She taps my arms to raise them, and I obediently lift them above my head for her to remove my shirt. She bunches up the hem and slowly pushes it up my chest, her eyes following the movement.
“Don’t move,” she says when I reach for her, and I let my arms fall listlessly to my sides.
Dropping the garment to the tile floor, she splays her hands across my pectorals, her fingers lightly exploring. A tease of a finger tracing the line of my collarbone, a scrape of a nail over my nipple, a press of her lips over my pounding heart, a glide of her palm across my abdominals. She circles to my back, and my muscles quiver under the brushstrokes of her lips as she kisses each scar that mars my skin. Elizabeth and I are the same in that respect. We both wear Peter’s mark.
“You’re beautiful,” she says, each kiss healing the wounds left by my half brother.
Needing to touch her more than I need air, I turn around and drop to my knees. “Not as beautiful as you,” I reply, dragging the denim of her shorts down her legs.
Elizabeth looks down at me, her hair a waterfall of sunshine as it falls over her shoulders. Standing before me, every part of her gorgeous body bare—there are no words that can express how stunning she is.
Wanting to give her the same attention, I make love to the butterfly tattoos that meander up her side, kissing each one before doing the same to the faint pink line of her C-section scar. Her fingers thread through my hair when I brush my nose over her soft pubis, breathing in her scent.
A trickle of something wet splashes on my arm. Then another. Teardrops. Tilting my head, I gaze up at her just as another tear falls silently down her cheek, and Elizabeth smiles.
“Good tears,” she says, cupping my face and gently urging me to my feet.
She undoes the button of my jeans, pushing them over my hips. They fall the rest of the way, and I step out of them, kicking them to the side.
Elizabeth’s expression flares with surprise, her gaze locked directly on my cock. “Is that…?” Her eyes fly up to my face. “You have a piercing?”
I chuckle at her excited reaction. “Yeah.”
“Can I touch it?”
My chuckle turns into full-blown laughter. “Baby, you can touch me anytime you want. You don’t need my permission.”
She huffs with embarrassment, even though her eyes light with discovery. “I’ve never seen one before. Did it hurt when…you know?”
“Like hell.” But the pain of getting it was worth it because she’s about to find out how good it’s going to feel when I pound her G-spot with it.
I almost come like a pubescent teenager when she takes me in her hand and gently strokes the silver barbell.
“It’s cold.”
“It’s also very sensitive.”
Her grin is wicked with sinful intent. “Yeah?”
“First time I come isn’t going to be in your hand.” I kiss the pout on her lips and open the glass door to the shower, turning the handle all the way to hot. Steam begins to billow within seconds, and I carry her inside the large shower stall.
Warm water beats down over us from a large waterfall showerhead, plastering her long hair to her body. The image she creates—nude, wet, and utterly captivating—makes me almost feral. A blush of arousal tints her cheeks when she looks at me. It’s the same silent thrum that ignites every time I look at her.
I run my hands up her thighs, to her breasts, over the peaks of her rosy nipples, wanting to memorize every inch of her. Every curve, every freckle.
“I love how you touch me.”
“How do I touch you?” I ask, taking a nipple into my mouth and sucking gently.
Her chest vibrates with her soft moan. “Like I’m precious.”
I rise to my full height and take the small bottle of liquid soap from the shelf, lathering some between my hands, and playfully drop a dollop of sudsy foam on her button nose. “Because to me, you are.”
Even though I told her that I couldn’t be gentle, I temper the rage of my desire and enjoy being with her like this, existing in a sweet moment. Just her and me and the tender quiet of us.
Elizabeth gathers some of the foam from my hands and lathers it down my arms, following the bold lines of the vines branded on my skin.
“When did you get this done?”
