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Twisted Control

Page 71

by Olivia Radwell

“So do I.” His voice drops. “We could…conserve water.”

My heart kicks hard. We’ve never done anything in the house before. Ever.

I glance toward the empty mansion, pulse racing. “We can’t…not here.”

Drew steps closer, voice low. “Who’s going to know?”

Five minutes later, we’re in my bathroom, steam thick in the air as hot water sprays down around us.

Drew is behind me, hands everywhere. As usual, he worships my body like he’s starving for it—palms sliding possessively over my wet skin, thumbs teasing my nipples until they ache. His hard cock presses heavy and insistent against my ass while he trails open-mouthed kisses down my neck, teeth grazing just hard enough to make me shiver.

He nudges my thighs apart with his knee. I brace my hands on the cool tile and bend slightly at the waist, arching my back under the spray.

Then Drew drops to his knees behind me.

The first slow drag of his tongue rips a moan from my throat. He licks me in long strokes, dragging from my entrance all the way up, teasing every slick inch before he closes his mouth around my clit and sucks.

My legs tremble. I press my forehead against the tile, gasping, hips pushing back against his face as pleasure coils tight and fast inside me.

Drew groans against me, the vibration shooting straight through me. His strong hands grip my ass, spreading me wider as he buries his face deeper, devouring me like he can’t get enough.

Just when I’m on the edge, he rises, grips my hips, and lines himself up. In one powerful thrust, he buries himself deep inside me from behind—bare, thick, and perfect.

The stretch is everything. So full it steals my breath. A moan escapes me as I push back, taking every inch.

“Fuck, Grace,” he groans against my ear, voice rough with need. One strong arm bands around my waist, holding me steady while he starts fucking me in deep, punishing strokes that make my toes curl against the wet tile.

Water cascades over us, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing in the marble shower.

Then—a loud thump from inside my bedroom.

We both freeze.

“Grace?” Finn’s voice calls out from right outside the bedroom door.

My stomach plummets.

Drew is still buried to the hilt inside me, both of us dripping wet and panting. My heart slams against my ribs.

“I’m in the shower!” I call back, voice way too high and breathless.

“No shit,” Finn replies, sounding bored. “Where the hell is your bodyguard? The guest house is empty and his car’s still out front.”

Oh God.

Drew’s fingers dig harder into my hip. He stays deathly still, cock still deep inside me.

“How should I know?” I snap, trying to sound irritated instead of terrified. “Stop talking to me while I’m showering, you freak!”

“Whatever,” Finn mutters. His footsteps retreat. The second I hear the door close, I release a shaky, panicked breath.

“Who the fuck was that?” Drew whispers hot against my ear, still pressed flush against my back.

“My brother,” I say. “This is really bad. He has a sixth sense for trouble. You have to start pretending you hate me. Be mean. Ignore me. No looks, nothing. He’ll figure us out, Drew, I swear⁠—”

Drew finally pulls out of me slowly. He turns me to face him, both of us breathing hard.

“He’s not figuring out shit. Relax, baby.”