His hand cracks down again. “Shh.”
My body is already burning from the inside out with anticipation, my mind spiraling with a thousand possibilities of what he might do to me. How far he’ll push, how much he’ll make me beg.
He takes us straight to his room and kicks the door shut behind us without even slowing down… but he doesn’t head for the bed.
No.
He turns, purposeful, and carries me right into the bathroom.
Black stone tiles surround the space, sleek and cold and sinful, and when he finally sets me down, my legs wobble beneath me like my body doesn’t quite remember how to function without him holding me.
“Wait here,” he orders, and then he presses a hot, claiming kiss to my lips.
Before I can even catch my breath, he’s gone. And then he’s back again before I can move, with silver handcuffs in his hand.
I blink at them, a laugh slipping out despite the way my pulse spikes. “You just keep a pair of those lying around?” I tease.
His gaze drags over me like he’s stripping me without touching me. Then he closes the distance and tears his clothes off in seconds, kicking them across the floor like they’re an inconvenience. “I stole them from Inferno a few days ago,” he says, voice rough, “in the hopes this was on your list.”
Relief washes through me so hard it almost makes me dizzy. I hate thinking about him with anyone else. Hate the idea of anyone having access to him.
He must see it in my face, because he’s kissing me again before the doubt can take root, swallowing it down like it isn’t welcome here.
He backs us into the shower.
When he flicks the water on behind me, a freezing spray explodes over us both, soaking my skin instantly.
I gasp, but he’s already holding me tight, pressing me into the tiles, his body caging mine in, heat to ice, control to chaos.
The cold against my already-hot skin only turns me on more.
His mouth doesn’t leave mine.
His hand slides down my arm, slow and deliberate, as he secures the first cuff around my wrist. The click is loud in the space.
With a grin, he positions me under the lukewarm water, lifting my arm and pulling the chain through the shower pole above.
Then he takes my other wrist, just as gently, just as firmly, locking it in place.
I’m exposed. Vulnerable.
My breath catches, my entire body going still as my eyes lock onto his. I don’t look away. I can’t.
“Is that okay, baby?” he asks.
“Yes.”
It’s not a whisper. It’s not hesitant.
It’s mine.
His hands roam over me immediately, warm palms skimming soaked skin, cupping my breasts like he owns them. He leans down, takes my nipple into his mouth, and sucks until my knees nearly buckle.
“Fucking gorgeous,” he mutters, his voice thick.
He peppers kisses up my chest, slower now, like he’s savoring me. Then he pushes my wet hair off my shoulder, baring my neck.
I tilt my head to the side instinctively, offering him more.
