I don’t use a drop of finesse. I line myself up and drive back in with a violent, singular shove.
I’m deeper than I’ve ever been, burying every inch of my thick, throbbing cock into her until she’s pinned between me and the wall. I start to move, my hips slamming into her with a rhythmic, bruising force. Thud. Thud. Thud. The sound of skinhitting skin is louder than the shower, a wet, filthy percussion that marks exactly who she belongs to.
“Scarlett?” Noah’s voice is muffled, but he’s right there. He’s a foot away from the door. “I’m coming in. The door is sticking.”
The handle rattles violently. The wood groans.
I don’t slow down. I go faster, my thrusts becoming a blurring, agonising masterpiece of friction and heat. I want her to feel the terror of being caught mixed with the absolute high of being ruined. I reach around, my hand cupping her breast, my thumb catching her nipple and twisting it until she cries out, the sound lost in the roar of the water.
“Answer him,” I hiss, my breath hot against her neck. “Tell him you’re almost done.”
“I’m—I’m almost—” she chokes out, her body vibrating as she hits the edge. “Noah, wait?—!”
I feel her peak. It starts in her toes and ripples upward, her pussy clamping down on me so hard it’s a struggle to move. She’s sobbing my name now, over and over, a litany of sin that I drink in like wine.
I hit her three more times—hard, fast, shallow—until the pressure in my gut explodes. I groan into the crook of her neck, my body locking as I pour everything I am into her, filling her up until she’s overflowing with me.
I stay there, buried to the hilt, my chest heaving against her back as the lock on the door gives a final, ominous creak.
“One more minute,” she screams toward the door, her voice raw and shattered.
I pull out, the wet schlick sound loud in the small space. I don’t look back. I don’t give her a parting kiss. I slide the glass door open and vanish into the shadows of the bedroom just as the bathroom door finally swings wide.
I’m standing in the corner of the dark room, my clothes dripping on the expensive rug, watching through the crack in thedoor as Noah walks in, peering through the steam at the woman I just finished breaking.
He doesn’t see me. But she does.
Even with the water in her eyes, she finds me in the dark. And she knows.
The steam hadn’t even begun to clear before the bathroom door slammed against the marble wall with a violent, echoing crack.
I’m standing in the shadows of the bedroom, a ghost draped in wet denim, my pulse still thundering in my ears as I watch through the sliver of the doorway. I can see him. I can see the back of his expensive shirt, the tension in his neck, the way his hands are already balled into white-knuckled fists.
Noah doesn’t walk in; he invades.
“What the fuck have you been doing in here?” he roars, his voice vibrating off the tile, sharp and jagged with a rage he’s been simmering in all day.
Scarlett is still on her knees on the shower floor, her forehead pressed against the cold stone, the water sluicing over her hunched shoulders. She looks like a wreck. She looks like she’s just been dismantled and put back together wrong.
“I told you… I was just…” her voice is a thin, shattered thread.
“Just what?” Noah lunges forward, his hand snapping out to grab the shower curtain, ripping it off the rings with a series of plastic snaps that sound like bone breaking. He throws the fabric aside, exposing her. “You’re flushed, Scarlett. You’re fucking breathless. You look like you’ve been run over.”
He looms over her, his shadow swallowing her small, trembling frame. He doesn’t see the marks I left on her neck. He doesn’t see the way her inner thighs are still twitching from the force of my cock.
“Look at me!” He grabs her by the chin, forcing her head up. “I’ve been knocking for ten minutes. The door was locked. Why the fuck was the door locked?”
“I—I didn’t want… I just wanted privacy, Noah,” she chokes out, her eyes wide and glassy, darting toward the dark corner where I’m standing.
Noah’s head snaps around. He’s looking for a phantom. He’s looking for the reason his world suddenly feels like it’s tilting on its axis.
“Privacy?” He lets out a harsh, mocking laugh that has no humour in it. “In my house? With my fiancée?”
He lets go of her chin and spins around, his eyes wild as he scans the small room. He’s looking for a crack in the perfection. He sees the vanity—the expensive bottles of perfume, the silk robes, the staged beauty of it all—and he loses it.
He sweeps his arm across the marble counter, sending a hundred-dollar bottle of glass perfume flying into the wall. It shatters, the scent of jasmine and alcohol exploding into the air, mixing with the smell of my sweat and her sex.
“Is there someone else in here?” he screams, kicking the vanity door until the wood splinters. “Is that it? Is that why you’re acting like a fucking lunatic?”
