Harper broke the kiss, her eyes gleaming with a mix of pleasure and mischief. "My turn," she murmured, her voice husky.
She reached past him for the bar of pine-scented soap and lathered her hands, creating a rich foam, then began her own deliberate exploration. She started at his shoulders, her palms gliding over the tense muscles, kneading away the day's physical strain with a tenderness that felt more intimate than any caress. Her touch was fire and salvation, branding him with every pass. She worked down his chest, tracing the hard planes of his abdomen, her thumbs brushing the dark trail of hair that led lower.
When her slick, soapy hand finally closed around his hard cock, Dorian's head fell back against the shower wall with a low, guttural groan.
"Harper." Her name was a prayer on his lips.
Her strokes were slow, torturous, and perfect. Her clever fingers learned him, sliding from root to tip with a pressure that had his thighs trembling. No one had ever touched him like this—with a focused, reverent attention that said she cherished this, cherished him. It was a gift he hadn't known he was starving for.
His pleasure built in a relentless, coiled tension, a spring winding tighter with every pass of her hand. The urge to take control, to lift her and claim her against the wall, was a primal drumbeat in his blood. But he held himself in a vise grip, teeth clenched, letting her have this. Letting her give him this devastating pleasure that only she could provide.
Just when he thought the coil would snap, she dropped gracefully to her knees on the wet slate. The sight alone nearly undid him. Her green eyes looked up at him through her lashes, before she leaned forward and took him into the hot, wet heaven of her mouth.
Dorian's hand shot out, bracing against the wall. "My god."
Her tongue swirled around the head, then she took him deeper, her mouth working him with a rhythmic precision that shattered his control piece by piece. It was too intense, too good. His hips jerked instinctively, and she took him deeper, humming her approval. The vibration traveled straight to his spine. The bond between them sang with shared sensation, her satisfaction at his pleasure feeding back into his own, creating a loop of pure, blinding ecstasy.
He was seconds from exploding, from spilling down her throat like an untried boy. The need to be inside her, to feel her clench around him as he came, became an all-consuming imperative.
With a ragged growl, he gently guided her back up. "Enough."
"Dorian?"
"I need you." The words were gravel and stripped bare. "Now."
In one fluid motion, his hands gripped her waist and he lifted her up, her legs wrapping around his hips as he turned and pressed her back against the cool, tiled wall. He didn't fumble, didn't hesitate. He positioned himself at her entrance, that perfect, slick heat, and drove home in one deep, claiming thrust.
Harper cried out, a sharp, glorious sound of pleasure that echoed in the steamy enclosure. "Oh, god. You feel… so good."
"You feel perfect," he ground out, the truth of it shuddering through him. She was tight and wet, a silken fist gripping him, welcoming him home.
He held himself still for a heartbeat, savoring the exquisite feeling of being buried to the hilt inside her. Savoring the connection and the rightness of it. Then he began to move. Slow, deliberate thrusts that dragged every inch of him against her sensitive inner walls.
"More," she begged after minutes of the maddening pace, her voice breaking. "Please, Dorian. More."
He obeyed. His thrusts deepened, gaining speed and power. The slap of wet skin, their mingled moans, and the rush of the shower—it all fused into a single, primal symphony. After minutes of the intense pace, she gripped him tighter and he could feel it—the tight coil of her orgasm about to unleash, a brilliant, gathering storm.
"Come for me," he commanded, his voice rough with strain.
She soon shattered with a sharp cry, her body convulsing around him. The violent clenching of her inner walls was his undoing. His own release ripped through him with terrifying force, a white-hot explosion of pleasure so profound it stole his vision. He spilled deep inside her, his body shuddering violently and his forehead dropping to her shoulder as he rode the endless waves of ecstasy.
The mate bond between them pulsed so intensely, brighter and more demanding than ever. His wolf howled, demanding he sink his teeth into the curve of her shoulder, to mark her, to complete the bond and make her irrevocably his. The instinct was a physical ache.
Not yet. She's not ready.
He fought the urge, swallowing back the growl, focusing instead on the feel of her soft skin and on the frantic beat of her heart against him. He would wait. For her, he would wait forever.
As the aftershocks faded, he kept her pinned against the wall, supporting her full weight, unwilling to break the connection.
"That was… incredible," she whispered, her voice wrecked.
He finally lifted his head, meeting her dazed gaze. "You're incredible."
Slowly, carefully, he withdrew and lowered her until her feet found the floor. She wobbled, and he caught her, holding her steady against him before reaching to turn off the water.
The sudden silence was intimate, and in that moment, a profound certainty settled in his bones. This woman could not leave his side. He would move mountains, wage wars, and tear apart anyone who threatened her. He would spend every day showing her how much she meant to him, building a life where she felt not just safe, but cherished, essential, and free. He would make her understand that her safety was his greatest privilege.
SEVENTEEN
