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Didn’t need to.
Eco.That sounds like a responsible washing cycle. I stuff my shirt and jeans in the drum, close the glass portal door, and watch the spin begin. Hear the gentle hum as the machine vibrates. Seems promising.
Standing, I watch it fill with water. Lips touch my ear so I tilt my head to the side, accepting them as they trail down my neck. His hands grasp either side of the machine, caging me in, holding me in place. I look down at the veins racing along his forearms, a ripple of activity within them as his grip tightens around the top.
He gets closer behind me. Heat radiates from his large, finely cut physique, licking against my back and spine. “You weren’t in my bedroom.”
I feel tiny as he looms behind me. Under the intensity of his heat, I step forward, my hips touch the machine and my heart races, stoking my pulse to a frantic tattoo within my neck. His tongue laps at my pulse eagerly, chasing the race of my adrenaline.
I can feel the beat of my heart. He can probably taste the vibrations, the nerves. I don’t know why I’m nervous. He’s quiet, leading me into dark energy with him. The fervour in his breath carries a blanket of warmth. Of warning.
“Seeing you doing laundry makes me hard.” He presses his cock to my backside, and I moan when he rolls us against the washing machine.
“You’re with the wrong girl if that’s what gets you off, Hothead,” I say, losing my footing as he slides his erection up and down the gap between my cotton-covered arse-cheeks.
“I’m on fire, Baby,” he warns. I clutch the machine beside his hands, bracing myself as he eats at my neck, the previous vision of a panther mounting its mate making my fingers numb. He pries my hands from the machine, his dark voice by my ear, “Turn around.”
With a deep breath, I spin in the barrier of his formidable wall of muscles. My eyes cast down, until I drag them up his bare abdominals, over the patches of tattoos, along the smooth, hard plane of his chest, and peer through my upper lashes to see his face in all its dark, brutal beauty.
His eyes are intense on mine, drilling in profoundly but lost in heated desire. So, while I clearly have everyinchof his attention, his intent is all his own.
He grips my hips, lifting me to sit on the machine. The humming below my backside mars my cheeks in a blush I can acutely feel. I grow wet and greedy in an instant, seduced by the way his eyes heat, the way his tongue darts out to lick his lower lip, and the humming below my pelvis. It’s all I can do to not climb him like a tree and rub myself on his face.
His chest muscles flex. Flinch. On edge. So, slowly, to not stoke the aggression bubbling ever-so-steadily below the surface of his control, I slide my hands up his bare torso, the most exquisite pack of eight abdominals purring like a panther might. I get to his neck and slide my fingers into his hair.
Watching me, he grins, his eyes lost in darkness. Then he presses my thighs wide, ducking, lowering his lips to between them.
I lean back on the brick wall, my fingers knotting in his hair as his hot mouth kisses me over the fabric of my underwear. A rumble from his chest hints at his enjoyment. Below my backside, the machine hums, carrying steady vibrations from my arse up to his mouth, working in unison to send me out of my mind.
My eyes roll back. “Oh.God.”
He’s barely touched me, but the combination of both affects me at once and curls my toes. As his tongue finds my clit through my knickers, I arch into him.
His hands slide down my inner thigh, ending at the seam. My neck burns. He pulls the fabric to the side, licking slowly up and down, the leisurely motion a contradiction to the darkness that roars he wants something fast and loud.
“I’m a liar, too, Kaya.” He inhales me, and I blush, but he exhales a lusty breath. “Fuck. I lied. I wouldn’t have let you decide it was too much. I gotta make that clear. Now. Here. I might pretend—” He kisses me between words. “MightsayI’ll let you leave,”—kiss— “but I won’t”—kiss— “ever. I’m keeping you, Baby.”
My stomach clenches as he licks between my folds, unhurried, an indecent speed that sends me into a fever.
His tongue moves upward, his mouth sucking and kissing at my clit as two fingers slide into me.
I arch my back violently, and he groans, “Fuck,” at finding me so slippery his fingers move in and out without any preparation.
The machine is still a slow roll below me, rocking my pelvis, and I’m already there, already simmering with pleasure.
His other hand holds my thigh down.
I look at the open door. “Oh. God.”
He sucks on my clit, the bundle of nerves firing below his reverent tonguing. I plummet over the edge, coming with a deep moan, his fingers moving with plunging precision as my pussy locks onto them. I massage the two digits as I work my hips, riding my climax.
I’m still trembling when he pushes upward, sliding his mouth along my tight stomach and grazing over my shirt. He lifts the fabric over my head as my mind spins, reeling from the orgasm and the way the washer helps it linger.
My body floats, a buzz in my pleasured delirium, when I realise my bra is off, my breasts falling out. Xander latches onto one, sucking it to a stiff pebble.
“Fuck.” I cup the back of his head. One of his hands holds my breast, feeding the supple mound into his mouth as the other strokes his length in an impure display of masculine energy and need.
The head is free, thrusting upward from his grey sweatpants. He jerks his erection and sucks hard on me at the same time. He pants against my breast while the plush tip of his cock touches my pussy as he rubs it.
