“You like having it inside you?” I ask dumbly.
Of course he likes it. He’s an omega in heat. It’s obvious he likes it. He needs it. His biology demands it. It’s just that when he says it, that’s not how I hear it. When he says it, I hear it as something specific to me. When he says it, it’s not just cum that he likes. It’s not even alpha cum he likes.
It’smycum.
Myseed he wants inside him.
MyDNA he needs.
Reluctantly, I take his hand and move it aside. He fights me, or he tries to. His hand finds its way back to his ass crease as soon as I let go of it, and the other one joins it.
Oh, the sight of him like that. The way he looks with wet hair and wet skin, cupping his little asshole, trying to keep my loads inside him. It’s the sexiest thing imaginable, but it’s more than that. It’s also adorable. So fucking adorable, I want to squish him. I want to squeeze him. I want to crush his soft places and mark them up so bad that everyone he meets will take one look at him and know he’s mine.
It takes a couple of minutes, and another trip under the frigid water to remind myself what I’m trying to achieve. Physical care of Lucien. Cleansing his body.
I’m as bad as he is because I hate the thought of washing myself off him. Out of him. I hate it. It feels like a loss. A physical loss.
“Don’t worry, Lucy,” I tell him, voice thick and husky. “I’ll put lots more in you.”
I’m behind him, so I can only see a sliver of his face. Just the side. Just a tiny bunching of his cheek when he hears my words. “Do you promise?”
“I promise.” I say it with a ridiculous, dripping sincerity that embarrasses me. I say it like a serious matter. A matter of life or death. A vow. A commitment. An attestation from times gone by.
He considers what I’ve said, mulling it over for a beat. Then he moves his hands and pushes his ass out.Fuck me, that ass. Sweet Jesus, those cheeks.
I hold the nozzle near the small of his back and let the water run down his crack. It’s enough for a rinse, but not for a thorough wash, and I’m nothing,nothing, if not thorough when it comes to Lucien’s ass. So I slide my fingers gently down the valley between his firm cheeks, chasing rivulets of water as they meander downward.
His body is warm where my fingers are. Impossibly hot.
Wet from the water and his heat.
Wet from his heat and from me.
“Is this okay?” I ask when I remember myself. “Or do you want to do this yourself?”
He leans forward, resting his cheek on the tiled wall in front of him. “You. I want you to do it.”
His voice is killing me. I swear, it’s killing me. It’s so sweet and sexy that I can’t feel my face.
I reach down and part his cheeks, following the spray of water with my fingers.
Lucien shudders, shoulders shaking from side to side. “More.”
I ease my finger down lower, watching as his spine arches and his back tenses in anticipation. In expectation. In submission. A low growl swells under my sternum. I try to stifle it as I circle his rim with the pad of my middle finger. It’s a light touch, barely there, but it draws a soft hiss from him. I do it again, and this time, a gush of warm liquid spills from him and coats my fingers.
It’s him or remnants of me. I can’t tell which.
His legs shake violently when I do it, so I hang up the shower nozzle and wrap my left arm around his waist to bear most of his weight. I stroke him again. His rim is soft and supple, blushing deep pink with clear signs of use.Clear signs that I’ve been there, that he’s opened his legs for me and let me have my way with him.
I watch, transfixed, as my fingers caress him. Things that aren’t Lucien fade. Sounds that he isn’t making fall silent. My vision narrows, sharpening in focus, as a deep, desperate surge makes my dick stiffen.
My hand works again, slowly and gently circling Lucien’s ring until he moans from deep in his belly. Then I dip a finger into his hole.
His body offers no resistance. None at all. Only a sopping, snug chamber that sucks me in. A wet, blazing-hot portal to heaven. I finger him gently, not deep and not hard because I’m mindful of how sensitive he is, how much his hole has already been through, and how much it still has headed its way.
I check how he’s doing and see his lovely face pressed against the tile with a frozen expression. Only one side of his face is visible, his eyes closed, lashes long and thick, lips parted and turned up at the corners.
I slide another finger into him, and his jaw drops open a little more.
