Sucking in a sharp breath, I whimper on my exhale.
After another minute, he’s wrung me dry, but he’s not nearly done with me. Hands at my hips again, he gets me to my wobbly feet and turns the shower on full hot.
Doc swoops in for a kiss as the water heats up, his hands tangling in my hair, tongue dancing with mine as he consumes me.
He doesn’t resist when I strip his vest off his shoulders and tug up his t-shirt. I don’t even wait for the fabric to hit the floor before I’m reaching for his belt.
His hands take over, and I spread mine over the new real estate his skin is offering me. Finally, I get to see the full expanse of him, and the tattoos across his chest and the top part of his stomach and up to the collar of his shirt.
It’s an eagle made up of dark swirls, and it spreads across his shoulders and down his arms. My fingers trace the pattern until he catches my hands in his.
A new emotion blazes between us, and when he kisses my palm I’m done. Hooked. How can the small demonstrations of care tug at me so deeply?
“In,” he rumbles, turning me with an arm overhead, like he’s leading me through a dance. I step under the hot spray and giggle softly as he steps in behind me—the heat of his body almost as intense as the shower.
Soaping up a washrag, he washes my back, down my legs, and back up, cupping my core in a tease before smoothing it over my belly and breasts before he stops with the wet rag at my throat. A small squeeze drops water across my chest, but more importantly it sends a renewed need through me.
My ass swings back into his erection. His groan has me slick between my thighs. Arching my back again is an offering.
His breath becomes a freight train in my ear. “Are you really okay?”
I nod, small but honest. “Yes.”
Doc’s chest presses into my back, and his exhale has me shaking. “Good.”
God, the desire in that one word weakens my knees. And then, he’s reaching between us and running the head of his cock through my soaked folds. A few small thrusts has him halfway inside me before he shifts us to the side, leaning my forearms against the tile wall.
Cold shocks through me, but the angle arches my back perfectly for him to thrust home.
My warbling cry echoes around us.
Doc is demanding, hips swinging full and wild almost immediately. Hands braced beside mine, I track his shuttering breaths against my wet shoulders.
“Fuck, bird.” Hand tangling into my wet hair, he yanks my head to the side, so I can see him out of the corner of my eyes. He’s stunning when he abandons his carefully constructed facades. Bringing him to madness like this has me feeling beautiful. Wanted. Powerful.
When he whispers his nickname for me in my ear, it’s raw and consuming.
I arch my hips back a little more and am rewarded with his groan. God, it sends him deeper, and I clench around him, pleasure reaching a new level. This angle lets him fill me up so completely.
Doc rocks harder into me, tightening up his thrusts until he’s nudging the very ends of me. The world blitzes, and he hisses in my hair, voice barely reaching me over the pounding water.
“So fucking perfect.”
And I’m falling, the pleasure a new realm for long, long seconds before I return to the shower and Doc shaking behind me. His cock pulses inside me, breath ragged, and his grip on me shifts from aggressive to possessive.
If I knew being owned could feel like this, I never would have been so scared of it.
25
WREN
I have to admit, waking up with Saint is a blessing. The safety of being tucked into the crook of his body is the best thing I’ve ever felt—including the mind-altering orgasms that I’ve learned are possible.
Safety has never been a given in my life, and it’s huge. So huge that it puts the rest of my life into perspective.
The way his hand sinks between my legs once he’s sure I’m awake is another revelation. I’ve never met a man so concerned with a woman’s pleasure over his own before I met these three. Saint takes the worship to another level.
How much of that is because of his first wife? Or was he always this way?
