“You’re thinking about bending me over and fucking me until I can’t stand.”
His grip on my hip tightens. “Keep talking like that, and I’ll do it.”
I meet his gaze head-on, breath heaving, water dripping down my body. “Then do it.”
And that’s all it takes.
He spins me gently, pressing my chest to the cool tile, one hand flattening over my lower back while the otherslides between my legs. His fingers tease me, just enough to make me writhe, make me beg.
“Goddamn, Charlie,” he breathes. “You’re already soaked.”
“Then stop teasing.”
He groans and thrusts into me in one hard, perfect stroke, and I scream, the echo swallowed by the spray of the water and the slap of skin on skin.
He pounds into me with ruthless rhythm, hands tight on my hips, his mouth at my neck whispering filth in that gravelly, breathless drawl.
“Look at you,” he growls. “Dripping. Moaning. Mine.”
“Yours,” I gasp, forehead pressed to the wall, body trembling. “Fuck, Sam?—”
He shifts his angle, hits that spot that makes my legs threaten to give out.
“You feel that?” he pants, fucking me harder. “That’s where you come for me.”
My body breaks.
I clench around him, crying out his name as the orgasm crashes through me, white-hot and blinding. He keeps going, chasing his own, fucking me through it until he groans loud and filthy, burying himself deep as he spills into me, his fingers bruising on my hips.
We stay there, panting, shaking, the water washing away everything but the fire still pulsing between us.
Eventually, he kisses my shoulder, slow and reverent.
I turn, facing him. Leaning forward, I nip his neck and then kiss the skin right in the spot that drives him crazy.
“I think you broke me,” I murmur.
He smiles. “Then we’re even.”
13
Phern is already standing in the kitchen with her arms crossed, one brow arched, mug in hand, judging.
I instinctively shrink half a step behind Sam, even though I’m covered in one of his oversized sweatshirts and a pair of drawstring pants I had to roll at the ankles twice. My hair is still damp, twisted up into a messy bun that’s barely holding on, and my cheeks are definitely flushed.
Not from the hot water.
Sam, cocky bastard that he is, walks in like he didn’t just rearrange my entire internal anatomy in the shower. His flannel’s hanging open at the neck, and?—
Oh god.
My eyes land on the dark mark blooming along his collarbone.
Oops.
Phern’s eyes zero in on it, too.
And she sips her coffee. Slowly.
