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He chuckles and I open one eye to find him smiling down at me. "You like?"
"Hmm..."
He grins. "Me, too," he says and leans over to kiss my forehead, his fingers continuing their sweet, firm kneading of my scalp.
"Turn round," he says authoritatively. I do as I'm told, and his fingers slowly work over my head, cleansing, relaxing, loving me as they go. Oh, this is bliss. He reaches for more shampoo and gently washes the long tresses down my back. When he's finished, he pulls me back under the shower.
"Lean your head back," he orders quietly.
I willingly comply, and he carefully rinses out the suds. When he's done, I face him once more and make a beeline for his pants.
"I want to wash all of you,"
I whisper. He smiles that lopsided smile and lifts his hands in a gesture that says "I'm all yours, baby." I grin; it feels like Christmas. I make short work of his zipper, and soon his pants and boxers join the rest of our clothing. I stand and reach for the body wash and the freshwater sponge.
"Looks like you're pleased to see me," I murmur dryly.
"I'm always pleased to see you, Miss Steele." He smirks at me.
I soap the sponge, then retrace my journey over his chest. He's more relaxed - maybe because I'm not actually touching him. I head south with the sponge, across his belly, along the happy trail, through his pubic hair, and over and up his erection.
I peek up at him, and he regards me with hooded eyes and sensual longing. Hmm... I like this look. I drop the sponge and use my hands, grasping him firmly. He closes his eyes, tips his head back, and groans, thrusting his hips into my hands.
Oh yes! It's so arousing. My inner goddess has resurfaced after her evening of rocking and weeping in the corner, and she's wearing harlot-red lipstick.
His burning eyes suddenly lock with mine. He's remembered something.
"It's Saturday," he exclaims, eyes alight with salacious wonder, and he grasps my waist, pulling me to him and kissing me savagely.
Whoa - change of pace!
His hands sweep down my slick, wet body, round to my sex, his fingers exploring, teasing, and his mouth is relentless, leaving me breathless. His other hand is in my wet hair, holding me in place while I bear the full force of his passion unleashed. His fingers move inside me.
"Ahh," I moan into his mouth.
"Yes," he hisses and lifts me, his hands beneath my backside. "Wrap your legs around me, baby." My legs fold around him, and I cling like a limpet to his neck. He braces me against the wall of the shower and pauses, gazing down at me.
"Eyes open," he murmurs. "I want to see you."
I blink up at him, my heart hammering, my blood pulsing hot and heavy through my body, desire, real and rampant surging through me. Then he eases into me oh-so-slowly, filling me, claiming me, skin against skin. I push down against him and groan loudly. Once fully inside me, he pauses once more, his face strained, intense.
"You are mine, Anastasia," he whispers.
"Always."
He smiles victoriously and shifts, making me gasp.
"And now we can let everyone know, because you said yes." His voice is reverential, and he leans down, capturing my mouth with his, and starts to move... slow and sweet. I close my eyes and tilt my head back as my body bows, my will submitting to his, slave to his intoxicating slow rhythm.
His teeth graze my jaw, my chin, and down my neck as he picks up the pace, pushing me onward, upward - away from this earthly plane, the teeming shower, the evening's chilling fright. It's just me and my man moving in unison, moving as one - each completely absorbed in the other - our gasps and grunts mingling. I revel in the exquisite feeling of his possession as my body blooms and flowers around him.
I could have lost him... and I love him... I love him so much, and I'm suddenly overcome by the enormity of my love and the depth of my commitment to him. I will spend the rest of my life loving this man, and with that awe-inspiring thought, I detonate around him - a healing, cathartic orgasm, crying out his name as tears flow down my cheeks.
He reaches his climax and pours himself into me. With his face buried in my neck, he sinks to the floor, holding me tightly, kissing my face, and kissing away my tears as the warm water spills down around us, washing us clean.
"My fingers are pruny," I murmur, postcoital and sated as I lean against his chest. He raises my fingers to his lips and kisses each in turn.
"We should really get out of this shower."
"I'm comfortable here." I'm sitting between his legs and he's holding me close. I don't want to move.
Christian murmurs his assent. But suddenly I'm bone tired, world-weary. So much has happened this last week - enough for a lifetime of drama - and now I'm getting married. A disbelieving giggle escapes my lips.
"Something amusing you, Miss Steele?" he asks fondly.
"It's been a busy week."
He grins. "That it has."
"I thank God you're back in one piece, Mr. Grey," I whisper, sobering at the thought of what might have been. He tenses and I immediately regret reminding him.
"I was scared," he confesses much to my surprise.
"Earlier?"
He nods, his expression serious.
Holy shit. "So you made light of it to reassure your family?"
"Yes. I was too low to land well. But somehow I did."
Crap. My eyes sweep up to his, and he looks grave as the water cascades over us. "How close a call was it?" He gazes down at me.
"Close," he pauses. "For a few awful seconds, I thought I'd never see you again."
I hug him tightly. "I can't imagine my life without you, Christian. I love you so much it frightens me."
