Her hands slid along her ribs and cupped her breasts from below. His arm moved faster between his thighs and his gaze narrowed. “Squeeze them, Harper. Show me your pretty nipples. That’s right,” he said through a snarl when she presented her nipples to him between her pinching fingertips.
It felt so good, her hands gliding sensuously against her wet skin. The Waterpik gushed between her thighs, making her tense in cresting pleasure. But the thing that sent her over the edge was Jacob’s fixed, feral stare on her breasts as he jerked at his cock, faster and faster.
She bit off a scream as orgasm flooded her, hot and delicious. The moment she began to shudder in release, he pulled away the Waterpik. He shoved one thigh wider and ducked his head, running his tongue between her labia, pressing and pulsing forcefully. She let out an uncontrollable shriek of pure pleasure and hugged his head to her, climaxing furiously against his mouth.
His d
eep, harsh moan brought her back to herself. She blinked open her eyes, panting. She stared between her thighs. Her mouth fell open in dazed wonder. He continued to eat her hungrily, laving her clit with a stiffened, red tongue. Then he covered her with his mouth and created a sinful suction. His focused hunger amazed her. He seemed intent on claiming what the showerhead had taken from him: her juices . . .
. . . Her complete surrender.
His hand continued to move between his thighs as he jacked his cock strenuously.
She slumped in the shower seat, drowning in sensation and pleasure as he continued to eat her. His mouth was demanding one second, a sweet decadence the next. Arousal simmered in her again. It rose to a low boil. Mindlessly, she began to cup and stroke her breasts again, amplifying her already peaking bliss.
He buried his head deeper between her thighs, his mouth creating a precise suction. He twisted his head slightly, growling. She cried out, the sensation sending her over the edge yet again.
He continued to nurse her with his mouth through the first waves of orgasm. Then his mouth was abruptly gone, and he was coming to his feet in front of her. She looked up at him desperately. He grabbed her hand and shoved it between her thighs. Instinctively, she began to rub herself. She shuddered in reanimated pleasure. Through the slits of heavy eyelids, she saw rapid, terse movement. She forced open her eyes.
He fisted his cock, pumping himself furiously. She whimpered, waning pleasure and arousal mixing in her at the vision of him. His big body was wound as tight as a spring, every muscle taut and delineated. A ripple of tension went through his rigid face. He growled between clenched teeth. Then he was coming, thick jets of semen erupting from his cock and spilling onto the shower floor. He continued to climax, jerking his cock forcefully.
Watching him, she was reminded all too vividly of that other time in the shower . . . the first time she’d seen the power and beauty of him as he lost himself to pleasure, and how aroused it’d made her. She leaned forward rapidly, pushing her lips against the flaring crown of his cock. His girth spread her mouth wide, and she heard his harsh groan. His semen spilled onto her tongue, his salty, musky flavor striking her as clean, somehow. Delectable. She dipped her head back slightly, running her rigid lips over the defined base of the swollen cockhead, loving the sensation. He grunted in pleasure and clutched at the back of her head. He tensed and growled gutturally as he gave more of himself, and she took it greedily.
She looked up at him a moment later, water and the last drops of his semen rimming her lips. He sagged slightly, panting, his gaze on her blazing. Entreating her. She sunk him several inches into her mouth, using her tongue to clean him completely.
The sound of his harsh panting twined with the beat of the water on the shower floor. He reached and grasped her arms, pulling her up. They scooted beneath the warm spray of the main showerhead. He kissed her forcefully beneath the shooting water.
“What do you think you’re doing to me, Harper McFadden?” he said against her mouth a moment later.
“Making you late for the opera?”
His solemn expression broke into a grin, white teeth flashing. She inhaled sharply at the sight.
“You’re the one who’s going to have to go out with wet hair,” he said, stroking her slick hip and ass in a gesture that struck her both as lazy and utterly possessive at once.
• • •
He left her to her privacy to get dressed for the evening, something she wholly appreciated because she doubted her frantic scurrying could remotely be considered elegant or sexy by Jacob. She managed a quick blow-dry to get most of the wetness out of her hair, and then rushed to do her makeup. Unfortunately, there was nothing that would diminish the vibrant color of her sex-flushed cheeks.
By the time she’d donned her heels and the dress she’d brought for the evening—a purple, flowing, chiffon number that tied around her neck and left her shoulders and much of her back bare—her long hair was already beginning its typical unruly curl and wave. Fortunately, she’d brought some smoothing infusion. She used it and then whisked her hair up into a twist at the back of her head. A favorite pair of chandelier gold earrings—a Christmas gift from her parents—were her only jewelry, a vintage beaded cocktail purse her only accessory.
She examined herself critically in the dressing room’s full-length mirror before she walked out to meet Jacob.
Damn it.
The color in her cheeks had hardly faded. She looked like she’d just finished a vigorous workout . . . or had phenomenal sex, she admitted to herself wryly as she stepped out of the bathroom.
He was already there, leaning over a dark walnut cabinet and shuffling through the contents of a drawer. She stopped in her tracks, just soaking in the image of him for a moment while he was distracted. His hair was still slightly damp from the shower, but his bangs had begun to dry, revealing strands of dark gold. He was shaved and his goatee had been neatly trimmed, giving him a crisp, clean appearance. He wore black tweed pants and a jacket, along with an ivory shirt that came to a slight V in the front. The ensemble looked effortlessly chic and sexy on his long, lean frame.
He glanced up distractedly—even though she was sure she hadn’t made a sound—and did a double take. She smiled.
“That color is amazing on you. You look gorgeous,” he said, slamming the drawer shut and stalking toward her, whatever he was searching for apparently forgotten.
“Thank you. So do you.”
He slid his hands into his pant pockets and paused, his gaze sliding down the length of her and up again to her face. She wondered if she’d ever stop going warm under his steady, somber . . . outrageously sexy checkouts.
“I know,” she muttered, embarrassed. “My cheeks. They’re still bright red.”