In the dim haze of the steam room, the door creaks open, and footsteps draw my attention. I sense him before I even see him. My eyes snap open, and through the thick mist, I recognize Damon’s silhouette. He stands before me, foreboding and tempting, a creation of sin and sun. The steam caresses his broad, chiseled chest and wide, muscular shoulders. The sculpted contours of his waist, hips, and thighs lead my gaze toward the tiny towel covering his most prized possession.
Our eyes meet in a wordless confrontation, and he smirks at me, ripping the cloth away in one swift motion. My lips part as he strides closer, bridging the gap between us. Steam clings to his skin, my own sticky and wet and wanting. He veers away from me and settles into the adjacent corner. He tilts his head, spreading his legs, his cock dangling off the edge of the stacked oak bench.
“Stop staring and close your mouth, mami,” he rasps. “Otherwise, I’ll put those fucking lips to work.”
I swallow a gasp and cross my bare legs, moisture building between my thighs. His lascivious gaze floats across my breasts, my nipples, his eyes burning and predatory.
“I could say that same thing,” I whisper. “Eyes up.”
He doesn’t listen. He never does. Instead, he flicks out his tongue, dragging the edge along the inside of his lips, his gaze locked onto my breasts. Even in this humid thick heat, my nipples harden.
“You’ve always been so fucking reactive,” he groans. “And I wonder…” He looks up at me, jaw clenched. “Is that trick of yours just for me?”
“I thought so at first,” I whisper, adjusting my position on the bench, my ass damn near glued to the oak. “But no.” I offer him a shrug, maintaining a flat expression. He can’t win this easily. “You’re not special, Damon.”
“Not special?” he scoffs, leaning back against the warm marble tile. He snakes his hand around the base of his shaft. My traitorous insides fucking twist with excitement. His clipped laugh dances through the fog. “I bet I could make you come without even touching you.” He begins to stroke himself, the muscles in his neck bulging out, the sight damn near explosive. I stay silent, unable to utter a single word of denial. “What? No rebuttal? Nothing to say?” He groans, the sound so guttural and raw. “You know I’m right, Emery. We both know you’re a little slut for me.” Another raspy, primal moan, and my core clenches with pleasurable pain. “Oh, you like that, huh?” He groans. “Yes, you fucking love it.”
My fingers quiver with desperation as my pussy begs to be touched.Jesus. I resist the urge to touch myself, my weak fucking eyes unable to look away from Damon’s throbbing, veiny cock.
“Get on your knees and crawl to me.” His throat bobs with strain. “Crawl to me, mami. You know you want to…”
Sirens go off in my head. Loud. Red. A warning. Unable to catch a proper breath, his dirty,dirtywords wreaking havoc with my mental resolve, I do the only thing that will prevent me from going down a disastrous path.
I run away.
His laughter chases after me as I haphazardly wrap a towel around myself, pick up my clothes, and dart toward the grand staircase. Rounding the corner of the hallway, my vision partially obscured, I collide with a different kind of chaos.
Quinton emerges from the haze, his ocean blue eyes piercing through my defenses. His gaze travels across my flushed cheeks and sweat-kissed skin.
“Careful, darling.” He gives me a knowing smile, lifting a curious brow. “Is everything alright? You look a tad…frazzled.”
Summoning my composure, I try to explain myself. “Steam,” I manage to say, still breathless. “I had a steam.”
Quinton’s smirk deepens, his greedy gaze gliding across my collarbones. “I can see that. Perhaps a shower is in order.”
He tilts his head slightly, his finger trailing provocatively along the curve of my neck. My spine responds to his touch, a gentle arch forming as I swallow. And then it’s back. Just as strong as before. The ache in my core as he brings his finger to his tongue, and licks.
“Mmm…salty.” With a knowing grin, he holds out a tempting hand. “Shall we get you clean, darling?”
Goddamn it. What are theydoingto me? I can’t escape it. No matter which direction I run, I end up crashing into temptation, into the promise of something beautiful. Something raw. Something that terrifies me and sets me on fucking fire.
I try to resist. I do. I hesitate for the longest time before I give in to his offer. Before all logic and reason ceases to exist.
We float toward the bathroom. Float, because I am not human. My decisions and actions aren’t that of a moral mortal.They’re wicked and otherworldly. But I can’t stop. I don’t wish to stop.
Quin flicks on the waterfall shower, the tiles and windows and mirrors instantly fogging up with steam, with the hot, humid residue of my choices. With our eyes locked, loaded with anticipation, I drop my towel and step backward through the threshold. Streams of warm water trickle down onto my head, my shoulders, down my rising and wanting chest.
And then I watch him. I watch him shed his mask. Rip away his shields. Until he stands before me, a glorious sculpture of a vulnerable man.
With a look of hunger gracing his sharp, burly features, he strides toward me, and I step back slowly, so fucking slowly, until my back connects with the cool tiles. His gaze flicks down to my lips, and they part for him, so easily, so willingly, I fear they may have been cast under a goddamn spell.
Our mouths collide, wet and wild and wanton, and I moan into his lungs. His fingers rake through my tangled hair, the roots screaming with pleasure as he tugs, tasting all my sin, all my evil, all my wrong fucking choices.
“Turn around,” he rasps, and I spin in his arms, panting as his cock brushes against my ass. He snakes his hand around my neck, positioning himself at my sex, and then he surges forward, slamming into me. I swear I can hear angels cry. “Christ, Emery. You feel so fucking good.”
And so does he. He feelsgood. The literal definition of the word.
Righteous.
