Chapter 5: Steam clouds the glass as Caleb's soapy hands glide over Willow's reddened skin, his cock hardening against her thigh - 'You took them so well, little fox,' he growls, spinning her around to bite her shoulder while his fingers plunge into her sore, swollen cunt.
The bathroom’s fluorescent light buzzed like a trapped insect, its harsh glare bleaching the color from Willow’s skin. Caleb set her down on the cold, porcelain edge of the claw-foot tub, his movements sure and quiet. The contrast to the playroom was absolute: here, everything was hard surfaces and antiseptic smell, a world away from the scent of leather and sex.
“Let’s get you clean, little fox,” he murmured, but his voice had a different texture now, less like a balm and more like a whetstone.
He turned the taps, and steam began to billow, fogging the mirror. He tested the water with his hand, then guided her under the spray. It was scalding, just shy of painful, and she gasped as it needled her over-sensitive skin. Caleb reached for a bottle of plain, unscented soap, pouring a generous amount into his palm.
His hands were gentle at first, working the lather over her shoulders, down her back, carefully avoiding the faint, pink marks left by Declan’s belt. He soaped her breasts, his thumbs circling her nipples until they pebbled into tight, aching points. She leaned into his touch, her body responding despite its exhaustion, seeking the comfort she expected from him.
But his hands traveled lower, over the swell of her hips, down the outside of her thighs. Then they moved inward.
“Let’s see what they did to you,” he said, his tone conversational, almost clinical.
He nudged her legs apart. The water sluiced between them, and his soapy fingers followed, not washing, but exploring. He traced her outer lips, then slid two fingers inside her with a sudden, purposeful thrust.
Willow cried out, her hands slapping against the wet tiles for support. She was still swollen, exquisitely tender, and his intrusion was a bright, sharp shock.
“So open,” Caleb observed, his voice low in her ear as he worked his fingers in and out. “So loose. They really filled you up, didn’t they? I can feel it. You’re still dripping with them.”
He pulled his fingers out and held them up, slick and shining in the harsh light. “Look at that. Declan. Asher. All mixed together inside my girl.”
A possessive heat flared in his eyes, extinguishing the last of the playful light. He turned her roughly, pressing her front against the cold, wet tiles. The shock of the ceramic against her heated skin made her jolt.
“I think you need to be cleaned properly,” he growled, his body pressing against her from behind. His cock, hard again, slid between her soap-slicked thighs. “I need to wash their fucking come right out of you.”
He didn’t enter her gently. He guided himself to her entrance and pushed in with a single, relentless drive. She was wet enough from the water and her own lingering arousal, but the stretch was immense, a burning fullness that made her see stars. He buried himself to the hilt, his hips flush against her ass, and let out a long, ragged groan.
“Fuck. That’s it. Squeeze me just like that, you perfect slut.”
He set a brutal pace from the start, his thrusts short and punishing, designed for his pleasure, not hers. The tiles were unforgiving against her cheek and her breasts. One of his hands tangled in her wet hair, pulling her head back, while the other gripped her hip, his fingers digging into the flesh hard enough to leave bruises of his own.
“This cunt is mine,” he grunted, his breath hot against her neck. “You understand? They get to play, they get to punish, but this… this deep, greedy little hole belongs to me. I’m reclaiming what’s fucking mine.”
His words were a dark, filthy counterpoint to the slapping of wet skin and his ragged breaths. He fucked her with a focused intensity she’d never seen in him before, a raw need to overwrite the memory of the other men. He angled his hips, changing the tilt of his thrusts, and suddenly the head of his cock was grinding against a spot inside her that sent jolts of electricity through her exhausted system.
A broken sound tore from her throat, half-sob, half-moan. Her body, spent and overwhelmed, began to climb again, betrayal and ecstasy twisting together. Her nails scraped against the tile.
“That’s it, come for me,” he commanded, his voice guttural. “Come on my cock while I fuck their spunk out of you. Do it.”
His order, the crude, possessive claim, was the final key. Her orgasm ripped through her, a seizure that made her legs buckle. Caleb held her up, driving into her through the convulsions, his own control shattering.
“Oh god, Willow… yes… take it!” he shouted, his body slamming into hers as he emptied himself deep inside her with a series of sharp, possessive jerks.
For a long moment, they stayed like that, pinned between the hot water and the cold tile, his weight heavy on her, his breath harsh in her ear. The water began to run cool.
Slowly, he pulled out, and she shuddered at the sudden emptiness, feeling the slow, hot trickle of his release down her inner thigh. He turned her around, his expression unreadable. The playful Caleb was gone, and in his place was a man she both knew and didn’t.
He cupped her face, his thumb stroking her cheekbone. “There,” he said softly, the word hanging in the steam-filled air. “Now you’re clean.”