“Slower, Ophelia,” he murmured gently.
Oh. This wasn’t a man who liked to bejerked off.
He wanted to be worshipped.
I wrapped my fingers around the base of him. I worked my hand upward, taking my time. Squeezing. Rubbing my thumb over the veins that drew to the surface. Enjoying the velvet softness of him. I lathered him, washed the soap from him, and took great care to give every inch of him the attention he deserved.
There we go.He swelled fully in my hand now, until he was so hard that it pulled a grunt from the back of his throat, followed by a choked, “Fuck.”
Goddess. I loved that sound from him.
I was tempted to speed up, to get on my knees and swallow him down until I choked—the way all lovers past had treated me before. But I was his good girl. I remembered my instructions. So I kept my pace…pulling my hand upward…drawing it down…admiring every inch of him.
He loved it. His breath became low and ragged in a way that made my heart patter.
“Your cock is perfect,” I told him. “Do you know that?”
He gave ahmmnoise, his brain short-circuiting.
Oh, this version of Phantom was cute.
I tilted my head up to look at him. “It’s so hard. It’s throbbing. Look.”
We both watched as my hand stroked his shaft. Painted nails drew up the length of him and my grip encircled the red, shiny head of him. I squeezed gently, just enough to make it swell before it gave a strong, needy twitch in my palm.
His breath shuddered. “That’s enough,” he growled, his voice syrupy thick.
I stopped my caressing, but kept him in a light hold as he cupped my face like a chalice. He drank from my lips, his tongue invading my mouth and claiming every inch of me.
This was the closest I’d ever seen Phantom to losing control, drunk on pleasure, and I was intoxicated with how much he wanted me. His hand closed around my throat. He gripped me here and murmured in my ear, voice deliciously dark: “Turn around. Hands on the wall.”
“Yes, Sir.” I fixed my palms to the tiled walls. Water pounded and cascaded down my back. With one hand on my throat, the other gripping my hip, he aligned us so our bodies pressed together, no space between us.
“I need to be inside you,” he said. “Tell me you want it.”
“I want you, Sir,” I gasped.
“Bare?”
My breath caught. “Yes. I want to feel you. Every inch.”
His hand slid between my legs. His fingers filled me first, warming me. Then they were replaced by the thick head of him. I arched my back to grind against him. He fit himself inside of me and we moaned in unison.
Fuck. This felt so right.
I was so slick with want and he fit inside perfectly. He hit that aching, needy spot inside of me and I gasped, my fingers curling against the linoleum of the shower wall. His hand curled around mine and we locked together.
“Just like that,” I whined. “Don’t stop. Please, Sir.”
“Never.”
He thrust into me. This was a dance. Pleasure tightened in my core with each one of his slow, hard thrusts and I heard myself whimper. My palms anchored me to the wall—I was a good girl. I wouldn’t move from my spot, even as my knees began to buckle.
Each thrust sent me closer to the edge of pleasure. Phantom’s lips found my neck, my shoulders, my back. “You’re perfect, Ophelia,” he murmured, and?—
I believed him.
My heart thumped in my chest. His hips beat me like a drum. My body went tight, pleasure curling around me like a vice.
