“Maybe I like danger." My soapy hands slide around to his back, pulling myself closer as I work the lather over his shoulder blades, down the column of his spine. I can feel every muscle coiled tight with restraint. “Maybe I enjoy seeing how far I can push you before you snap.”
His forehead drops to mine. "You have no idea what you do to me."
“Show me,” I breathe.
My hands slide lower still, cupping the firm muscles of his ass, and I feel his whole body shudder. The soap makes everything slick and hot, and when I bring my hands back around to his front, trailing down his hipbones, his hips jerk forward involuntarily.
“Fuck, Riley — "
“That happens later.”
I wrap my soapy fingers around his length, and the sound he makes is almost pained. He's hard as steel in my grip, thick andthrobbing, and I stroke him slowly, base to tip, watching his face contort with pleasure.
“Just making sure you're clean," I say innocently, even as I twist my wrist on the upstroke.
His hips buck into my touch, and I feel powerful in a way that has nothing to do with strength and everything to do with the way this man comes undone beneath my hands.
"Sparrow," he growls, the word half-warning, half-plea.
I sink to my knees.
The shower floor is warm beneath me, water streaming down my back, plastering my hair to my shoulders. I look up at him through the steam, through the spray, and watch his expression shift from surprise to raw, desperate want. His hands leave the tile and find my hair instead, fingers threading through the wet strands, not pushing—just holding. Anchoring himself.
I press a kiss to his hipbone, then another to the V of muscle leading downward. He's trembling now, tiny shivers running through his powerful frame, and the knowledge that I'm the cause makes heat bloom between my thighs. I trail my lips lower, breathing hot against his length, watching it twitch in anticipation.
Then I take him into my mouth.
The groan that tears from his throat echoes off the tile, louder than the rushing water. His fingers tighten in my hair — not painful, just desperate — and I hum around him, letting him feel the vibration. He tastes clean now, like skin and something uniquely him, and I take my time, swirling my tongue around the head before sinking lower.
"Fuck," he gasps. "Your mouth... God, your mouth..."
I pull back slowly, letting my lips drag along his length, then take him deeper. I set a rhythm that's deliberately unhurried — long, languid strokes that have his thighs quaking on either sideof me. Every time he tries to thrust forward, I pull back, keeping control, making him wait.
"Riley, please," he says, and his voice breaks on my name. I love it. Relish it.
I release him with a wet pop, looking up through my lashes as I press a kiss to his tip. "Please, what?"
"Stop teasing," he grits out. "I'm dying here."
I smile, slow and wicked, and take him back into my mouth. This time I don't hold back. I hollow my cheeks and suck, bobbing my head in earnest, one hand wrapping around what I can't reach. The sounds he makes are feral, raw — grunts and groans and broken versions of my name that bounce off the shower walls.
His hips move despite his efforts to stay still, shallow thrusts that push him deeper into my throat. I relax my jaw, let him set the pace, and his head falls back against the tile with a thunk.
"So good," he pants. “So fucking good, Sparrow.”
I feel invincible like this, on my knees before him, the water cascading over us both, watching him unravel because of me. Every sound he makes sends another pulse of heat through my core, making me squeeze my thighs together against the ache building there. I want him inside me so badly it hurts, but not yet. Not until he's begging.
I drag my tongue along the underside of his shaft, tracing the thick vein there, and his whole body jerks. His grip in my hair tightens, and I moan around him, letting him feel how much I love this — love him — love the way he loses himself in my mouth.
“Riley.” His voice is wrecked, barely recognizable. “I can't... fuck, I can't take it anymore.”
I pull back slowly, letting him slip from between my lips, and look up at him. His chest heaves with ragged breaths, waterstreaming down his body, and his eyes are wild, desperate, hungry, on the very edge of control.
“Then take me,” I whisper.
Something snaps behind his eyes.
His hands are under my arms before I can blink, hauling me up from the shower floor as if I weigh nothing. My back hits the cool tile and I gasp at the contrast — cold wall, hot water, burning man pressed against every inch of my front. His mouth crashes into mine, and I wrap my legs around his waist, ankles locking at the small of his back.
