Chapter 12: Steamy Submission
The warmth of the bed was a distant memory, replaced by the cool, smooth hardwood under Aurora’s feet as Callum led her by the hand toward the bathroom. The city lights cast long, distorted shadows behind them. Her body thrummed with a deep, satisfied ache, a pleasant soreness that echoed his possession.
He flicked the switch. Soft, recessed lighting illuminated the spacious bathroom, glinting off the matte black fixtures and the gold-framed mirror. The air was still faintly humid, carrying his scent—citrus soap and that underlying, clean male spice that was uniquely him.
“Still thinking too loud?” he asked, his voice a low rumble in the quiet room. He leaned against the vanity, watching her.
“A little.” She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly conscious of her nakedness in the bright light. The mirror showed a version of herself she barely recognized: flushed skin, hair wild, lips swollen from his kisses and from taking him. A bolt of pure, carnal pride shot through her, followed by a shiver.
“Cold?” He pushed off the vanity and stepped toward her, his body heat a tangible force as he drew her in. “Let’s fix that.”
He reached past her and turned the shower on. The sound of water striking glass filled the room, and steam began to curl into the air. He tested the temperature with his hand, then guided her into the large enclosure. The glass door hissed shut behind them.
The water was a perfect, skin-pinking heat. It sluiced over her shoulders, plastering her hair to her scalp and back in an instant. Callum stood behind her, his hands on her waist, his chest against her back. He reached for a bottle, the sound of the pump a soft click. The sharp, clean scent of his shampoo bloomed around them.
“Turn around,” he said, his mouth near her ear.She did. Water cascaded over his brow, down the strong line of his nose, dripping from his dark lashes. He looked like some water-born god, utterly at ease in the element. He poured a dollop of shampoo into his palm and began to work it into her hair. His fingers were strong, massaging her scalp with a tenderness that felt incongruous with the man who had, less than an hour ago, pinned her to a column and fucked her senseless.
She let her head fall back under the spray, rinsing, the world narrowing to the feel of his hands in her hair. He then took a bar of soap, working a rich lather between his palms. He started at her shoulders, washing her with a slow, methodical care that was its own form of devotion. He soaped the swell of her breasts, his thumbs circling her nipples until they pebbled tight, not from the cool air but from his touch. He slid his lathered hands down her stomach, over her hips, between her thighs.
She gasped, her hands braced against his forearms as he washed her there, his touch clinical and intimate all at once. “Just getting you clean,” he murmured, but his eyes were dark, watching her face.
“Bullshit,” she breathed, her hips jerking slightly against his hand.
He gave a low chuckle and rinsed her off, the soap swirling down the drain. The steam thickened, cocooning them. His cock, semi-hard, brushed against her thigh. The sight of him, water-sleek and powerful, sent a fresh, deep pull of desire through her core. The ache between her legs was no longer just soreness; it was a renewed, hungry emptiness.
“My turn,” she said, echoing him again, a game they were building.
She took the soap from his hand. She started with his chest, mapping the terrain she’d explored with her mouth earlier, tracing every scar, every defined ridge of muscle. She moved lower, her lathered hands sliding over the tight planes of his stomach, down the V of his hips. She took his cock in her hand, already hardening fully under her touch. She worked the soap over his length, slow and deliberate, feeling him pulse and thicken.
“Aurora,” he warned, his voice tight.
She looked up at him through the steam, water dripping from her lashes. “Just getting you clean,” she echoed, a sly smile on her lips.
She rinsed him off, her hand stroking him under the hot spray until he was fully, rigidly erect. Then she sank to her knees on the textured shower floor. The water beat down on her back and shoulders.
“Fuck,” he exhaled, his hands coming to rest on her head, not pushing, just holding.
From this angle, he looked even more immense. She nuzzled the base of his shaft, inhaling the clean, wet scent of him and his soap. She kissed the tip, tasting clean water and the faint, essential salt of him. Then she opened her mouth and took him in.
The first inch, then more. She relaxed her throat, using the techniques she’d read about in the dirty books she’d never admit to owning. She took him deep, until her nose pressed into the dark curls at his base. A guttural groan echoed off the shower walls. His fingers tangled in her wet hair, tightening.
“Yes,” he hissed. “Just like that.”
She established a rhythm, her head bobbing, her mouth a tight, wet sheath. She used her tongue, swirling the tip with each withdrawal. She hollowed her cheeks, creating a suction that made his thighs tremble. The sounds were obscenely loud in the steamy enclosure: her wet, sloppy sucking, his ragged curses, the constant drum of the water.
