But my mind won’t quit whispering:Why would it end? Unless he decides it should.
14
ELIZABETH
The smell of bacon jolts me awake, and for a moment, I panic because I don’t recognize where I am. That is, until just seconds later, Jon walks in wearing only a pair of silk pajama pants, carrying a tray with a smile on his face.
“Well, good morning,” he greets, setting the tray in front of me on the bed as I sit up. “I didn’t want to disturb you, so I let you sleep in and made us some breakfast in bed. You look great in my shirt, by the way.”
“Wow. Thank you.” I say, looking down at the two plates containing scrambled eggs, three strips of bacon, and a slice of buttered toast. Instantly, my stomach growls loudly, and I blush.
Jon laughs. “And not a moment too soon, you sound famished.”
With a smile, I grab one of the plates and immediately dig in. “Well, I must’ve worked up an appetite from last night.”
Finishing every bite, he takes the dishes back into the kitchen and returns quickly, sitting next to me on the bed. “So, any plans for the day, or are you free to hang around for a bit?”
As much as I’d love to blow off the day and spend more time with him, I commit to my parents every single Sunday. “Unfortunately, I have a family dinner at my parents every week. But before I go, I should probably shower.”
Without hesitation, Jon strides to the bathroom and flicks the shower on, steam already curling out of the stall. He leans on the doorframe, one hand braced high, the other low, filling the space with his body. “Mind if I join?” His voice is velvet, his pose pure sin.
I bite my lip and nod. The thought alone makes my pulse skip. I’ve never shared a shower before, but with us, naked skin always seems to end in fire.
As I pass, his gaze drags over me like a touch, my shirt slipping off my shoulders until I’m bare under the heat of his stare. The water pelts my back when I step inside, heavy as a summer rain, loosening every bone in me.
Jon steps in after, and the sight steals my breath: his hair slicked back, water streaming down over broad shoulders, over the carved lines of his chest, lower still to those thick thighs. He works shampoo into his hair, eyes shut, every flex of muscle on display.
I move in, sliding my palms over his wet shoulders, down the ridges of his back. His low moan rumbles through the steam. My fingers trail to his hips, then snake forward, wrapping around his cock. Hot. Heavy. Alive in my hand.
“Fuck,” he growls, forehead pressed against the tile, hands braced wide as I stroke him slow, then faster, water and soap making everything slicker, dirtier.
I press my breasts to his back, nipples hard against his wet skin, hips grinding into the curve of his ass. My hand pumps harder, twisting, milking ragged groans out of him until he’s thrusting into my fist.
Every sound he makes shoots straight through me, my clit pulsing, my body begging to be filled. But not yet. Not this time; right now, I want to ruin him.
My lips trail fire down his wet back, my fist stroking his cock harder, tighter, until his hips are rocking into my grip like he can’t help himself.
“Lizzy,” he rasps, voice raw, jaw tight, his forehead pressed against the tile. His body shudders under my hand, every muscle strung taut.
Then he turns, sudden and forceful, water sheeting off his body as he spins me against the slick wall.
My gasp echoes, swallowed by his mouth as he kisses me hard, bruising, one big hand gripping my throat while the other hauls my thigh over his hip.
The blunt head of his cock slides against me once, twice—and then he’s inside, stretching me full in one brutal thrust.
The shower hisses around us, steam curling as his hips slam forward, my back arching against the tile with every wet slap of skin.
He fucks me deep, hard, relentless, his mouth devouring my moans, his hands pinning me open for him. My nails claw his shoulders as the hot water drums our bodies, but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up.
“Perfection,” he growls into my ear, pounding harder, the sound of our bodies colliding lost in the roar of the shower. My pussy clenches around him, and he groans low, guttural, fucking me through my shuddering orgasm until I’m boneless against the wall.
Only then does his pace turn savage, desperate. His thrusts grow ragged, his teeth catching my shoulder as he buries himself to the hilt. With a strangled growl, he comes, cock pulsing inside me, filling me hot and heavy while his grip keeps me locked against him.
The shower steams, water cascading down our tangled bodies, his breath rough in my ear as he presses his forehead to mine. I feel a sense of pride that I’m able to make him feel as good as he’s made me feel. He deserves to know that feeling.
After the shower, I dry off and throw on my clothes from the date yesterday before combing through my wet hair.
As much as I’m dreading having to leave him, I have a commitment that I’ve never missed since moving to the city. I find Jon standing in the kitchen, loading the dirty dishes from breakfast into the dishwasher.
