Steam kissed my bare skin, hotter now without that thin layer between us. Every inch of me gleamed under the mist, nipples diamond-hard, thighs slick with need and water.
Kenji didn’t give me a second to adjust. His palm never left my mouth—still commanding my breath, still silencing every word.
With his other hand, he shoved me forward, deeper into the shower.
Oh fuck.
The sudden spray of hot water crashed over us both. The force rattled my spine. I jerked against his hold. Heat sluiced down my body, mingling with sweat and my arousal.
He loudly groaned.
Low.
Guttural.
Feral.
It was the sound of a beast sinking into his element. The vibration rolled through his chest, pressed into my back, echoing in my bones.
Water poured down on us, soaking his tattoos, slicking our skin until his hold turned into a slippery cage of heat and muscle.
“Oh, Tora!” He ground his cock harder against my wet bare ass, hotter now, gliding with the spray.
My pussy ached in every possible way—sharp and dull, sweet and vicious, as if it had sprouted a will of its own.
Then my pussy fluttered.
What the fuck?!
It was a frantic, humiliating flutter, a broken-winged bird thrashing in its cage. Desperate. Starved. My pussy moved like it wascallingto Kenji, begging for his cock, clawing for his attention with every shameful pulse.
My pussy fucking betrayed me.
God, it was wrong—so fucking wrong—that he could reduce me to this. My pussy had never belonged to another man, not truly, not like this. And now it beat for him, answered to him, obeyed him like his obedient servant.
No man should have that kind of power over a woman’s pussy.
No man should be able to bend a woman’s body into submission so absolute that her pussy wept, spasmed,fluttered—all without her permission.
Holy shit.
The horror of it nearly made me shriek, nearly tore a scream from my quivering throat. It wasn’t fair. I wanted to fight, to wrench away, to run away from him.
Because if he could do this to my pussy, what unspeakable ruin could he carve into my heart?
Into my mind?
Into the very bones of me?
Even more. . .what would be the point of running?
My pussy already knew there would be no escape. It had already surrendered, spasming around emptiness, aching with filthy pleading.
Even if I fled, even if I fought, he’d catch me. He’d drag me back into his arms, into his hunger. And when he did,he wouldn’t just fuck my pussy until it forgot the meaning of freedom—he’d devour every last part of me.
Heart.
Mind.
