“See how responsive you are?” he whispers against my ear. “Your body knows what it wants, even when your mind tries to resist.” I lean back against his chest, my resolve crumbling as his hands continue their exploration. One slides lower, fingers trailing across my still-sensitive flesh.
“Let me get the shower ready.”
He steps away from me and turns on the shower, testing the water temperature with his hand while I try to collect myself. The steam begins to fog the mirror, obscuring my reflection, probably for the best. I don’t need to see the wanton look in my eyes or the flush that extends from my cheeks down to my chest.
“Perfect.” He nods before turning back to me. The shower spray creates a backdrop of white noise, making the space intimate and cocoon-like. “After you.”
I step under the hot water, letting it cascade over my heated skin. Aaron joins me, his large frame taking up most of the space in my shower, forcing us into close proximity.
“This is cozy.”
“Mmmhmm.” His hands find my shoulders and begin to massage. “I like having you close.”
The simple intimacy of standing together under the warm spray, his hands working skillfully across my skin, feels more dangerous than the explosive passion we shared moments ago. This is the kind of closeness that creates emotional bonds. Bonds I don’t want created.
But when he reaches for my body wash, pouring some into his palms before working up a lather, I don’t protest. “You’re going to kill me,” I breathe as his soapy hands cup my breasts, his fingers gently pinching my nipples until they peak again.
“I want you to remember this every time you step into this shower.” His mouth finds the shell of my ear. The implication that he plans to leave lasting impressions on my daily routines terrifies me.
“My turn.” I take the bottle from him.
I pour body wash into my palms, working up a rich lather before placing my hands on his chest. His skin is smooth and warm under my touch, muscles tensing as I explore the planes and angles of his torso. When I drop to my knees, the shower spray hits my back, and his eyes widen.
“Minji—”
I look up at him through the steam, water droplets clinging to my lashes. “I want to taste you.”
Without breaking eye contact, I take him into my mouth, relishing in the groan that tears from his throat. He’s hard again, and I marvel at his recovery time as I work him with my lips and tongue, one hand circling the base where I can’t quite reach—fuck he did get bigger—and the other cupping his balls.
“Christ,” he hisses, his fingers tangling in my wet hair. “Your mouth…”
I take him deeper, hollowing my cheeks as I suck the ridges of his cock pressing against my tongue, and he lets out a sound that’s both a sign and a curse. His fingers tighten in my hair, not quite guiding, but compelling me to go deeper, faster. I do, letting my lips slide to the base until I struggle to breathe. The sensation, the lack of air, the control he exerts, it sends a thrill through me. I feel him throbbing in my mouth, hardening even further. I know I could make him come this way if I really wanted.
He pulls me off with a rough tug, and for a second, I taste air. He hauls me upright; his hands gripping my waist and pushes me gently against the tiled wall. The cold tile shocks my overheated skin, but then the length of his body is pressedto mine, his cock hot and hard against my hip. My breasts are mashed to his chest, my nipples sore and hypersensitive. He grabs my ass with both hands, squeezing as if he wants to leave fingerprints. I wrap my legs around his waist, locking my ankles behind him, and he grinds into me until I moan into his mouth.
“Aaron.” I gasp when his lips drop to my neck, biting down, and I feel the marks bloom beneath his teeth. He runs his tongue over each new bruise, apologizing and owning me at the same time. My head drops back, opening myself to him, and I let the water soak us both, washing away the evidence even as he creates more.
He hitches me higher, aligning his cock with my entrance, and for a wild second I want him to take me raw, right here, right now, consequences be damned. The thought is so reckless, so foreign to my usual control, that it shocks me. I hear myself say, “Condom,” but it comes out as a whimper.
He answers with a nod, his face serious, then disengages, his hands gentle now as he helps me steady myself on the slippery tile. He turns off the shower and grabs a towel, wrapping me in it before toweling himself off. I almost smile, watching this transformation from primal to protective, the same man who devoured me moments ago now concerned I might catch a cold on our few steps to the bedroom.
He pauses at the threshold to my bedroom, just long enough to let me go first, and I sense a formality in the way he stands, a respect or maybe a reverence that wasn’t there before. I drop the towel and sit at the edge of the bed. Waiting.
He kneels on the floor in front of me, eyes level with my chest, and plants a kiss between my breasts, then one on each nipple—gentle this time—as if he’s thanking me for letting him mark me. I thread my fingers through his hair, feeling the heat radiate from his scalp, then tilt his face up to mine.
He smiles, and it’s a rare, unguarded smile, softening all the hard lines of his jaw. “You’re fucking gorgeous,” he proclaims and I believe him.
“Flatterer,” I mutter, but my voice cracks on the last syllable.
He brushes the damp hair out of my face, thumb sweeping across my cheekbone. “I mean it. Every bit of you.” He stands and I watch as he retrieves a condom from the nightstand. The way his hands shake, just a little, as he tears the foil packet is a detail I never expected, and it thrills me. He’s nervous, or maybe just overwhelmed.
He rolls the condom on slowly, making a show of it, and I can’t help but stare. The contrast of latex against the flushed head is obscene, and I lick my lips in anticipation. He notices and grins, that cocky, lopsided smile returning.
I turn over, positioning myself on all fours, feeling simultaneously vulnerable and in control. My skin prickles with anticipation, every inch of me hypersensitive and waiting. I remember from our college days just how amazing he felt in this position.
“God, look at you,” he whispers in appreciation as his palms caress the rounded flesh of my backside. The mattress shifts beneath his weight as he positions himself behind me, the heat of his thighs meeting mine. He teases me with the tip of his hardness, tracing my entrance where I’m already wet and ready. Impatient, I rock backward, earning a low laugh.
“Aren’t we eager?”
