I cling onto his hips and push my arms against my chest to get a tight hold on him.
He groans and grips my hair harder. “Are you trying to end this prematurely?”
“I’m competing with my previous record,” I say with a sultry smile.
He drags his cock through my cleavage and thrusts in again. “You’re keeping time?”
I nod, then drop my chin and flick my tongue over his head poking between my breasts. Salted caramel precum mixes with the soapy water in my mouth.
A breath hisses through his teeth. “I’m embarrassed to report that you’ll be breaking your previous record.”
This only makes me bolder. I position my mouth to receive him with every thrust and it takes a few more to make his thighs flex. I swirl my tongue over his tip and rock with him. Bastian pulls back, fisting himself at first, but I take control. I pump my hands down his shaft in opposing circles once, twice, and then he groans.
Hot, salty caramel splashes my chest, then my neck. I curl my back and let his third spray hit my lips and chin. Bastian moans louder, his eyes fully blacked out and glittering with golden sparkles. Another spurt of cum hits my cheek, then my open mouth, filling it with delicious flavor.
“Maker,” Bastian curses. “Caitlin, I’m—”
He puts his hand on my shoulder as he trembles, his eyes pinched shut. His knees quake and a fifth slap of cum hits my chin, then my neck.
Oh. My god.
Did I just give a man multiple orgasms?
Dragon, rather…
He pants, face upturned and body trembling as the last of his cum oozes from his slit.
“I don’t think you’ll be beating that record,” he murmurs, as he grabs the washcloth from the shower caddy.
“Watch me,” I say, licking some of his candy-like jizz from my lip.
He sighs, mumbling something I don’t comprehend as he lathers up the cloth, then grabs my chin. He leans this way and that, letting the water from the showerhead splash down on me as he cleans my face and neck. He helps me stand and washes my chest, stomach, and thighs.
The water is near frigid when I’m finally cum-free. He wraps me in a big, fluffy towel I don’t remember owning, and dries my hair with my normal body towel.
“What’s this?” I ask, pinching the plush cloth between my fingers.
“I didn’t have a drying cloth, so I made one,” he says.
I remember how he’d magically wicked the water from his body last time we bathed together.
“I had more towels,” I say, pointing to the shelf over the toilet. “You could’ve taken one.”
He’s quiet for a moment as he towels my hair and then he huffs dramatically. “I made it for you.”
I smile into the soft material. “You didn’t have to.”
“Yes, I did,” he says, toweling my hair with more agitated movements.
“Why?” I goad.
“Because.”
I’m grinning now, hiding it behind the soft fluff.
“Because why?”
“Because yours are old and thin and they attract the feline’s fur.”