“Look at you,” he growled, his voice strained. “On your fucking knees. Your mouth is perfect. So good at this.”
His praise fired through her, molten and potent. She reached between his legs, cupping his balls, rolling them gently in her hand as she worked his length. He thrust forward, shallowly at first, then deeper, testing her control. She let him, relaxing her jaw, taking him as he pushed into her throat. The feeling of him hitting the back of her throat made her eyes water. She gagged, the sound muffled around him.
“Sorry, baby,” he muttered, but he didn’t stop. He held her head, his thrusts becoming more urgent, more rhythmic. “God, you take it so well. Your fucking throat is incredible.”
She loved it. The submission, the sheer lewdness of it, the sounds he made. She moved a hand between her own legs, finding her clit slick and swollen. She rubbed herself in tight circles as she sucked him, the dual sensations sending jolts of electricity through her.
He felt the vibration of her moan around his cock. “Are you touching yourself?” he demanded, looking down. “Let me see.”
She moved her hand, showing him, then went back to it. The sight of her pleasuring herself on her knees, his cock plunging into her mouth, undid him.
“I’m gonna come,” he warned, his hips stuttering. “You need to pull off.”
She didn’t. She took him deeper, her eyes locked on his, and swallowed against him.That was it. With a shout that was part roar, part sob, he came, jetting hot and bitter down her throat. She swallowed, taking every pulse, her own orgasm cresting and breaking silently, a sharp, clenching rush that left her shaking. She milked him with her mouth until he was sensitive, until he gently tugged her hair to pull her off.
She sat back on her heels, panting, water and sweat and his release on her lips. He looked utterly wrecked, leaning against the shower wall for support, his chest heaving.
He reached down, his hand trembling slightly, and wiped his thumb over her bottom lip. “You’re fucking unreal,” he breathed.
He pulled her up, kissing her hard, tasting himself on her tongue. It was primal, possessive. His hands slid down her back, over the curve of her ass, and he lifted her effortlessly. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her back against the cool, wet tile of the shower wall.
He was still half-hard, but growing again rapidly against her. He positioned himself and pushed inside her in one smooth, claiming stroke. They both cried out. She was so wet, so open, but he stretched her beautifully, filling the aching emptiness.
The water rained down on them as he fucked her.This was different. Not slow and reverent, not playful and commanding. This was raw, desperate need. His hips pistoned, driving into her with a force that knocked the breath from her lungs. The tile was hard against her back, his grip on her thighs was bruising, and every impact jolted through her.
“Callum,” she gasped, her head falling back.
“Mine,” he grunted into the crook of her neck, each thrust punctuating the word. “This cunt is mine. Say it.”
“Yours,” she moaned, the admission torn from her. “Only yours.”
“Fucking right.” He drove into her harder, deeper. The angle was perfect, hitting a spot that sparked white behind her eyes. Her climax built fast, a terrifying wave about to break. She came with a sharp, choked scream, her inner muscles clenching around him rhythmically.
It triggered his own second release. He buried himself to the hilt, his whole body rigid as he spilled into her with a guttural, broken sound that was more emotion than word.
For a long moment, they just clung to each other under the spray, lungs burning, hearts hammering a frantic duet. He slowly lowered her, her legs almost giving way. He held her up, his forehead pressed to hers.
The water began to run cool. He reached out and shut it off.
The sudden silence was deafening. Dripping, they stepped out onto the bath mat. He grabbed the oversized towel from the heated rack and wrapped it around her, rubbing her arms vigorously before cocooning himself in another.
They didn’t speak. They dried off in the humid silence, the events in the shower hanging between them like the steam. He wiped a clear circle on the fogged mirror and looked at her reflection behind him. Her face was flushed, her eyes dazed.
He turned, his expression unreadable. He cupped her face, his thumb stroking her cheekbone. He didn’t say anything. He just looked at her, as if trying to memorize her exactly like this: ravished, bare, his.
From the bedroom, his phone began to vibrate on the hardwood floor, a persistent, angry buzz. It skittered slightly with each pulse.
They both froze.It stopped. Then, a second later, started again.
Callum closed his eyes, a shadow passing over his face. The bubble, already strained, developed a hairline fracture.
“That’ll be Mara,” he said, his voice flat.“My publicist. The world’s calling.” He dropped his hand from her face. “I have to…”
He didn’t finish. He just walked out of the bathroom, leaving her standing there, cold seeping in where his heat had been, the towel slowly dripping onto the tile floor.