Page 137 of Wicked Brutal

He stands again and kisses my mouth, deeper now, and I make a quiet sound into it. Ryan smiles against my lips.

My hands finally move. I slide them up his chest first — warm, wet skin, the beat of his heart under my palm — then higher, around the back of his neck. I pull him down into another kiss. This one is hungrier. Not rushed. Just wanting. “Ryan.”

“Yeah, baby.”

“I need you to actually touch me.”

His mouth curves against mine. “I am touching you.”

“You know what I mean.”

He kisses the corner of my mouth. “Use your words, Ally."

Heat crawls up my throat. “Please. Your fingers. I want your fingers.”

“There she is.” His voice goes low and pleased. “So pretty when you ask.”

One hand stays in my hair. The other slides down my stomach, slow, over the small swell, then lower. He doesn’t rush the last inch. He just watches my face while his fingers trace through the slick heat of me. I gasp into his mouth.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Tell me if anything doesn’t feel good.”

“It feels good.” My forehead drops to his. “Don’t stop.”

He kisses me while he strokes — light at first, just enough to make my hips twitch, circling my clit with the pad of two fingers. Water runs between us. My nails press into his shoulders. “You’re already so wet,” he says against my lips. “Was that from me washing you, or from asking me to touch you?”

“Both.” It comes out shaky. “Please don’t tease.”

“I’m not teasing.” He slides one finger inside me, slow, careful. “I’m taking my time with my girl.” My breath breaks. He adds a second when I rock into his hand, curling them just right, thumb still working that same unhurried circle. Every stroke is measured. Every kiss lands between them — my mouth, my jaw, the wet skin of my throat.

“Look at you,” he whispers. “Holding onto me in my shower. Asking so nicely. Taking my fingers like you were made for them.”

“Ryan—“

“I know.” He kisses me again, deeper. “You feel perfect. Soft. Warm. Mine.”

I get a hand between us and wrap it around him. He’s hard, heavy in my palm, and the sound he makes is quiet and wrecked. “Ally.”

“I wanted to touch you too.” I stroke him slowly, matching the pace he’s using on me. “Is this okay?”

“Yes.” His forehead drops to mine. “Fuck. Yes. That’s — god, your hand.”

We stay like that under the water. Kissing. His fingers working inside me, thumb on my clit. My hand moving on him. Neither of us chasing it. Just building.

“More,” I whisper. “Please. Just — more of that.”

“Anything.” He curls his fingers deeper and I moan into his mouth. “That’s my girl. So pretty when you let me take care of you.” The pressure gathers, slow and thick, and I tighten around his fingers. He feels it and eases off just enough that it doesn’t tip over.

He doesn’t make me wait long. Ryan kisses me again and gives me back the pressure he took away.

“That’s it,” he murmurs against my mouth. “I felt you almost go. Let me have it this time.”

“Ryan—“

“Come on, baby. Come on my fingers.” My hand falters on him. I have to grab his shoulder instead. He doesn’t complain. He just adjusts his angle, finds that spot again, and stays on it. “Look at me.” His eyes are dark and focused and soft all at once. “You’re so beautiful like this,” he says. “Wet. Shaking. Trusting me after the day you had. Come for me, Ally”

It hits quiet and huge. I break with a broken sound against his mouth, forehead pressed to his, body locking around his fingers while the orgasm rolls through me in long, deep pulses. He works me through every one of them — no rushing, no pulling away — thumb easing only when I twitch too hard, fingers still stroking me down from it.

“That’s my girl.” Kiss to my temple. “Let it happen.”