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Maybe he got offended that I took his place on the bed?
“What?” I growl at them when they keep staring, then realize I’m talking to fucking cats.
Getting up, I zip up my pants and stride over to the bathroom, where I hear a shower running.
“Emma?” I knock. “Can I come in?”
No response.
I take that as a yes and push the door open. Like most people who live alone, she’s not used to locking the bathroom door.
Inside, the small room is filled with steam, the mirror all fogged up. Through the semi-transparent blue curtain hanging over her tub, I see the outline of Emma’s body under the spray of water, and though I’m still catching my breath from the powerful orgasm I just had, my cock twitches with renewed interest.
Fuck. It was supposed to get better once I’ve had her.
I hesitate, staring at her for a moment, then remove my shoes and strip off my pants and briefs. Hanging the clothes over the towel rod, I pull aside the curtain. “May I join you?”
She freezes in the middle of pouring body wash into her hand, her eyes rounding in shock. “What?”
“May I join you?” I repeat, my voice roughening as more blood surges to my groin. With the gorgeous spirals of her hair loosely pinned on top of her head and the water sluicing over her smooth, pale skin, she’s the most fuckable thing I’ve ever seen. I’m used to women being shaved or waxed, but she’s just neatly trimmed, and the little patch of flame-bright hair between her legs draws my eyes like a beacon.
A natural redhead—not that I’ve ever doubted it.
Her delectable skin turns a pretty shade of pink as she realizes where I’m looking. “Um… yes.” She sounds choked, and when I look up, I see her staring at my rapidly hardening cock. “You can… come in if you want.”
Oh, I want. Stepping into the tub, I pull the curtain closed, angle the showerhead so the spray is not blasting us, and take the body wash bottle from her nerveless fingers. “Here, let me.”
She blinks up at me, uncomprehending.
“I want to wash you,” I explain, pouring the liquid into my palm before setting the bottle down in the corner of the tub. “Turn around.”
She obeys, and I spread the lather over her pale shoulders, then run my hands over the soft skin of her back, my heart rate speeding up with growing arousal. She has the sexiest dimples at the base of her spine, where her tiny waist flares into a deliciously full ass. My hands slide down to wash those soft, round globes, and I can’t stop myself from squeezing them possessively.
Mine.
This sweet little ass is now mine, as is every other scrumptious part of her.
It’s an utterly atavistic thought—fucking a woman doesn’t mean you own her—but I can’t squash it. It’s a conviction that goes down to the bone.
Emma is now mine. I’ve staked a claim on her, and I’m not backing off.
The tub we’re in is cramped, especially for someone my size, but I manage to kneel behind her as I spread the soap down her legs, my dick stiffening further as her calf muscles flex at my touch. That delicious ass of hers is now closer to my eye level, and my mouth waters with the urge to bite that creamy, supple flesh, to sink my teeth into it as if it were an apple.
“Turn around.” My voice is so hoarse with lust I barely recognize it. I don’t understand what’s happening to me, why I’m feeling this overwhelming need to mark her, to brand her as belonging to me. I’ve never had the slightest urge to hurt a woman, but something dark in me—something I didn’t know was there—likes the idea of marring her pale skin, of seeing signs of my possession on her smooth flesh.
Suppressing the bizarrely sadistic inclination, I wait for her to turn, and when she does, I grip her hips and pull her toward me. Even with my legs folded flat underneath me, I’m too tall—or she’s too short—for me to reach my goal. So I lift her leg, hiking it up until she’s balancing on her toes, holding on to the tiled wall for support, and then I lean back until her pussy is right over my face.
Her gray eyes are wide as she stares down at me. “What are you—” she starts, but I’m already diving into my feast, lapping at her pink folds like I can’t get enough. And I can’t. It’s like her flavor has been created specifically for me. I need to taste her, to feel her soft, slick flesh under my tongue.
She cries out, her leg tensing in my grip as I get to her clit, and I taste her arousal as more slickness rushes forth to coat her entrance.
