“I’m—ahh—in the… shower…!”
“Not that kind of wet, wise ass.”
As if to prove his point, he starts pumping his fingers in and out of me. My feisty reply dies on my tongue, replaced by moans.
“You feel how ready you are for me? Want me to fill you up, don’t you,lisichka?”
“Yes,” I whisper, shameless. My hands claw at his back. I need him closer.
“Want me to put another baby in you?”
It’s biologically impossible, but I still moan. “Please,” I gasp. “Fuck me, fill me—ahh!”
Petyr’s fingers pull out of me.. I’m about to complain, but then the blunt head of his cock is pushing in, slow and deliberate, and it’s all I can do not to scream. I dig crescents into his back, stretched so full I could cry.
He swallows my moans with another kiss, this one filthy, sloppy.
“That’s it,” he murmurs against my lips between licks. “Take me. All of me. You’re mine.”
“Yours,” I answer helplessly. My hips cant against his. “All yours.”
He groans into the crook of my neck, wild and animal. His muscled body presses me into the shower wall, lifts me higher, fucks me deeper.
He pins me with his hips so that his hand can cradle the back of my head, protective even in the heat of it. It keeps me from bumping against the tile with the ferocity of his thrusts.
I want him to go faster. Harder. Want him to fuck me until I can’t walk, can’t think, can’t move.
When I open my eyes, his are already locked on mine, wide and surprised. His pupils are blown. I realize, belatedly, I might have just said all of that out loud.
“Fuck,” he grunts, and ups his pace. “You’re going to be the death of me,lisichka.”
Petyr’s thrusts slow. I moan in protest, but somehow, the shallow rhythm he starts up is almost worse than before. Like this, he’s rubbing against my G-spot every other second. It feels too good for words.
His breath hitches. “Look at you. So fucking perfect.”
He’s drawing this out, the cruel bastard. It feels like torture to wait, but it’s the sweetest kind of agony.
He brushes his thumb along my cheekbone. It’s such a tendergesture, so unlike anything we’ve ever done, that it makes my chest ache harder than the pleasure does.
Then he shifts his hips, angling himself deeper, and I’m lost.
“Say it,” he growls against my mouth His pace turns wild. “Say you’re mine. That no one else will ever touch you.”
My head tilts back against the tiles. “I’m yours,” I chant, over and over, as many times as it takes for him to believe me. “Always. Yours. No one else’s.”
“Good girl.”
That’s all it takes.
I shudder hard. My body clenches around him. It’s too much, too soon, but it also feels like I’ve waited an eternity for this exact moment. I’m coming, and coming, and coming, but somehow, my next orgasm is already tightening inside me.
“That’s it,” Petyr groans. “Come for me. Let me feel you squeeze my cock while I fuck you full.”
It’s not a declaration on one knee or a diamond ring, and Hallmark will never put this moment in the movie trailer, but my chest still swells with something I can’t name. Something I’m afraid to. Because the way he’s holding me speaks louder than a thousand words.
For the first time since that absurd day at the altar, I actually feel like his wife. Not just on paper, but in every way that matters.
And that’s dangerous, because it makes me want to believe him. Believe inthis. In us. If only for the space of a heartbeat stretched too far.
