Page 85 of Fake Dark Vows
Gripping her thighs, I force her legs apart and insert my tongue. She leans back against the side of the shower cubicle, thrusts herself onto me, demanding more. But I take my time, finding the spot and teasing her slowly, dragging my tongue across it until I can hear her panting over the sound of gushing water.
When she explodes on my tongue, I stand up and kiss her, enjoying the way she sucks her taste off me, eager to experience all of it. And it strikes me then, how lucky she is—every experience is a first.
I pick her up, and she wraps her legs around my waist. “Ready?”
“Ready.” Her warm breath on my ear sends shivers traveling down my spine.
Raising her butt, I slide her slowly down onto my wet cock. She groans out loud, eyes closed, arms wrapped around my neck.
She kisses me slowly at first, still savoring her own taste, her nipples burning holes in my saturated chest. Then she starts moving, squeezing her pussy tightly around me as she shifts her body upwards, using the shower wall for support. She almost slides off me, rubbing the head of my cock against her before lowering herself all the way again, gasping when my length fills her up.
I kiss her harder. I want it to last, but desire is clouding any willpower I might’ve had. Gripping her thighs, I help her ride me, filling her mouth with my tongue, steam billowing around us.
Until my legs start trembling. She rides me harder, faster, her breasts pressed against my chest, her tongue pushing back on mine. My entire body shudders against her, my hips thrusting even when my orgasm slows to a wet sticky halt.
I want to stay inside her. I need to stay inside her, and Rose must sense it too, because she clenches her pussy around me and groans out loud when she unwittingly squeezes me out.
“Sorry,” she whispers, a wistful smile on her face.
“Don’t ever be sorry for that, Rose.”
She giggles then, and I lower her gently to the floor, her arms still wrapped around my neck. Rose kisses my cheek and releases me, watching me almost bashfully, like she doesn’t understand what just happened.
“Can I wash you?” I ask.
Her smile sets her face aglow, and she nods, watching my every move as I pour shower gel into my hands and lather her body starting with her neck and working my way down. I spread her thighs gently, careful not to irritate the swollen flesh between her legs.
I wash her hair with shampoo, rubbing it gently between my hands and massaging her scalp until she shudders with pleasure. “Do you like that?”
“Uh-huh. Where did you learn to do that?”
I don’t tell her that I’ve never done this before, with anyone—I’m aware that we have only delayed the serious conversation about the wager, and I don’t want her to think that I’m trying to butter her up.
I rinse off the soap, turning her around and smiling back at her when she watches me with those huge unforgettable eyes.
“Your turn.” She reaches for the shower gel before I can stop her.
Wrapping a robe around Rose when she steps out of the shower is quite possibly the most intimate moment that I’ve ever shared with anyone. If I could bottle that feeling, I could make billions from it.
We sit on the balcony with room service brunch: gravadlax and scrambled eggs with toasted bagels, fresh yogurt and berries. We drink coffee, and sip mimosas from crystal flutes. Rose slides the orange segment from the rim of her glass and sucks the pulp from it, licking the rind until there’s no fleshy fruit left.
“What?” She arches a perfect eyebrow. “Don’t you like fresh oranges?”
“I don’t dislike them.”
“Whoa, could you climb any higher onto that fence?”
She chuckles, and I eat my own orange segment to prove a point, when what I’m really doing is denying that I just shared something personal with her without getting struck by lightning or watching my whole life pass before my eyes.
“I spoke to Damon.” I kickstart the conversation; I’ve always found it easier to confront the difficult topics head-on before they manifest into something monstrous and get blown all out of proportion.
She peers out across the balcony at the Palazzo, squinting at the sun which is turning the tip of her nose pink. “I needed space.”
She looks at me then, and although I want to know where she spent the night, it’s more important to me that she feels safe now that she’s back.
“It’s always been that way between me and Damon—everything is a competition, a battle, a prize to be fought over.”
Her eyes grow huge with tears, and I set my glass down on the table and reach for her hand. At least she doesn’t pull away.