A beast in his prime.
His strong hands are planted against the wall, accentuating those broad, powerful shoulders, head dropped as he lets the water batter the back of it. My gaze travels from his spread fingers, over the trail of veins bulging in his forearms, down the line of his spine, devouring his ass and muscled thighs. The sight blazes my insides, kicking my blood into a rushing torrent, and that deep, empty throb takes on a violent life of its own.
He’s all dark, masculine beauty. My own damnation carved into a roughly hewn sculpture of agonizing temptation.
There’s not a single part of me that doesn’t appreciate the sight.
Not a single part of me that doesn’t want to destroy him, anyway.
“You want to see my damage?” I purr, and his head lifts, twisting so he can see me over the swell of his right shoulder.
Through the rope of his sodden locks, that flash of startling silver hits me, blackening.
Widening.
His chilled stare carves down me in a way that almost flays my vicious intentions, so I don’t give him more than a second to take me in before I’m at his back with my blade notched between his shoulders. I grasp his thick, silken shaft in my other hand … the one cuffed in Cainon’s cupla.
He’s heavy.
Huge.
His chest inflates, and a dense growl rips up his throat while I wrestle my shock.
Having all this man in the palm of my hand, I’m struck with a wash of primal, eroticpowerthat dissolves the trepadition of my inexperience …
Grip firm and movements smooth, I pump, exploring his length. He balks, muscles tensing, as though he’s battling instincts screaming at him to take control as I drag my fingers over the head of his cock, squeezing. It jerks in my grasp, swelling, becoming rock solid.
His right arm lashes back, and he takes a large, claiming grip of my ass cheek, exposing my core to the warm kiss of humidity. His head falls to rest on top of mine, and a deep, throaty rumble fills the room, punching into that ache between my legs and making my insides clamp down on nothing.
I arch my spine, giving him better access to my flushed and throbbing core as his curled fingers graze against me, zapping me with a strike of pleasure I want to drown in.
Teeth gritted, forehead pressed against his back, I work him faster, harder, my grip traversing over the velvet shaft of thickening veins and his hardening head.
I can feel his pleasure in the tense of his muscles. The jerk of his cock. The low, abrasive grunts every time my hand skirts over his most sensitive parts.
His grip becomes more desperate, dragging me so close my bare breasts ache from the crushing impact, my hand shaking with the effort to avoid impaling him through the back.
He spins.
I gasp.
Somehow managing to maintain my grip on him, I’m shoved through the pour of water and slammed against the wall so hard my breath knocks free. His hand comes up to grip my jaw, the other pinning my weapon-wielding hand to the stone beside my head.
The sharp, intoxicating scent of his blood fills the room,curling up into me on tendrils of steam.
“I cut you—”
“I don’t give a fuck,” he growls, bucking his hips against me, warm water splashing over us as he works his cock through my clenched grip.
I look down, watching the thick, pink head—glistening, swollen, and angry-looking—pushing up through the curled grip of my fingers and presenting itself between my breasts.
A low, throaty moan spikes another wave of heat between my legs, echoing in the hollow behind the fall of water.
It takes me a moment to realize the sound came from me.
His muscles lock, hips jerking,jerking …head digging into my neck. I feel his teeth clamp against the thumping, yearning, thin layer of skin—
His hand spears down, fingers brushing up the inside of my thigh, reaching so close to that hot, swollen nub that’s aching for friction. I tilt my hips away from his touch, knowing that the slightest brush will send me tumbling into him in more ways than one—working my hand faster,tighter …
