Her eyes open, finding mine through the steam. She sees my hunger, and a slow, wicked smile spreads across her lips. Without a word, she turns in my arms, presenting her back to me. She braces her hands against the wet stone wall, and looks at me over her shoulder.
An invitation. A challenge.
My hands settle on her hips, my thumbs digging into the soft flesh. “Eager.”
“You said you weren’t done,” she says, her voice breathy as the hot water runs down the curve of her spine. “So don’t just stand there admiring the view.”
A low laugh escapes me. I guide myself to her entrance, which is still wet and swollen from our first round. I don’t tease. I push forward in one smooth, relentless stroke, filling her completely.
She cries out, her head dropping forward, her back arching beautifully. The water slicks our skin, making every movement fluid, every sensation amplified. Her inner walls clutch at me, still sensitive, still fluttering with the echoes of her last climax.
I pull back and thrust in again, setting a deep, deliberate pace. The sound is obscene, the wet slap of our bodies, the splash of water, her choked moans echoing off the stone. My grip on her hips tightens, sure to leave bruises, marks of possession that will linger for days.
“This is what you wanted,” I grind out, my voice harsh in her ear as I lean over her. “To be fucked until you can’t remember your own name. Until all you know is my cock in your cunt.”
“Yes,” she sobs, pushing back against me, meeting every thrust. “Gods, yes.”
I slide one hand around her hip, down through the wet curls, finding her clit. She’s already swollen, throbbing. I rub tight, rough circles, and her knees buckle. I hold her up, my other arm locking around her waist, fucking her harder as her pleasure crests.
She screams, her body seizing around me, her climax ripping through her with a violence that shakes us both. The bond ignites, a conduit of pure, white-hot ecstasy. It short-circuits my control. With a snarl, I bury myself to the hilt and come, pumping my release deep inside her, my own roar mingling with the rush of the water.
We stay like that for a minute, braced against the wall, panting, the hot water beating down on our heaving backs.
Slowly, I soften inside her. I press a kiss to her wet shoulder. “Turn around.”
She’s pliant, boneless. She turns, leaning back against the wall, her eyes heavy-lidded. I reach for a rough cake of soap and a cloth.
“My turn to clean you,” I say, my voice quieter now, but no less intense.
I start with her face, washing away the sweat and tears. Then her neck, her shoulders, paying careful attention to the bite marks. She watches me, her gaze soft. I move lower, soaping her breasts, kneading the full weight of them, teasing her nipples until they’re tight peaks again. She whimpers, her head falling back.
I sink to my knees on the hard stone. The water runs over my head and shoulders as I wash her stomach, her thighs. I’m thorough, possessive, cleaning every inch of her. When I reach between her legs, she gasps, her hands coming down to tangle in my wet hair.
I look up at her, my demon’s eyes burning through the steam. “I’m just washing you, princess.”
But my fingers are gentle, probing, cleaning away the evidence of our joining even as I stroke her tender flesh, making her shudder. It’s an intimacy more profound than the fucking. This careful, deliberate claiming of every part of her.
When I’m done, I rise. She takes the soap from my hands. “My turn.”
Her touch is just as thorough, just as reverent. She washes the sweat from my chest, her fingers tracing the lines of my sigil, which glows warmly under her attention. She soaps my arms, my back, her hands gentle and sure. When she sinks to her knees before me, her hair streaming with water, my breath catches.
She looks up, her eyes holding mine as she takes my hardening length in her soapy hand. She washes me slowly, stroking from root to tip, her thumb swirling over the head. It’s not a prelude to a blowjob, it’s a ritual. A claiming of her own.
“You’re mine, too,” she says softly, her voice barely audible over the water.
The words slam into my chest with more force than any physical blow. “I am,” I agree, my voice thick.
She finishes, rinsing us both clean. I pull the chain to stop the water. The sudden silence is loud, broken only by our breathing and the drip of water from our bodies.
I reach for a towel, wrapping her in it first, rubbing her skin until it glows pink. I do the same for myself, roughly.
The room is thick with steam, the air warm and damp. I lead her back to the bed. The blankets are still tangled, the scent of sex still lingering. I don’t care. I pull her down with me, wrapping myself around her, her back to my front.
She fits perfectly against me. Her damp hair smells of cheap soap and her own unique scent. I nuzzle the back of her neck.
“Threx?” she whispers into the darkness.
“Hmm?”
