Page 36 of Claimed By River

She does, and I rise slowly, letting my hands trail up her calves, her thighs, feeling her tremble beneath my touch. When I stand fully, I grip her chin and make her look at me, her eyes dark and dazed and completely mine.

Then I reach into the shower and turn it on. She frowns at me, confused.

“Steam,” I tell her. “Trust me.”

She nods.

“Turn around,” I say softly, dangerously. “Hands on the sink. I want you to watch while I take you. I want you to see what you do to me.”

She obeys, turning to face the mirror, and I watch her reflection as she places her palms flat on the cool surface. Her eyes find mine in the glass, wide and hungry. I move behind her, my big body dwarfing hers, my cock still wet from her mouth, jutting out hard and thick against her lower back.

“Look at us,” I murmur, my hands settling on her hips with a possessiveness that makes her shiver. “Look at what you do to me. Look at how fucking beautiful you are.”

I bend and press my mouth to her shoulder, sucking hard enough to leave a mark, and she arches back into me with a whimper that sounds desperate even to my ears. My hands slide up her ribs, slow and deliberate, until they cup her breasts, weighing them in my palms, my thumbs brushing over her nipples until they tighten into aching peaks.

“These are mine,” I say against her skin, my breath hot. “Say it.”

“Yours,” she breathes, and I watch in the mirror while I roll them slowly between my fingers, drawing it out until her head falls back against my shoulder.

I can feel her trembling, can feel her pushing back against me, seeking more, always more.

“Daddy,” she breathes, and the word feels right, feels like claiming, feels like everything I’ve ever wanted to be for her. “Please, Daddy, I need you.”

“Not yet.” One hand leaves her breast and slides down her stomach, slow, torturous, until my fingers find her center. “You’re so fucking wet. Is this all for me? Did sucking my cock make you this desperate?”

“Yes. You always do.”

I tease her with one finger, sliding through her folds without penetrating, circling her entrance until she’s pushing back against me, desperate for more, for fullness, for me. I chuckle, dark and satisfied, and finally push two fingers inside her, curling them to find that spot that makes her moan and her knees weak.

“Please,” she pants, watching in the mirror as I work her, my arm muscles flexing with every movement, my eyes never leaving hers.

“What do you need?” I add a third finger, stretching her, preparing her, and she moans at the fullness, at the promise of more, at the knowledge of what’s coming.

“I need your cock.” The words tear from her throat. “Please, Daddy, fuck me. I can’t wait any longer. I need you inside me.”

I withdraw my fingers slowly, deliberately, and bring them to my mouth to suck them clean while she watches, her face burning, her body aching.

Then my hand comes back down and settles over her clit. I work her with the flat of two fingers, slow and steady, right up to the edge—until her thighs start to shake and her breath goes ragged and her eyes go wide.

And I stop.

“Oh, God—”

“No, angel. Try again.”

“Daddy.” It comes out wrecked.

“Better.” I start again. Take her back up. Stop again, right at the top. This time, she sobs with it, her knuckles white on the edge of the counter.

My other hand comes up and closes around her throat—not squeezing, just there, spanning her, holding her upright and steady and exactly where I want her. I tilt her head back against my shoulder so she can’t look anywhere but the mirror.

“Don’t close your eyes,” I tell her. “I want you watching when I give it to you.”

Her eyes stay locked on mine in the glass.

“Look at you,” I murmur, my fingers sliding through the evidence of her arousal, spreading it over her folds. “So desperate. So perfect. You want to come, don’t you? You’ve been close since you had my cock in your mouth.”

“Yes!”