His cock is pressed between us and I roll my hips so it drags over my belly. He shudders, breaking the kiss to drag his mouth down my throat, teeth scraping the tendon there, tongue soothing the sting. I tilt my head back, letting the spray hit my chest, and his lips follow the water, tracing every rivulet down to my breast. When he closes over my nipple, sucking hard, I have to clench my jaw to trap the moan.
“Shh,” he whispers against wet skin. His free hand cups my other breast, thumb flicking the tight peak until I’m trembling. “Ellie’s asleep.”
“Then stop making me feel like this,” I hiss, but I’m already guiding his hand lower, between my thighs. His fingers slip through my folds, spreading me open slowly. One thick finger slides inside, curling, and my knees buckle. I can feel how turned on I am as his palm grinds against my mound.
He catches me, pins me to the tile with his hips, and adds a second finger. The stretch is perfect, the way he strokes that spot inside me making my breath hitch in tiny, silent gasps. I clutch his shoulders and whimper. “More,” I mouth against his jaw, lips brushing stubble. “I need more of you.”
Dane kisses me again and then slowly pulls away as he sinks to his knees, trailing his lips over my flesh along the way. His hands shove my thighs wider, thumbs pressing into the crease where leg meets hip, and then his mouth is on me—no teasing or slow licks, just open and hot and starving. I choke on a cry, fingers knotting in his soaked hair, hips jerking forward like I can crawl inside his mouth.
He groans against my clit, and the vibration rips a shudder through me, as he sucks hard enough my spine bows off the wall. Two fingers plunge back inside, scissoring, curling, fucking me in short, ruthless strokes while his lips pinch me mercilessly. My thighs shake so hard he has to brace them open with his shoulders.
I can’t breathe right—tiny, punched-out gasps that fog the air between us. I slap my own forearm over my mouth again, biting down to keep the noise in, but every time he hums or growls or sucks harder I feel it in my toes. The shower’s loud, but not loud enough for the wet, filthy sounds he’s making between my legs.
“Dane…” It’s barely air, a cracked whisper. “I’m gonna?—”
He pulls off just long enough to rasp, “Do it. Come on my tongue before I fuck you stupid.”
Then he’s back, tongue lashing my clit, fingers crooking hard against that spot that whites out my vision. The orgasm hits like a slap and I smother a broken sob against my wrist. My pussy clamps down on his fingers, pulsing so hard he has to pin my hips to keep me from collapsing.
He doesn’t stop licking until I’m twitching, oversensitive, trying to squirm away. Only then does he stand, water sluicing off him, cock flushed. He spins me, presses my chest to the tile, and I feel him notch at my entrance and slide past the first time.
“Hold still,” he growls against my ear, one hand sliding up to cover my mouth again. “Gonna fill you up so good, you’ll feel me for days.”
He thrusts in one slow firm push, bottoming out with a grunt that vibrates through my back. My fingers scrabble at the wall, nails scraping grout, and he starts to move in long, deep strokesthat drag over every nerve ending I own. His free hand grips my hip, fingers bruising, pulling me back onto every thrust like he can’t get deep enough.
It’s exquisite, the way he fills me and sucks tiny gasps from my throat at the same time. Every pump, each time his hips push against me, I’m moaning, grinding back into him desperate to get more.
I’m already climbing again, embarrassingly fast. The angle's perfect, his cock dragging against my front wall with every roll of his hips. So I push back, meeting him, greedy for more, and he curses under his breath right against my ear.
“Quiet,” he warns, but his voice cracks, and when I clench around him on purpose he slams in harder, the slap of skin barely masked by the water. “Fuck—do that again,” he grunts, and I do. Again and again, until he’s pounding into me, hand over my mouth, my own fingers sneaking down to rub my clit in frantic circles. The second orgasm builds slower but deeper, a heavy, rolling wave that tightens my stomach and steals my air.
He feels it coming—growls my name against my shoulder, teeth sinking in to muffle himself—and thrusts deep, grinding hard. I come with a full-body shudder, pussy milking him in greedy pulses. The convulsions are tight and powerful and almost make my knees buckle, but his hands hold me up and he follows right after, hips jerking, cock pulsing hot inside me as he spills with a choked, desperate sound swallowed by my skin.
I can feel his teeth on me, the stubble that grew while we were out on the mountain, and I press my hot cheek to the cold tile as I grin at him. "Do it again," I groan in a whisper, and he bites harder until I wince and chuckle.
"We need sleep…" Dane pulls out, leaving his cum draining down my thigh, and I lean back into him as he pulls away.
His arms slide around my middle as I rest against his chest under the flow of water and wonder how I'm ever going to have a normal life after this. Dane Barrett—if that's his real name—is everything in a man I've ever dreamed of, except the scary parts I wish didn't exist.
But if those scary parts keep me safe for now, I have to accept him. And if I accept them for now, is it wrong of me to ask him to leave them behind when this is over? Isn't that what he's doing here on this mountain anyway?
And are my dreams too big to hope they can come true?
21
DANE
Sunrise is gentle but bright enough to wake me the way it did yesterday morning, this time coming through the curtains and not the mouth of an igloo. I've been awake for an hour, maybe more, just watching Sloane sleep. Her auburn hair is spread across the pillow, face relaxed. And one arm is draped across my chest as her breath dusts my skin.
I can't take my eyes from her face. I love the way her eyes twitch when she's dreaming and the way her lips twitch like she wants to speak to me. My fingers itch to move the strand of hair from her forehead, but I don't want to disturb her.
The realization that I love this woman with everything in me hit me the other night in that snow shelter. I've been falling for weeks, maybe since the beginning. I tried telling myself I'd have to send her away, but last night, it became undeniable to me that I can't live without her, and it's terrifying.
I've never been in love before. I've never let anyone close enough to even grow fond of them. The women in my past were transactions—bodies exchanged for temporary relief with namesforgotten by morning. But Sloane has carved herself into my chest and made herself essential, and the thought of losing her makes my heart stop.
If anything happens to her, I'll lose my mind. I'll go on a rampage that makes my past work for the Ferraros look tame. Cal Maddox would learn firsthand the rage of a man whose heart has been shattered and any person who ever spoke kindly to him would be slaughtered.
The hot, violent thoughts rattle me from the inside out because I know exactly the violence of which I am capable. And I also know just how uncontrollable that side of me is. Sloane has become as essential to me as air or water. I'd kill for her. I'd bleed for her. And I don't think I can let her go anymore, not even to protect her.
