Beckham's hand shoots out, grabbing my wrist hard enough to make me gasp. “It's not about whether he finds out; you know the bad blood between us. It's about the fact that I'm standing here with his daughter's pussy still on my cock while he's calling to check on her.”
“Jesus, you're dramatic,” I roll my eyes, trying to pull my hand away. “And technically, you washed it off already.”
For a moment, we just stare at each other, water streaming down our faces until he backs me up against the cold shower wall.
“You think this is funny?” His voice is a dangerous growl in my ear as he presses his body against mine,pinning me to the wall. I can feel him hardening against my stomach.
“No,” I breathe, turning my head to press a kiss to his neck. “I think this is exactly what we both want, and you're just too scared to admit it.”
His eyes darken, and for a second I think he might actually be angry. Then, his mouth crashes down on mine, stealing my breath all over again.
He kisses like he fucks. Brutal, rough, and with a mouth that doesn’t ask—just takes. Like he’s going to ruin you, and then he’ll do it all over again.
The hot water pounds down on us as he devours me, one hand sliding up to grip my hair while the other moves between my legs.
His fingers find me slick and ready, and he groans against my lips. “Already wet for me? After everything last night?”
“Always,” I gasp as he slides them inside me. The stretch burns in the best way, my body sore but still desperate for him.
He works his fingers in and out slowly, his thumb circling my clit with just enough pressure to make my knees weak. His teeth scrape along my jaw, down my neck, biting at the marks he left last night.
“Fuck, Beckham,” I whimper, my hands grabbing at his sides.
Suddenly he’s gone, his warm body no longer pressed against mine, and confused I open my eyes, only to find him dropping to his knees on the shower floor. His hands grip my thighs, spreading them as he positions himself between my legs.
“Get your leg up,” he commands, already lifting my rightthigh and draping it over his broad shoulder. The position leaves me completely exposed to him, my back against the cold tile, my pussy at the perfect height for his mouth.
He looks up at me, water streaming down his face, his eyes dark with hunger. “I need to taste you again.”
I brace myself against the shower wall, ready to feel his mouth on me, when my stomach lets out a growl so loud it echoes off the bathroom tiles.
Beckham freezes, his mouth inches from my center, and I feel his breath huff against my wet skin as he starts to laugh. His forehead presses against my inner thigh as his shoulders shake with laughter.
“Shut up,” I mutter, embarrassed. “We haven't eaten since yesterday.”
He glances up at me, water dripping from his eyelashes, a smirk playing on his lips. “Sounds like someone needs fuel before round five.”
Before I can respond, he sinks his teeth into the sensitive flesh of my inner thigh, making me yelp. The mark he leaves is deep and possessive—another to add to my collection.
“Asshole,” I hiss, but there's no heat behind it.
He rises to his feet in one fluid motion, practically dragging me out of the shower.
“What are you doing?” I stumble after him, dripping wet.
“Feeding you,” he says simply, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around his waist before tossing one at me.
Twenty minutes later, we're sitting across from each other in the hotel restaurant. My hair is still damp, hastily pulled into a messy bun, and I'm wearing leggings and my last clean shirt. Beckham looks unfairly good in jeans and a black henley, the sleeves pushed up to reveal his forearms.
“Stop looking at me like that,” he mutters, eyes fixed on the menu.
“Like what?”
“Like you're thinking about climbing across this table.”
I smirk, deliberately running my foot up his calf under the table. “Maybe I am.”
His jaw tightens, but before he can respond, the waiter appears to take our order. I order then watch Beckham transform before my eyes—his expression softening, his voice losing its edge as he politely orders a steak sandwich and fries. The moment the waiter leaves, the mask drops, and Coach Kingston returns.
