Using the wall to hold me up and his hands under my ass to bounce me, he starts to fuck me.
“Oh God. This is always so good,” he hisses as he lifts me and lowers me. “Shay, you’re perfect.”
“Perfect with you.” Why the fuck would I say that?
He smiles at that, so I cover his mouth with my own to get rid of it. He keeps bouncing me, thrusting into me at the same time, and my back is sliding up and down on the tile. His eyes keep slipping to my chest as my tits bounce up and down, and I’m not self-conscious in the least. In fact, I cup them and push them up toward his mouth. He takes the hint, dips his head and traces my nipple with his tongue before sucking greedily on it. He bites down and I moan. I push my hands into his thick, wet hair and twist it between my fingers. God, I love doing that—and he likes the feel of it too, because he grunts and slams me harder against the tiles with his thrust.
He moves back to my mouth and kisses me hard. As the kiss starts to break, he uses his teeth to pull on my bottom lip and then lets go and moves to nip my earlobe.
“Touch yourself,” he begs me, his accent thick, his breath tickling my ear, sending delightful shivers down my spine. “I want you to come with me. I’m close.”
I move one hand from around his neck and slip it between us. His head dips to watch me as I my fingers find my clit and begin to move, creating glorious friction. The friction I’m creating for myself is almost unnecessary. I was already on the verge thanks to his solid, gifted dick and the look on his stunning face as he’s overtaken by the pleasure. But the friction, along with watching him watching me touch myself, sends me catapulting toward the blissful abyss.
“Sebastian…I’m going to…”
“Moi aussi, ma belle…”
He yells and I whimper as we both come.
I’m dizzy and weak and I can’t imagine how he’s still holding me up. Then I realize his hands are barely doing the work. Instead he’s crushed me into the wall using his body weight to pin me there as he struggles for breath. A few minutes later his arms flex back to life and he lifts me and carefully slides out of me. I unhook my feet and shakily find the tile floor beneath us.
We smile at each other, and I step back under the direct spray of the shower. He turns away from me to remove the condom. A second later he’s beside me holding the shower gel.
“Time for that back scrubbing I promised,” he says, turning me to face the wall. “I’ve got mad skills.”
Yes. Yes, you do.
I want to fight him. To just tell him to get out, but that orgasm blew my brain, and my common sense, to oblivion. So I simply close my eyes and let him push my wet hair over my shoulder and slide a soapy washcloth across my bare back.
Chapter 20
Sebastian
Shay is quiet as we dress and as we leave the fitness center. I try to take her hand, but she pulls away and stuffs it in her pocket. She stops in the parking lot. “Where’s your car?”
I point to the only car left in the parking lot, my Range Rover, and she looks confused so I elaborate. “The Aston Martin isn’t meant for the rain. I drive this or my Beemer most of the season.”
She makes a face, her adorable freckled nose crinkling up and her aqua eyes rolling upward. “Of course you do.”
I frown and roll my wrist, which is a little achy because of the whole shower sex thing. She’s dissing my cars? Or me because of my cars? It’s not like I collect and drive monster trucks or something. All of my cars are tasteful and, although expensive, reliable modes of transportation. I’m about to tell her that but she quickens her pace as I hit the remote in my pocket and unlock the doors, and she walks ahead without me. I try to open her door, because that’s what I do for women—all women, not just the ones I enjoy seeing naked—but she gets there first and is in the passenger seat pulling the door closed before I can reach it. I try not to frown, and I slide into the driver’s seat. I look over at her as she buckles her seat belt.
“So you know I like cars, why don’t you tell me something about you? Like your last name,” I suggest with a smile.
Her head spins to face me. “You don’t know my last name.”
“You never told me.”
She looks shocked but then shrugs defiantly. “It’s the same as Trey’s.”
“I don’t know Trey’s.”
“Ask your esteemed leader Avery Westwood,” she replies instead of just telling me. Then she promptly changes the subject. “I live at…”
“I know where you live. I’ve been there, remember?”
She shrugs, eyes staring straight ahead as I back out of the stall and move toward the exit. “I wasn’t sure you remembered. I mean, it was a while ago.”
I’m confused by that statement. “It was a week and a half ago.”
