Wildfire explodes where we touch,defying the water temperature. I lift my knee up toward his thigh, but he anticipates, shoving his leg between mine, forcing them apart.
His free hand clamps down on my hip, fingers digging in hard.
“Stop pretending you don’t want this,” he says, mouth hovering over mine.
“Bronx…” My voice cracks.
I buck against him again, our slick bodies sliding, every accidental brush of his cock against my core sending sparks up my spine.
When my hands fight his grip, his thigh nudged higher, right against where I’m already throbbing.
He yanks me tighter. “Kiss me, wife.”
His hand slides up, cupping my breast, thumb scraping over my nipple until it’s pebbled and I’m biting back a gasp.
“Kiss me and dig your nails into my back while I fuck you.”
I slap at his shoulder with my free hand, a weak, half-hearted slap that does nothing more than sting.
“I don’t fancy you,” I spit, but my hips rock against his thigh, chasing the friction despite myself.
The denial burns in my throat, tasting like pride and fear, even as hunger coils tighter in my belly.
His laugh is dark, mocking. “Yeah, you do.”
Then his mouth crashes onto mine so hard that I whimper.
On my next breath, he’s lifting me, both hands under my ass now, hauling me up. My legs wrap around his waist on instinct.
Cold tile bites into my shoulder blades as he slams meagainst it. His cock notches at my entrance and all my resistance fades.
“Say no,” he challenges, voice ragged, eyes locked on mine in the shadows. “Say you don’t want me inside you.”
I should. God, I should.
But this hunger isn’t new. It’s been building since the elevator in Bucharest. Since the way we fought together and then he let me go.
“Just fuck me already.”
“That’s it. Fight me while I do it. Make it hurt.”
He thrusts in with one brutal stroke that buries him deep. I cry out, the stretch oh so good, my inner walls clenching around him as my heart pounds.
Each thrust drives in deeper, grinding against that spot that makes my vision blur. I claw at his back, nails raking red lines down his shoulders.
“Fuck, yeah… mark me, wife,” he hisses, gripping my thighs harder, spreading me wider. “Mark me as yours and I’ll come inside you so you know you’re mine.”
“You don’t get to own a woman you didn’t even propose to.”
“Admit it,” he demands between gritted teeth. “You need this as badly as I do.”
“I need to scratch an itch,” I gasp as my head falls back, exposing my throat to his mouth. “That’s all.”
This isn’t just an itch, though. It’s me surrendering when I should keep my emotions locked away.
The water keeps falling, warmer now, perhaps heated by the fire inside me. He shifts, one hand sliding between us topinch my clit, and that’s it.
A violent orgasm takes hold, ripping through me in waves that make me moan his name despite knowing better.
