He looks up at me, his eyes dark and wild, water dripping from the ends of his hair. “Not yet, sweetheart. I want to feel you break first.”
He sinks two fingers into me, his rhythm rough and deep, while his mouth returns to my neck. I’m a mess of raw nerves and desperation, arching into him as he wrecks my control, the shower raining down on us as we disappear into the heat.
He slides his hands down my body, his palms slick with water and soap, until he reaches my knees. With a low, hungry growl, he drops to his knees on the floor of the shower. The water beats down on his head and shoulders, splashing off him and onto me as he spreads my legs wide.
I have to grip the grab bar and the wall just to stay upright. My heart thunders against my ribs as I look down and see him—my husband, the man I almost lost—worshipping me in the most primal way.
He doesn’t hesitate. He buries his face in my heat, his tongue finding my clit with a precision that makes my vision godark. He licks and sucks with a desperate, starving intensity, his hands digging into my thighs to hold me still. The contrast of the hot water pouring over us and the searing, wet heat of his mouth is too much.
“Mike!” I scream, my voice cracking as I tilt my head back, my hair plastered to my face.
He ignores my cry, his tongue flicking faster, his suction becoming more rhythmic and demanding. He’s eating me alive, devouring the essence of me as the steam swirls around us. Every time I try to move, to escape the overwhelming sensation, he growls against my skin and bites the sensitive flesh of my inner thigh, grounding me back in the pleasure.
I’m shaking, my muscles clenching, the pressure building until it’s a physical weight in my chest. I can feel the orgasm rushing toward me like a freight train, and Mike knows it. He increases the pace, his mouth a hot, frantic vacuum that pulls the very soul out of me.
“I’m—I’m going to—” I can’t even finish the sentence before the world shatters.
I explode against his mouth, my body convulsing in a violent, prolonged climax. I sob his name, my fingers clawing at the tile as wave after wave of pure, unadulterated sensation rip through me. He doesn’t pull away; he stays right there, drinking me in, holding me steady until the last of the tremors finally begins to fade.
I’m still shaking from the force of my release, but the adrenaline is surging, and I’m not done. Not even close. I reach down, my fingers slick with water, and grab his shoulders, yanking him up with a strength born of pure desperation.
I spin him around, pinning his broad, muscular back against the wet tile. He lets out a surprised huff of air, his eyes wide and dark as he looks down at me.
“Ellie, what are you doing?” he rasps, his chest heaving.
I don’t answer with words. I drop to my knees in the spray of the shower, the water hitting my back and shoulders as I look up at him through wet lashes. I see his throat bob as he swallows hard, his hands coming up to rest against the wall behind him for balance.
I reach out and take him into my hands, his skin searingly hot despite the warm water. Then, I lean forward and take him into my mouth, my lips molding around him as I swirl my tongue over the head.
“Fuck,” he groans, his head thumping back against the wall. His fingers find my hair, tangling in the wet strands, but he doesn’t pull me away. Instead, his hips give a small, involuntary jerk forward, a silent urge for more.
I give him exactly what he wants, my mouth working over him with a slow, deliberate hunger. I swirl my tongue around the crown, catching the droplets of water and the salt of his skin, before taking him as deep as I can. The heat of him is a stark contrast to the spray of the shower hitting my back.
“Ellie,” he rasps, his voice a low, vibrating growl.
His hands find my hair, his fingers tangling in the wet, heavy strands. He doesn’t pull me away; he anchors me there, his knuckles grazing my scalp as he tugs my head back just enough to look me in the eye. His face is a mask of pure, concentrated tension, his jaw so tight I can see the muscle leaping.
“You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he mutters, his hips giving a sharp, involuntary jerk. “Suck it, baby. Just like that. You’re so fucking good at this.”
