When I’m standing over her again, she looks up at me and I nearly lose it right there.
Her eyes are black. Blown wide. Her lips are swollen and parted, water clings to her lashes and a flush runs from her cheeks all the way down her chest. She looks ruined in the best possible way. She looks like mine.
She still thinks this ends with her getting on that plane.
Maybe that’s what she has to believe right now.
But I don’t.
For a second neither of us says anything. The shower drums against my back. Steam curls between us. She’s still coming down, and I’m hanging on by threads.
Then her hand slides down my pecs.
Over my stomach. Lower.
Her fingers close around my cock, and every thought I’ve ever had exits my skull.
“Natalia.” Her name comes out guttural. Barely human.
She tightens her grip and strokes once, base to tip, her thumb dragging over the head, and my forehead drops against hers because my neck has stopped working.
“I don’t want to stop,” she says.
Her free hand comes up to the side of my face. She holds me there, forehead to forehead, her breath warm against my lips.
Steady. Certain.
And that might be the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life, because this isn’t nerves anymore. It isn’t instinct. It’s choice.
“Show me,” she whispers. “Show me everything.”
19
NATALIA
Johnny goes completely still.
His hand finds the shower handle without his eyes leaving mine, and the pounding spray cuts off so fast the silence feels like a slap. There’s just our breathing and the drip of the faucet and the wild stupid hammering of my pulse.
A second ago, he was all patience.
Now he looks at me like the leash he had on himself just snapped.
He slides his hands under my thighs and lifts me, and I wrap myself around him before I can think about it. My legs lock behind his back. My arms circle his neck. His body is slick and hot against mine, and the hard length of him presses between us hard enough to pull a shaky breath out of me.
He carries me out of the bathroom.
Water streaks down both of us and dots the floor behind him. My mouth brushes the corner of his mouth, then his throat, andI feel his pulse jumping there, fast and heavy. It steadies me a little, knowing he isn’t calm either.
The bedroom door bangs softly against the wall.
A gasp tears out of me as my back hits the sheets. He’s over me a second later, breathing hard. Water tracks down his pecs and stomach, catching the low light from the window. His cock juts out thick and proud, and I want it so badly my thighs press together, searching for friction that isn’t there.
He looks at me like he wants me more than he knows what to do with.
And like he’s making himself go slow anyway.
Even now, he’s leaving this in my hands.
