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His eyes are closed when I walk into the shower, head tilted back into the stream as he swipes his hands over his hair. I get caught up in watching his tattoos ripple and move with his muscles. There are several scars that I never noticed before etched on his skin like knife cuts in a butcher block. It makes me realize how much I still don’t know about Roan. He knows everything about me—my job, my family, my trauma, my fucking coffee order and phone passcode.
“I said I wasn’t going to give you a show.” He cracks one of his eyelids to squint at me with a crooked smile. “Are you going to join me or just stand there all day?”
“Shut up, gringuito.” I laugh lightheartedly and put some body wash on a washcloth. I step up to him and lather his chest like it’s the most natural thing in the world. I trace the planes of his body, feeling his hard muscles move with his breaths, and realize I’m as comfortable here, naked in the shower, as I would be watching tv or eating dinner with him.
I wash a section of skin with small, circular scars on his pecs and quickly recognize them as cigarette burns. Unlike any of the other scars, he tenses when I touch them. They aren’t new wounds, so they shouldn’t hurt him. I rest my palms on his chest and look up at him through my lashes. He stares back with soft eyes but a hard jaw. “What happened?”
His nostrils flare. “My father often confused me with his ashtray when he got drunk.”
“Roan…how old were you?” My heart already aches for the young boy before he answers.
“It was mostly in the year after my mother died.” He lifts his chin and squares his shoulders, like he always has to stand strong to not let anything hurt him. “He drank a lot that year.”
“How old, Roan?” He swallows slowly, and I don’t know why I’m pushing for an answer. Maybe it’s the urge to learn whatever I can about this haunted, beautiful man. Learn his demons so maybe I can help keep them away.
“Eight.”
“Lo siento.” I press my lips to the hot, wet skin, kissing each scar from a wound too brutal for an eight-year-old. He relaxes a little bit more with each kiss, fourteen in total.
After the last one, he clutches my face, the fingers of one hand shoving into the back of my hair that’s tied up in a bun while the other frames my jaw. The blue-gray of his eyes swirls like dark pools under moonlight. Just as dark as the usual storm brewing there, but still somehow lighter, brighter.
He doesn’t say a word as he walks me back against the glass. One hand glides gently across my chest and down my stomach to lightly caress between my legs. My mouth falls open on a breathless moan, and the thumb on my jaw slides between my lips. I rake my teeth over it, feeling his dick grow and press into my stomach.
I reach between us to lightly wrap my hand around his velvet length. He immediately removes it and pins my wrist at my side. “I want to watch you.” His words float softly from his lips as if he didn’t mean to say them out loud.
He gently works his fingers up and down my slit, circling my clit on each up stroke, and I push into his grip on my hip as my back curves off the glass. He’s masterful with light, deliberate movements, bringing me tender pleasure. He never takes his gaze from my face, soaking in every hitch of my breath, bite of my lip, and pinch of my brows. His lips part, and a delighted sigh spills out like watching me is magic.
My release floats in front of me as Roan slips two fingers inside me to curl against my G-spot, keeping his thumb tracing light circles around my clit. Fiery sparks skitter from the tip of my limbs to my core. I gasp in a deep inhale as my orgasm starts its slow but powerful waves through my body.
His thumb caresses my cheek, dragging across my hanging bottom lip. When he speaks, it’s with awe. “Fhíorálainn.”
He seems content to just remain here, feeling my heartbeat and flushed skin under his palm, and continue to canvas every inch of my face. I’m light-headed with the worship of it all.
I drag my hands down his stomach and over the curve of his muscled ass, lowering toward the tile floor. He clamps me around the shoulders, stopping me. “I didn’t do that for something in return.”
“I know.” And I do. There was truly no urgency on his end. He wanted to watch me fall, knowing that he was the one making me fly. “Will you let me? Please. I want to know how you taste.”
He exhales through his nose and lets go of my shoulders, letting me sink to my knees. I’m equally as curious and thorough as he was, learning his body lick by lick. His cock fills my hand perfectly, the skin soft and veiny. I swirl my tongue over the red tip, and his thighs flex. I can feel him physically holding back the natural urge to thrust into my hand.
I roll his balls in my hand while I wrap my lips around his length. “Fucking hell…” I peer up to see him speak through gritted teeth, the tendons in his neck flexing as I bob forward until he hits the back of my throat. “I’ve thought about filling your smart mouth so many times. Imagined how you’d look on your knees just as many. But fuck, the fantasy can't even compete with the reality…I feel like I should be the one on my knees right now.” His words are strained and half swallowed by a gravelly groan as I swallow around his tip.
I can’t help but smile as this hulking beast of a man’s face writhes in restraint, his hand smacking out to palm the glass and the other digging into my scalp. His fingers scrape and pull tightly as he fists the top of my hair, but he doesn’t control my movements in any way. He lets me set what I’m sure is a painfully leisurely pace, savoring this moment.
There is no taking. Only giving and receiving.
And it’s so fucking sweet that it splits my heart open.
I stand, replacing my mouth with my hand and wrapping the other around his neck, tilting his face toward me. “Now let me watch you.”
I find him equally mesmerizing. The knot of muscle at the back of his jaw. The purse of his lips followed by a harsh exhale. The feel of his hand, so large and strong, gripping my hip. The lines and curves of his tattoos. I say softly, with amazement, “There’s nothing I don’t find beautiful about you.”
He winces, as if the compliment struck him sharply, like an arrow to the chest. And I suddenly know with certainty that I’m the first person to ever call him beautiful.
He swallows like there’s a barb in his throat. “You know what I was thinking when I grabbed you by the elevator at the Chariot?”
I pause my strokes to rub circles at the base of his cock’s head. “What were you thinking?”
“How it would feel to have you coming on my fingers while I ground my cock against your ass. And I remember thinking that even with all the layers of clothing between us, that was the hottest fucking thing I’d ever imagined.”
