This time, the climax hit even harder, my back arching off the bed, a scream tearing from my throat as spasms wracked my body. Stars danced in my vision, my pussy fluttering wildly around his fingers, gushing with release that left me drenched and trembling. He lapped it all up, prolonging the pleasure until I was a boneless mess, gasping for air, my heart pounding like a drum.
He wasn't done yet. Pulling back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark with lust, he kissed his way up my inner thighs, nipping at the soft flesh before returning to my core. This time, he focused solelyon my clit, sucking it rhythmically while his fingers pumped in and out, scissoring inside me to stretch me further. The overstimulation bordered on too much, but it ignited something primal, making me beg for more even as tears pricked my eyes from the intensity.
"Alexander, please... I can't..." I gasped, but my body betrayed me, hips bucking into his touch, chasing that edge again. He chuckled lowly, the sound sending shivers through me, and redoubled his efforts. His tongue flicked my clit in rapid bursts, his free hand reaching up to pinch my nipple, twisting it just hard enough to send jolts straight to my core.
The third orgasm built slower but crashed like thunder, my whole body seizing up as ecstasy flooded every nerve. I shattered, crying out incoherently, my pussy clamping down on his fingers in rhythmic pulses that seemed to go on forever. He rode it out with me, his mouth gentle now, easing me through the aftershocks until I collapsed back onto the bed, utterly spent.
He kissed my mound softly one last time, then trailed his lips up my body, leaving a path of fire in his wake. But as the haze cleared, I realized he hadn't taken his own pleasure yet. His erection pressed against my thigh, hard and insistent, but he held back, watching me with that intense gaze.
I reached for him, wanting to return the favor, but he captured my hand, bringing it to his lips. "Not yet," he murmured, voice strained with restraint. Still, the way he devoured me had left me reeling, my body humming with satisfaction even as a new hunger stirred.
Alexander suddenly got up, and I felt the mattress bounce on his side. I figured he'd hold me like before, or kiss me, but no.
I forced my eyes open and saw him with his back to me, pulling on his pants.
"Where... are you going?" My voice came out husky from the sex, with this tiny edge of hurt I couldn't hide.
"Taking a cold shower." He sounded tense.
My heart sank. A cold shower? Why? Was I not good enough? Did he not feel anything? Was all that just me putting on a show? Shame and anger twisted around my heart like vines,choking me.
"What the hell do you mean?" I pushed myself up, the sheet slipping off, exposing my skin marked with red hickeys. "Is it because I'm not good enough? Couldn't satisfy you?"
He turned, his eyes darkening at the sight of me. He stepped to the bed, reached for my face, but I jerked my head away.
His hand hung there, then he sighed, helpless. "Anna, why are you thinking that?"
"Why am I thinking that?" My eyes stung. "You do this to me, then run off for a cold shower, and you say I'm overthinking?"
He looked at me, those brown eyes swirling with desire, restraint, and... something soft I couldn't read.
"Because you're hurt." He finally said, voice low and real. "Your ankle's still messed up. And in bed... I get rough. I don't want to make it worse."
I froze.
Because I'm hurt? He's... protecting me?
It caught me off guard, all my accusations and hurt stuck in my throat.
He saw me staring, ruffled my hair, then headed into the bathroom. Soon, the water rushed on.
I sat there alone on the messed-up bed, listening to the shower, my head a mess of shame, warmth, and this weird frustration.
He treated me like some fragile treasure, and it touched me. But I didn't want to just take. He'd given me mind-blowing pleasure, and he was holding back. Me, Anna Parker—even at my lowest—I hated owing anyone.
A wild idea hit me.
I bit my lip, threw off the covers, and got out of bed. My ankle stung the second it hit the floor, but I ignored it, hopping on one foot, scanning the room. My eyes locked on a little round stool by the dresser.
I dragged it over, limping but determined as hell, straight to the bathroom.
The door wasn't locked. I pushed it open, steam hitting me like a wall. Through the fog, I saw him—the guy who had me all twisted up.
He stood under the spray, back to me, water cascading over his broad shoulders, outlining his ripped back and tapered waist. He heard the door, turned, surprised. For the first time, those calculating eyes showed pure shock as he saw me with the stool.
Under that stunned stare, I hauled the stool right in front of him, ignoring his naked body and my own bare skin, and plopped down on it.
I tilted my head up at this even more intimidating man, trying to sound calm. "I don't like owing favors."
