Page 56 of Bad Blood Alpha

Kira bit her lips, then sighed. Stubborn lion.

She stripped off everything but her panties, then took a fluffy washcloth from the shelf by the shower and stepped inside. Steam billowed around her.

Flynn gave her one baleful look, and then closed his eyes again. “You are not fucking washing me like a cub,” he said. “Leave me alone. I’m tired.”

“Shut up.” She picked up a bottle of shower gel from a tiled shelf, opened it and sniffed it. It had a woodsy, masculine scent.

“Nice,” she said. She poured it on the washcloth and began rubbing it over his chest. His body was still new to her, new enough that she never tired of running her hands over the contours of his pecs, the ridges of his abs, the dips and hollows of his ribs and collarbone.

She moved the washcloth slowly, sensuously. Down his chest to his tapered waist and washboard abs, over the curves of his hipbones and the perfect ‘v’ of muscle from his hips down to his dick.

She could see a little stirring of interest, and she smiled to herself.

She knelt, running the washcloth down his strong, heavily muscled legs. She loved his legs—the ropes of defined muscle, the light dusting of hair that was surprisingly golden, rather than black like the hair on his head.

Golden lion, black mane.

She washed his calves, the tops of his feet, and then ran the washcloth up the sensitive skin of his inner thigh, stroking up and down, up and down. His dick was growing harder now, strong and thick. She reached again for the shower gel, and poured some into her hand.

She rubbed it over his erection, stroking slowly, her hand slick with soap. Flynn tilted his head back against the tiled wall and groaned.

“Damn.”

She continued stroking, still kneeling. Flynn’s hips rolled, and another groan ripped from him. Kira splashed water over his dick, straight and hard now, pulsing with need. When she’d washed the soap off, she ran her tongue up the side of his shaft and swirled it around the head.

His fingers tangled in her hair, as if he needed an anchor. The other hand was flat against the wall, water raining down on them both. It was wet and sexy and sensuous, and she loved the taste of him, the way he filled her mouth, the look on his face as he let himself go, let himself feel the insane pleasure.

Finally, he reached down and lifted her to her feet. He ripped her panties right off her, not bothering to slide them down, his eyes intent on her, taking in every inch of her soapy, water-slicked body.

He backed up two steps to the tiled bench at one end of the shower, and pulled her on his lap, growling. Then his mouth was on her breasts, lips and teeth and tongue everywhere, making her ache with wanting.

As if he could hear her thoughts, he slid his fingers between her thighs, giving a louder growl when he felt how slick and wet she was.

Kira arched, so sensitive that the touch of his fingers was almost unbearable. But Flynn was relentless, his other hand splayed across her lower back, his mouth still pulling on her nipple, his fingers slipping inside her and then out to tease her clit, and back inside her.

The spray pounded down on her, hot and wild, and she arched her back, moving against his hand, wanting more—always more.

She reached down and pushed his hand away, closing hers around his shaft and guiding him inside her. He filled her, pleasure almost to the point of pain, and she felt his teeth graze her nipple, his thumb still stroking her clit.

Electricity shot through her—love and power and the darkness of long-held pain. She wrapped her arms around Flynn’s neck and pulled him inside her, again and again, until they exploded, love and pain and power together, rising up into the dark night sky.