Melting into the tiled wall, my heels lift off the floor.
I meet him.
I give him access.
I invite him.
With two fingers inside of me, he stills.
His breath cascades over the shell of my ear—and I feel him, pressed up against me, against my back, his length.
But he doesn’t move.
I make an impatient noise.
My walls clench around him.
In answer, his fingers slip out of me.
“I was not pleasing you, Tesni,” he whispers, darkly. “I was feeling how ready you are.”
A cold sensation unravels through me.
“Re-ey?” My voice trembles, and it’s too muffled by the gag, like speaking with a mouthful of food.
Ready for what?
His lips brush over the shell of my ear, his lips soft as he whispers, “It will only hurt if you fight it.”
He tears away from me, spinning me around with his retreat, until my chest is pulled to his.
The glare of his dangerous gaze looks down on me.
My feet shuffle over the tiles, backing up, until my spine hits the edge of the sink, the counter, and the bottle of the avocado face mask is knocked off.
It strikes the tiled floor—and it might as well be a gunshot, I flinch so violently.
I can’t tear my gaze away from him.
The harsh torchlight rinses over him, the tension of his jaw, his muscles, as he looks down on me.
Then I yelp—
Because he throws me up onto the edge of the vanity, legs spread, and he moves to stand between my clenched thighs.
My hands come slapping down on the counter.
His eyes smoulder in the glare of the torchlight. Soft blond hair is stuck to his temples, damp like mine, and he still wears the glisten of the bathwater.
In the light, the water dances. It glitters. A dewiness that illuminates his muscles.
I look down—and I see how readyheis.
My throat bobs. I swallow, thick, and the sight of it, the length, the girth, the smoothness…
That ache in me worsens.
Samick’s chiselled jaw tightens.
