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She whines—the most erotic sound I’ve ever heard. “I think I’m going to …”
I continue my even thrusting, doing my best to pace myself. “What, Little Storm? You’re going to what?”
Her eyes crinkle, bashful yet fearless—accepting the challenge I already know she has in her. “Come,” she rasps. “I’m gonna come.”
“There you go. Come on my cock like a good girl.” I smack the side of her other breast to send her over the precipice, and she arches her back, pushing against me and quaking with a scream. My hand shoots to her mouth, smothering her cries; I’m unwilling to share her noises with anyone.
“Wells!” she wails into my palm, hazy sapphires locked on mine while she comes apart. Her walls clench my cock as her every muscle contracts. Body trembling, her skin glistens with a layer of sweat, and her limbs fall weak.
The most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.
It’s too much for me. I scoop her into my arms, pumping into her, less gentle than I should be, as I chase my own release. “I knew you’d feel like this—made for me. You’re so fucking perfect, Ivy. My brat, my storm, my good girl.”
She burrows her face into my neck as I hold her, shaking as I come, and eventually, I fall onto my back, still deep inside her, her fiery strands fanned across my chest. I tighten my arms around her, fully aware of the precious gift I’m holding. Unable to grasp that she’s even real. I’ve dreamed of this for so long.
And fear crashes into me, mowing me down with a greater force than it did the night I knew my whole family was dying, miles away from me. Helpless.
Christ, I can’t lose her.
But I also don’t want to miss these moments with her because I’m tied in knots.
I drink in a shaky breath and rake my fingers through her hair, kissing her forehead. “Let’s go get cleaned up.”
“Okay.” She lifts her head, eyes skating over my face, knuckles grazing the stubble on my jaw. “I knew you’d feel like that too. Perfect for me.”
Her lips meet mine, and I deepen the kiss, sitting up, curling her legs around my waist, and walking us to the shower. Savoring her with every step.
The stone walls run the length of my bathroom, about fifteen feet. There’s a large rain head in the middle and several other nozzles on the sides. I flip them on, wait for the hot water, and set Ivy beneath the rain sprayer.
She takes us both in, painted in a mixture of cum and blood, along with the crimson flowing down the drain, and gasps. “Oh God. I’m so sorry. Your sheets—”
I clutch her chin. “No. Don’t apologize. We were on the comforter. It won’t stain because it’s black, and I have a spare. Everything was perfect.Youare perfect.”
Pumping some soap into my hand, I lather her up, scrubbing away the markings of all she entrusted to me. The savage beast inside me silently rebuffs the gesture, yearning to brand every inch of her as mine.In time.I continue over the rest of her, and before I can move to myself, she takes over doing the same for me. Wiping me clean—my thighs and balls first—smiling when my still-half-mast cock twitches in her hand.
“This is good. Us. Right?” Her eyes gleam with hope, her chest frozen in place. She needs reassurance. I’m sure her emotions are all over the place right now.
“So good,” I promise her, rubbing shampoo into her hair as she continues soaping my chest and abs. “I’ll get your things moved into this room, but tonight, you’ll have to smell like me.”
“I love the way you smell.” She grins, relief flooding her features. “Will you tell me about your tattoos?” Her palms skim the ones curling over my shoulders. A griffin on one, the skeleton of atree frog on the other. As the pads of her fingers snag on the raised scar tissue those tattoos cover, she swallows, probing me with questions she doesn’t voice.
Spinning her so she’s facing away from me and no longer directly under the rain head, I tilt her chin up, pushing the bubbles down her back. I’m enjoying the view far too much to share tonight. “Those are from a past life, better saved for a future conversation,” I say with a pat on her ass.
She peers over her shoulder at me, her lips sloping downward into a contemplative frown. “What about the sword in the stone? Past life too?”
“No. That’s for this one.” I add a dollop of conditioner to her hair. “It’s a reminder that we all have a purpose inside us, something we’re meant for.”
“I love that,” she sings, the awe in her voice rising with the steam. “Found yours?”
My fingers comb through her hair, untangling it before dusting over the channel of her spine to the dip below her dainty ribs, pointed hip bones, round ass. Ravishing.
“I have.” That may be true, but unease swarms in my bones. The realization of how different the perspective of our beginning will be is making me dizzy. This experience might feel tainted when she discovers who I am.
“Wow,” she muses, and the echo of it crashes into me. “That must be relieving, enlightening. Know how to accomplish taking your sword?”
Yep. She’s standing right in front of me.
Fuck.
