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Ezra’s voice had woken me up. Whoever had come to the door seemed angry, and I figured the best place for me to hide was in the shower. My hair was greasy, and my muscles hurt from dancing and fucking until dawn. Hot water ran over the new bruises on my lower back, hips, and thighs. Each one gave a satisfying sting when I touched it.
I’d always liked it rough, but being tossed around a bedroom was nothing compared to the night I’d spent with Ezra. He’d given me at least a dozen orgasms, and most by force. The memory sent my blood pounding through my veins and to the tortured clit between my legs.
How could I possibly want to be touched after all that? Maybe I was greedier than I thought.
I swept two fingers up my inner thigh and over another set of bruises just below where my legs met. He’d made those while he’d taken me from behind, holding all my spent weight in his hands as he pounded into me. I wished I could have watched him use me until he was slick with sweat and thoroughly sated.
“I hope you’re thinking of me.” The devil himself stepped into the shower with a smile that could bring me to my knees.
“Maybe,” I answered “Or maybe not.”
I let myself take in the full sight of his naked body, and I swore I started drooling.
Fuck. He was a wet dream come to life.
The playful curl of his lips turned into a lascivious line. In a simple relaxation of muscle, his expression shifted to a sinister sort of sexy. There was more than hunger in his gaze. This wasn’t horny or even sexual. It was power. Ownership.
The thrill I got from that idea overpowered the red flags and warning alarms going off in my gut. Clarity of this new dynamic—and the rabble of butterflies in my stomach—stole all reason from my senses. And as long as he looked at me like that, I would play the doleful idiot who hung myself on his every movement.
“Now that you are mine, every orgasm you have belongs to me and will be provided only by me.”
My throat tightened around unsure words and strangled them down. I wasn’t going to disagree with him, but I was starting to get concerned about my missing feminine rage.
“Spread your legs for me, beautiful,” he said. “Now.”
My thighs tensed. I was so sore, and the aching pulse his voice caused was already building tension in my stomach. I shook my head, and at my rebellion, he forced his knee between mine and pried me open. I whined and bit down on my lip as his fingers circled slowly over my clit and my back pressed against the cool shower tile. His sadistic smile was back, and all the fight I could strum up was proving to not be enough.
The water hit his chest and sprayed over my face, making me choke. I turned away to take a deep breath and clawed into his wrist as his pace quickened. He leaned into the stream to shield me, his hand firm above my head.
He dipped low next to my cheek. The echo of our bodies and the water intensified the sound of my needy moans and my whimper when his fingers slipped inside of me. I ground my hips into his palm.
“That’s right, Pru.” His voice pinged off the tile. “Beg for me.”
With every pump, the build of my climax teetered me in and out of focus. I was on the edge and at his mercy. He laughed deep in his chest. He’d already mastered how to bring my body so close to the breaking point then snap me back from the edge and plunge me into pent-up frustration. The game was becoming predictable, but I fell for it each and every time.
“I know.” He pulled his hand away, leaving me feeling empty and desperate. “You can’t help yourself, can you? Such a needy little slut for me.”
“Fuck you,” I said through my teeth.
He watched me closely with his bottom lip between his teeth. His hand slipped down the wall and circled around my neck, his fingers tightened against my pressure points.
“I should fuck that sass out of your mouth.” His voice was dark and daring, but pleased.
I swallowed and my throat rippled under his palm. My blood pumped hard, and a small panic started to build where pleasure was only moments ago.
“Ezra . . .”
He didn’t answer.
Firm grip in place, he pulled me away from the shower wall and turned me around so that his hard cock pressed into my lower back. His hand around my throat now tilted my chin up, forcing our eyes to meet over my shoulder.
With his free hand, his fingers trailed down my stomach and roughed over my clit in demanding strokes. I gripped his forearm, feeling the rhythm in his muscles. The hot water pounded against my sternum and over my tight nipples. His wet hair fell in a black curtain around his eyes and dripped cool droplets onto the top of my shoulder. The temperature contrast added to the onslaught of stimulation.
“I own every orgasm, Pru,” he repeated, but this time his words held a new, possessive meaning. “And I’m going to take what’s mine.”
The high I was getting from his dominance and the way he relentlessly circled my clit convinced me that I did owe him my pleasure. Why wouldn’t I want to give into his every whim when the reward was well worth my free will.
“Maybe I need to tattoo my name on this tight pussy so you remember who it belongs to.”
