Page 43 of Faking the Heat

She’s wet, but not just from the water. I slide two fingers inside, slow at first, and she whimpers, hips grinding against my palm. Her head falls back, water streaming down her face and neck. Her hands grip my upper arms, nails digging in for purchase.

“Sterling—”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t stop.”

I don’t. I curl my fingers and press my thumb against her clit, and she shudders, her whole body tightening around me. I watch her face the whole time, eyes closed, mouth open, the lines of stress and fear melted away by the heat and need.

She comes, hard, her body clamps down like a vice, spasming around my fingers. The sound she makes is a half-laugh, half-sob. She trembles for a long time, water and sweat and everything in between mixing on her skin.

She pulls me in and kisses me, her hands roaming down my chest, my stomach, then lower. She wraps her fingers around my cock, stroking me with the same deliberate intensity she brings to her art. I’m so hard it hurts, every nerve in my body tuned to the feeling of her touch.

Then, without warning, she drops to her knees on the tile, her hands gripping my thighs as she takes my cock in one smooth swallow. The heat, the suction, the way her tongue moves—it’s almost too much. I grip the edge of the glass door to steady myself, but she doesn’t let up, working me with ruthless precision.

“Fuuuck.”

Her mouth is a wet, scorching heaven, her lips a tight seal as she bobs her head, taking me to the back of her throat like it’s nothing. I know I can’t last.

“Wait…” My voice is low, raw. “If you don’t stop….” I’m white knuckling the glass door fighting against my instinct to grab her head. “I’m going to come down your throat.”

I warn her, but she just looks up at me and moans, eyes wide and defiant. She keeps going, cheeks hollowing around me and it undoes me. I come with a groan, hips bucking forward, and she swallows it all.

I haul her up and her mouth finds mine, warm and insistent, the taste of cedar and salt and something sharp beneath it. I kiss her back, less careful this time. My hands find the curve of her ass, then the small of her back, then the backs of her thighs as I lift her off the ground and press her against the tile.

She hooks her legs around me, her heels digging into my thighs. Her arms come up around my neck, dragging her nails through the damp mess of my hair. For a second, the only sound in the world is the drumming of the water and the soft, breathless noise she makes when I bite her lower lip.

“Don’t stop,” she says.

I don’t. I push into her slowly, feeling every inch of resistance give way, feeling her stretch around me as she exhales a long, shaking breath into the hollow of my throat. When I’m fully inside her, we both go still for a moment. Her fingers tighten in my hair. The water drums against the glass. Then she tilts her hips, urging me forward, and I start to move.

It’s slow at first. Long, deliberate strokes, pulling back until I’m nearly out of her and then pressing forward again, feeling her grip tighten each time I bottom out. She makes a sound low in her throat, not quite a moan, more like something she’s trying to hold back. I do it again and she stops trying.

Her hips meet mine, matching the rhythm, and I brace one hand against the tile wall above her shoulder. The other I keep at her waist, thumb pressed into the soft skin just above her hip. I can feel her pulse there, or maybe that’s mine. Hard to tell.

“There,” she says, and I adjust the angle slightly, and she says it again, quieter, more to herself than to me.

The water’s going cold. Neither of us mentions it.

I pick up the pace and she arches into me, her head falling back against the tile, throat exposed. I press my mouth to it, feel her swallow. Her nails drag down the back of my neck and I hiss through my teeth and move harder and she pulls me closer instead of away.

“Look at me,” she says.

I lift my head. Her eyes are open, dark, fixed on mine. There’s something unguarded in her face that I don’t think she means to show me. I hold her gaze anyway. She doesn’t look away.

Her breath comes faster. Her thighs tighten around me.

“Oh God. Sterling Please. Don’t stop,” she says again, and her voice has gone rough at the edges.

I don’t stop even when she starts scream-sobbing and clinging to me. I only slow down and fuck her through her climax. The rhythmic pulsing of her around my cock tips me over the edge and I come, hard. So hard my knees almost give out, and I have to lean into her harder to stop from collapsing.

She goes quiet after, just breathing, her head nestled against my shoulder and the curve of my neck. The water’s still running. I can feel her pulse against my chest, fast and then slower.

I don’t say anything. Neither does she. Because she is asleep.

I take a moment and stifle a laugh because, I have never, not once in all my time of hoe saving, put a woman to sleep. I reach over and turn the water off with one hand before stepping out of the shower.

The fact that I am semi hard and still buried in her is not lost on me when I grab the towels and toss one over her back and shoulders before setting her down on the edge of the bathroom sink. I look at my reflection in the mirror, see her in my arms and know that this changed something in me.