Page 138 of Wicked Brutal

I come until my legs feel unreliable and the only thing holding me up is him. He slides his fingers out slowly and wraps that arm around my waist, keeping me against his chest under the spray while I shake. He kisses my wet hair. Doesn’t ask for anything else yet. Just holds me there, breathing with me, while the water keeps running.

Then his hands slide down to my hips. “Can you stand?”

“If you hold me.”

“Always.” He hikes my right leg up, hooking it around his hip, and the tile is slick under my other foot. His arm locks around my back. I wrap both of mine around his neck and hold on. He reaches between us and lines himself up. The head of him presses against me — hot, blunt, already slick from my orgasm and the water — and he goes still again.

“Eyes on me.” I look at him. “You sure?”

“Yes. Please. I want you inside me.”

Something in his face goes tight and tender at the same time. He pushes in slow. The stretch is different like this. Standing. One leg up. Water running down both of us. I feel every inch as he fills me, and a broken little sound leaves my throat when he bottoms out.

“Fuck.” His forehead drops to mine. “Ally. You feel — god. You feel like home.” He kisses me. Soft. Open. “You’re mine,” he whispers against my mouth. “Not his. Not anyone’s. Mine. This body. This baby. This girl who climbed out a window tonight and asked me to wash him off her.”

“Yours,” I manage. “Ryan. Yours.”

He starts to move then — tiny rolls of his hips at first, testing, making sure I can take it like this. Each stroke is shallow and deep at the same time. The water makes everything slicker. My nails dig into the back of his neck.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Just like that. Let me take care of you. Let me remind you who you belong to.”

“I know who I belong to. You, Ry."

His next thrust is a little firmer. Still careful. Still slow. “Say it again.”

“You.” I kiss the wet corner of his mouth. “Only you. Always you.” He makes a sound that’s almost a groan and presses his face into my neck, still moving inside me, still holding my leg up like he’ll never let it drop.

“I love you,” he says into my skin. “You’re it. There’s no version of me that doesn’t end with you.”

Every thrust presses me back into the steam and the tile and him.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs against my mouth. “Taking me so well. Standing in my shower after that motherfucker put his hands on you and still asking for me.” I whimper. He feels it and smiles, small and dark and proud. “You like that?"

“Yes.”

“Good.” His next stroke bottoms out and stays there for a second. “Because I’m going to keep saying it. You’re mine. That baby is mine. The only man who gets to touch you like this is me.” Water sheets down his back. His hand flexes on my thigh, holding my leg exactly where he wants it. “Look at you,” he says, voice wrecked and worshipful at the same time. “Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. Smartest. Bravest. Climbing out windows for me. Sitting through lunch with a monster and still coming home and opening your legs for me.”

“Ryan—“

“I know.” He starts moving again, a little harder, still controlled. “You’re doing so good. Letting me in. That’s all I need from you tonight. Just this.” The praise lands hotter than the water. I tighten around him and he groans. “There. That.” His forehead stays against mine. “I thought about you all day. Every second he had his hand on your knee I was thinking about this.”

“Where?” It comes out wrecked.

“Here.” A deep thrust. “On me. In my house. In my hands.” My nails bite the back of his neck. The pressure is building fast now, thick and low. “I can feel you. You’re close.” His voice drops. “Come on. Give it to me.”

“Ryan — please —“

“Now.”

I break with a sharp cry against his mouth, body clamping down around him, the orgasm ripping through me in hard, shaking waves. He holds my leg up and fucks me through it — slow, deep, relentless.

“That’s it. So fucking mine.” He grinds into me while I pulse around him.

I come until I can’t hold myself up.

He doesn’t last long after that. Ryan’s rhythm stutters, his arm tightening around my back, my leg still hooked around his hip. He buries his face in my wet neck and comes with a low, broken sound — my name first, then something that isn’t even a word.

“Ally — fuck —“