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Sienna
I hear him shuck off his clothes, his belt buckle clinking as it hits the tiled floor. Then I feel him behind me. His warmth is entirely separate from the hot water that’s pummeling my skin.
The only part of him that touches me is the big, round, head of his cock which presses heavily against the bottom of my back. I turn around slowly, ensuring the touch is never broken. His cock drags over my curves until I’m facing him and I take it in both hands.
I squeeze, intertwining my fingers around his girth and pump slowly. His groan of tortured pleasure is like music in my ears, making my still-aching core throb with anticipation and want.
He dips his head, dropping kisses along my jaw and down my neck, his teeth scraping lightly over my shoulder but not nipping or biting.
“I want your mark on me Danielo,” I pant as arousal begins to blur my vision and cloud my brain. “I want the whole world to know who owns me.”
With a roar, he lifts my thighs and presses my back against the cold tiled wall of the shower. Water rains down over us as my hands fly to his shoulders to hold on for dear life as his cock tears into my tender channel.
His broad shoulders dip as he curves his back to lower his mouth to one nipple, then the other, tugging each into his mouth and sucking firmly. His dark hair, thick wet tendrils, slides between my fingers as I tear his head back and kiss him hard.
Danielo’s pelvis rocks with ferocious determination, pinning me against the wall with each thrust. His fingers expertly tease my nipples as my back arches with the building pleasure that is threatening to drown me at any second. When he leans back and presses two fingers against my clit, I come undone on his cock, my walls clenching to drag him over with me.
He throws his head back when he comes, the lines of his muscles pulling tight in his neck encouraging me to take a bite. His arm sweeps around my back, pulling my body close to his own as we both pant beneath the spray of water.
Slowly and gently, he lowers me until my feet find the floor and grabs the bottle of shampoo, squirting a healthy dollop into his hands. His fingers smooth over my scalp, working the shampoo into my hair, the frothy bubbles running down my body.
“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met,” Danielo says quietly. His hands run over my skin, the bruises aching a little beneath his touch.
As I rinse my hair beneath the water I load up my own hands with shower gel and begin to wash his body.
“Turn around,” I say and he complies, letting me run my hands over his back. The criss-crossing stripes of scars over his skin tell me an entirely awful story. But I don’t ask, knowing it isn’t something he wants to share. More–this time circular scars–are dotted over his arm and neck.
Still, I don’t say anything.
Instead, I wrap my arms around him and hold him against me, turning my head so I can rest my cheek against his strong, broad back.
Danielo
She is so beautiful. I want to get to know everything about her. Tell her everything about me.
But then she will see who I really am and want nothing to do with me.
Her cheek presses against my back and for the first time in my life, I feel something warm fizzle in the pit of my stomach. Something that might be bright enough to chase my demons away.
After a few moments of standing in the water like this, she removes an arm and switches off the water.
The moment that I wanted to stretch out forever comes to an abrupt end as she steps out of the shower and wraps herself in a towel, before handing one to me.
The quietness is almost too much, and before I know what I’m doing I blurt, “It was my father.”
Her brow creases in confusion. “What was?” she asks.
“All of it.” I stretch out my arms before self-consciously touching the cigar burns on my neck. Dropping my eyes from hers as shame threatens to swallow me whole. “When we were kids, me and my brother, I took the brunt of it so Diego wouldn’t have to.” I lift a finger to the scar that stretches down the side of my face, remembering all too well how much it hurt, how much I was afraid I’d lose my eye. “This was the last one, when he realised he had taken it too far and I was old enough to start fighting back.” I shrug. “We both ended up in hospital that night.”
She stands facing me, a look of horror painted on her pretty face.
“I get it,” I finally say, taking a breath to steel myself. “It’s fine if you don’t want to see me again.”
“I never said that,” she says quietly.
“You don’t have to. I know what I look like.” I grab my clothes and begin hastily putting them on my still-damp skin, the fabric sticking and pulling uncomfortably into place.
“What do you look like?” she asks, frowning as she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth.
