I crash my lips against hers, devouring her mouth like a man starved as I carry her towards the bathroom. She tastes like sin and salvation, and I can't get enough.
The rest of the world fades away—the stolen Soul Stone, the werewolves—as we stumble into the bathroom, our hands tearing at each other's clothes. Buttons fly and fabric rips, but I couldn't give a single fuck. All that matters is getting her naked, getting my hands and mouth on every inch of her soft, perfect skin.
We finally enter the shower, the hot water cascading over us as I press her against the cool tile wall. She gasps as I trail my lips down her neck, my teeth grazing her pulse point. I can feel it thundering beneath my tongue, a reminder of how alive she is, how fucking precious.
"Rhyland," she moans, her nails digging into my shoulders as I explore her body with my hands and mouth. "Please..."
I know what she needs, what she's begging for. And I'm more than happy to oblige.
I hoist her up higher, her legs locking around my hips as I position myself at her entrance. With one swift thrust, I'm inside her, buried balls deep in her tight, wet heat.
"Fuck," I groan, my forehead falling against hers as I start to move. "You feel so goddamn good, Angel."
She whimpers, her hips rolling to meet mine with every thrust. "So do you," she gasps, her head falling against the wall. "God, Rhyland, don't stop."
As if I could. As if I would ever fucking want to.
Danica
76
Rhyland's cock is a masterpiece, a work of art crafted by the gods themselves. I swear, I could worship at the altar of his dick for eternity and never get enough. The way he fills me, stretching me to the brink, hitting that sweet spot deep inside with every thrust—it's pure ecstasy, sending me careening over the edge every damn time.
You know the old saying—size doesn't matter. Well, that's a fucking lie. Rhyland is the biggest I've ever had, and he's showing me what I've been missing my entire goddamn life.
He's got me pinned against the shower wall, my body trapped between the cool tiles and his hard, unyielding muscles. His hands grip my ass, his fingers digging into my flesh as he controls my movements, slamming me down onto his thick, pulsing length. His tattooed arms flex and ripple with each powerful thrust, a mesmerizing display of raw, primal strength.
I'm a writhing, moaning mess, clinging to him desperately as the hot water cascades over us, the steam rising in a heady fog. My nails rake down his back, leaving angry red lines in their wake, a physical manifestation of the pleasure tearing through my body.
"Fuck, woman," Rhyland growls against my neck, his breath hot and ragged. "You're driving me crazy." His hips piston into me with renewed vigor, his cock driving into me like a jackhammer, relentless and unforgiving.
"Give it to me, Angel," he commands, his voice a low, guttural rumble that vibrates through my very bones. "I can't last much longer with the way you're squeezing my cock, milking me for all I'm worth."
His filthy words are my undoing, pushing me over the precipice into mind-numbing ecstasy. I come with a keening cry, my inner walls clamping down around histhrobbing length, pulsing and fluttering as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over me.
Rhyland's answering groan is animalistic and primal as he buries his face in the crook of my neck, his teeth grazing my sensitive skin. His hips stutter, losing their rhythm as he chases his own release, and then he's coming, his hot seed spurting deep inside me, coating my walls with his essence.
The sensation triggers another orgasm, my body shuddering and convulsing in his arms as the white-hot flames of rapture consume me. The wet, obscene sounds of our coupling echo off the shower walls, a lewd symphony of passion and desire.
We stay like that for a long moment, our bodies intertwined, our chests heaving as we struggle to catch our breath. The water continues to pour over us, washing away the evidence of our coupling, but the memory of it is seared into my mind, body, and soul.
After our steamy shower session, Rhyland and I dried off, got dressed, and I sent a quick text to Emily with Lucian's address. We made our way to the kitchen, and let me tell you, calling it a kitchen is like calling the Mona Lisa a doodle. This place is a gourmet wonderland, a culinary wet dream that would make The Food Network weep tears of joy.
It felt amazing to finally shower with actual products instead of a bar of kelp soap that smelled like low tide. Lucian's bathroom was stocked with every luxury, from high-end shampoos to fancy lotions that cost more than my entire wardrobe.
I'm perched at the kitchen island, rocking my favorite pair of cotton shorts and a cozy oversized sweater that hangs off one shoulder. It's the perfect blend of comfy and cute—like I'm ready for a lazy Sunday morning but still could kick ass if needed.
Rhyland, my caffeine hero, is brewing a pot of coffee that I've been craving like a junkie in need of a fix. I don't care if the sun is setting; I need my liquid energy, and I need it now.
As I perch on the kitchen island stool, still flushed from our steamy shower session, I can't help but ogle Rhyland as he moves around the kitchen. He's a walking temptation in nothing but low-hanging gray sweatpants, clearly borrowed from Lucian. His damp black hair is artfully tousled, cut tight on the sides with just enough on top to make me want to muss it up again.
That thick, well-groomed beard frames his chiseled jaw, still glistening with a few stray water droplets. My eyes trace the contours of his gloriously naked upper half, amasterpiece of golden tan skin and Nordic tattoos stretched over rippling muscles. From those washboard abs to the arms that easily manhandled me against the shower wall just minutes ago, every inch of him screams, 'Touch me.'
I'm mesmerized by the tantalizing trail of dark hair that starts below his navel and disappears into the waistband of those sweats, forming a 'V' that points like a neon sign to the impressive bulge I was intimately acquainted with earlier.
Seeing him and the lingering endorphins from our passionate encounter sends me a fresh wave of heat. My skin tingles, my heart races, and I'm pretty sure I'm grinning like an idiot. It's taking every ounce of willpower not to drag him back to bed, coffee be damned.
Rhyland must feel my eyes boring into his back. "Ready for another round, baby? Should I put this coffee on hold?"
