Chapter 3: Continued
He finally slipped free from her cunt, a slow, wet withdrawal that made her whimper, a high, bereft sound. A warm trickle of their mixed release trailed down her thigh, and she cried out, her body clenching around the sudden, hollow emptiness. Her fingers dove between her slick folds, coating themselves in the thick spill of his cum and her own slickness. She brought her glistening fingers to her mouth and sucked them deep, her eyes fluttering closed as a guttural moan vibrated in her throat at the taste—salty, musky, profoundly them.
He watched, awestruck, as her fingers dipped down again, collecting more from her well-used cunt. This time, she brought them to his lips, her eyes dark and insistent. “Taste us,” she whispered, her voice raw. “We taste so good, baby.” He opened his mouth, sucking her fingers in, and the complex, intimate flavor exploded on his tongue—her sweetness, his bitterness, the iron tang of her arousal. A rough groan of pure possession tore from his chest as he savored it, his tongue laving between her digits.
She sighed happily, a contented, ruined sound, and drew her fingers back into her own mouth, sucking them clean with a soft, final pop. “Thank you, baby,” she whispered, collapsing bonelessly against him, her bruised cheek finding its home on his pounding chest.
“Thank you, baby,” she whispered, collapsing bonelessly against him, her bruised cheek finding its home on his pounding chest. He held her there for a long time, feeling the frantic hammer of his own heart gradually slow to match her deepening breaths. The guilt was a live wire in his gut, spiking sharply as his eyes catalogued the vivid fingerprints on her hips and the savage purple bloom on her neck.
“Come here,” he murmured, his voice gravelly with spent emotion. He shifted beneath her, then stood in one fluid motion, cradling her limp, sticky body against him. She made a small noise of protest, nuzzling into his throat as he carried her from the couch, through the sleek living space, and into the expansive master bathroom.
He lowered her gently onto the cool lip of the freestanding bathtub, her legs dangling. “Stay.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead before turning to start the water, testing the temperature with his wrist until it streamed hot and placid. Steam began to curl, fogging the mirrors and softening the hard edges of the room.
Only then did he carefully lift her again, stepping into the deepening warmth and sinking down, drawing her back against his chest. The water rose around them, a silken embrace that tinted pink from the faint traces of blood on her inner thighs. He reached for a sponge and a bottle of her own bergamot-scented wash, the one she kept in his shower for the nights she worked too late.
“My perfect girl,” he whispered into the damp hair at her temple, his lips grazing her skin as he began. He poured the citrus-scented gel onto the sponge, working it into a gentle lather before bringing it to the slope of her shoulder. The sponge moved in slow, worshipful circles over the constellation of bruises his fingers had left, over the marks his teeth had carved, as if he could lave away the violence with care.
She sighed, a shuddering release of all remaining tension, her head lolling back against his shoulder. His free hand splayed across her stomach, holding her secure to him as the other traced every curve and plane, rinsing her clean of sweat and salt and the evidence of his possession. He washed the long line of her back, the swell of her breasts, the treacherous softness of her belly, each pass of the sponge an apology whispered against her skin.
“You take everything I give,” he breathed, his voice thick as he carefully coaxed her to lean forward. He filled a ceramic dipper with clear water, pouring it in a warm cascade over her hair, darkening it to deep chestnut. His fingers worked the shampoo into her scalp with a tender, meticulous pressure, massaging the taut muscles of her neck where she held all her worldly stress.
“And you give me peace,” he said, the words for her ears alone, lost in the soft splash of water as he rinsed the suds away. He peppered kisses along her soaked shoulder, her jaw, the shell of her ear, each one a soft punctuation to his murmured praise. “My brilliant, fierce Belladita. My perfect, accepting heart.” He turned her gently in the water to face him, his thumbs tracing the faint shadows under her eyes, his gaze drowning in hers. “I’ve loved you for six years,” he confessed, the steam and the intimacy making the truth finally, terrifyingly breathable. The water lapped softly at their chins as she blinked, her lips parting in stunned, beautiful silence.
The water lapped softly at their chins as she blinked, her lips parting in stunned, beautiful silence.
SHE GASPED.
It was a sharp, wet inhale that caught in her throat. Her eyes, wide and searching, traced every line of his face as if reading a newly deciphered code. “Six years,” she repeated, the words barely audible over the drip of the tap.
Then her mouth found his, a slow, deep kiss that tasted of steam and confession. “I thought you hated me that first day,” she whispered against his lips, her hand sliding down his chest beneath the water.
Her fingers closed around his rapidly hardening cock, her grip firm and knowing. “You glared at me like I’d fucked up your entire world,” she said, her thumb rubbing slick, tight circles over the head.
“You had,” he grunted, his hips bucking upward into her fist. “You walked in and my entire plan just… evaporated.” He captured her mouth again, his tongue claiming hers with a frantic, desperate energy. He lifted her easily, water sluicing from their bodies, and positioned her dripping cunt over his throbbing length.
“You were this devastating creature who looked at my championship trophies like they were paperweights,” he said, guiding himself to her entrance. He didn’t push inside, just held the thick tip there, teasing them both. “And all I wanted to do was bite that fucking superior lip of yours.”
She sank down onto him in one smooth, water-slick plunge, her breath leaving her in a ragged moan. “So do it now,” she challenged, her voice husky as she began to move, riding him with a slow, deep rhythm. The bathwater sloshed over the edges, soaking the floor. He obeyed, his teeth catching her bottom lip in a sharp, possessive bite as his hands gripped her bruised hips, pulling her down onto him harder with every upward thrust.
“My brilliant, frustrating, perfect Bella,” he growled, the words vibrating against her captured lip. She ground down against him, her inner muscles clenching around his shaft with a rhythmic, demanding pulse. “This cunt has been mine for six years and you were too busy running my world to notice.”