Page 77 of The Knockout Rule

She secured her legs around his waist again, but said, “Toothpaste.”

He stilled. “What?”

“Morning breath. I need toothpaste.”

She flattened her lips and jutted her cute chin toward the bathroom. He laughed. Couldn’t get over how much he loved laughing with her. Loving on her. How completely themselves they were around each other.

With her hooked around him, he walked to the bathroom sink, where she squirted a small bit of toothpaste on her finger. Eyes shining with amusement, she sucked it off and swirled it around her mouth. “Your turn.”

She squirted more toothpaste out and slipped her finger through his greedy lips. Instead of focusing on the toothpaste, he swirled his tongue around her finger, gave it a tiny bite. Her eyelids fell heavy and her hips shifted. He spun around, pressed her back to the bathroom wall, bent his knees just enough, found her entrance, and slid into the glory that was Isla.

“Fuck.”

“Yes.”

They groaned and spoke in unison, mint on their tongues, Isla all he could see. All he could feel. Her tight heat squeezed his dick, obliterating his senses.

She knocked her head against the wall, clenched around him. “Your cock was made for me.”

Isla Slade was made for him. He had no doubt about that.

He held her weight, shifting upward with each stroke—so fucking good—hitting her in the spot that coaxed a needy little cry from her parted lips. “Let me do the work,” he told her as he picked up the speed. Let me take care of you. “Let go.”

Her thighs clenched his waist tighter, then she loosened enough to rub her pelvis against him. She moaned. Fire shot up his spine. He fucking loved her like this, using his body for her pleasure. Taking from him.

She dug her fingers into the back of his neck and stiffened. “Holy shit,” she said, “this view.”

He slowed his strokes, turned his head to glimpse them in the bathroom mirror. His ass was clenched, her face flushed with excitement as she stared at their reflection. His balls tightened at the sight. Yeah, that was one hell of a view. She was one hell of a woman, trusting herself to experiment with him, making him feel like the best version of himself, in the bedroom and out.

He turned his focus back to her, pulling out slower and thrusting in hard, giving her a show. Driving himself crazy. He sucked on her neck and circled his hips, held her weight until he felt that telltale squeeze, her inner walls clamping down on him. She cried out. A blast of heat fisted his balls. He moved faster. So fast, he worried her back was banging the wall too hard, but he couldn’t control the burn gripping him by the soles of his feet, barreling up his legs. He came so hard and rough he had to lean on her slightly, keeping her pinned to the wall until his senses returned.

Slowly, he eased her feet down.

She smiled up at him, her face blissed out. “You have a phenomenal ass.”

Smirking, he gave her ass a playful squeeze. “Is wall sex on the yes list now?”

“It’s on the hell yes list. And I’m apparently into mirror kink.”

He dealt with the condom, then tugged her into the shower. “You look even better wet.” He positioned her under the hot stream, ran his hands down her soaked hair.

She hummed contentedly. “You usually study in the morning, don’t you?”

“I studied you this morning.”

She took the bar of soap, got it lathered up. It smelled like mint, too. Mint in their mouths. Mint on their bodies. All they were missing was chocolate sauce. She worked her hands over his chest in small circles, massaging his stiff muscles, spending extra time where he hurt most, because she knew his body. Felt like she knew him down to his soul.

“I can walk Whit if you want,” she said. “Give you time to sneak in a lesson or two before your run and our physio session.” She moved her soapy hands to his abdomen.

His abs flexed. “Don’t you have to work on that accounting program?”

“I do, but I can do it later. You should study.”

He stood in the glass-walled shower, while Isla soaped his perpetually sore body, feeling luckier than he had any right to be. He was the caretaker in his family. The doer. The fixer. The one who sacrificed to make sure those he loved were happy and well. As it should be. Then Isla Slade walked into his life, said she loved him, and offered to put him first.

“Scio me nihil scire,” he said.

Her slippery hands moved around his back, down to his ass, exploring. He let out a rough grunt, and his cock stirred. Chocolate sauce would really be fun right now. And some whipped cream. Sadly, not with his diet. When he won this match, though. He’d treat himself to foods he hadn’t eaten in years, feed Isla chocolate cake from his fork. Take more than one lick from her ice cream cone.