He grunts, pulls back, fights with the shower curtain, almost falls out of the tub, but then he’s back with the bottle, shaking it impatiently.
I wrap my hands around his cock again.
Take my time stroking up and down. Tracing his thick head. Dipping my hand lower to cup his balls and roll them gently.
His fingers jerk in my hair as he massages the shampoo in.
I sigh in utter bliss and close my eyes.
He grunts out a softfuck me, and then his mouth seals over mine.
He swipes at my lips with his tongue, and I open for him, our tongues tangling, breath mingling, bodies pressing harder together.
He hasn’t stopped scratching my scalp.
I haven’t stopped stroking his cock.
But he drops his hands from my head and grips me behind my thighs, turning us until I’m against the wall, shower water falling on half of me while he lifts me.
I wrap my legs around his hips, and his cock finds my entrance, andoh my god.
I whimper in the good way and tilt my hips to take him deeper.
“Christ, Daphne,” he groans, and then he’s kissing me again, wild and uninhibited while he bucks into me, thrusting harder and deeper and faster.
Uncontrolled.
Unrestrained.
And I love it.
Loveit.
“More,” I gasp. “Harder.”
He grunts and pumps faster.
Deeper.
Harder.
Almost to the point of pain, but with a tight, hot, delicious curl winding up deep inside me, building with every thrust, every stroke of his tongue against mine, every slight shift in angle as I slip against the wall.
I love being wanted.
I love being wanted desperately so much more.
It’s temporary.
He’ll come. I’ll come.
This will all be over.
But in this moment, I’m his world, and he wants—no, heneedsme.
In this moment, I’m worthy.
I have value.
