2
Anton
Ihook my arms under her thighs and lift her off the counter. She’s still shaking from the way I fucked her, skin hot, body loose and heavy against my chest. Soft where I’m not. My cum is sticky on her skin, the scent of us thick in the air.
“Shower.” The word comes out flat. I don’t wait for her to agree.
Her face is pink, flushed, lips parted as she pants, high off the orgasm that wrecked her.
I carry her across the bathroom’s cold tiles, her thighs slick with my cum, her arousal, and it hits me: two years since I’ve come that hard.
Lev was right.
I needed this, neededher. She’s all lush hips and soft flesh, fitting against me like she belongs there, but this is one time.
Can’t happen again. Fucking her again is a risk I can’t take.
My cock twitches, hard already, calling me a liar as I push the shower’s glass door open with my shoulder.
I set her down. Her feet slip on the wet tile, and she grabs my shoulders, fingers digging in like she knows I’ll hold her steady.
Her body gleams under the dim light. She fumbles for the wrong knob, reaching blindly, and I catch her wrist before she can touch it.
“Not that one,” I mutter, twisting the lever myself.
The rainforest showerhead roars to life, water slamming down like a storm, drenching us both in heat.
She gasps, head tipping back, droplets racing down her cheeks, her lips. Then she blurts, “Holy shit, is this a car wash?”
I arch a brow at her through the steam. “Car wash?” The word comes out flat, disbelieving.
“Yeah.” She blinks water from her lashes, lips twitching. “All we need is soap and one of those big spinny brushes—”
“Mary, the only thing getting spun around in here is you if you slip.”
A laugh rumbles out of me before I can stop it.
Fuck. What the hell is wrong with me?
I don’t laugh.
I don’t make stupid jokes. Especially not with some clumsy woman who nearly got herself raped by her ex. This mess she’s in—it’s not my problem. But I like her here, pressed against me, all soft and vulnerable. It’s screwing with my head.
She stares up at me, surprised. Like she didn’t think I was capable of humor, too.
Her lips twitch again, and then she bites down on them, shy all of a sudden.
Water runs over her, plastering her hair flat, rinsing everything away—every trace of that bastard, every mark he left on her body. Gone. My jaw tightens. I can still see his hands on her, the same ones I crushed. Should’ve broken more than his fingers.
“God, you’re dramatic,” she murmurs.
I tilt her chin up with my thumb, forcing her eyes back to mine. “Not dramatic.Careful. Somebody has to be. Because you sure as fuck aren’t.”
Her smile wobbles, slipping at the edges. Her brows pinch, eyes glossy under the spray.
She swallows, then whispers, “Thanks for… saving me.”
It guts me harder than it should.
