Page 49 of Dance Practice, Marooned: Part 2

I nod, unable to summon words, so I answer by winding my hands into his wet hair and kissing him like I’ve been starving for weeks. Maybe I have. He tastes like soap, salt, and maybe a little blood. He kisses me harder, pushes me back against the wall, hands everywhere, slick with water and heat and nothing but wanting.

We stay like that for a long time, and then he breaks the kiss and sinks to his knees. It’s so unexpected, I almost laugh, but there’s nothing funny about the way he looks up at me, hair stuck to his forehead, beard dripping, eyes molten.

“What are you doing?” I whisper.

His hands are on my thighs, thumbs stroking up, up, up. He grins, wicked and hungry. “The fuckin’ things I would do to taste you, Gracie. You don’t want to know.”

Oh.

Oh my.

I can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything except squeeze my fists hard against the wall behind me as Ace braces his hands on my thighs and pulls me forward. I’ve seen every possible Ace, but this Ace—the one kneeling on the corroded shower floor, water pounding over his broad back, so hungry for me. Oh yes, this Ace might be my favourite.

He starts slow, his lips grazing my inner thigh, right above my knee, planting a kiss so soft I want to scream. It’s torture; his hands are big enough to span my hips, and he uses every bit of that grip to anchor me in place as his mouth works up, nipping, kissing, licking a line that makes my knees wobble. Steam fills the small space quickly, but it’s his tongue that is causing the most heat, flicking behind my knee before he nips just enough to make me gasp, just enough to make my fingers tangle into his wet hair.

I have never been more desperate for anything in my life.

The very thought of him doing what I know he is about to, is nearly enough to bring me to my knees.

The fantasies I have had of this exact moment.

“You... you don’t have to—” I try to say, but he cuts me off with a growl, a low, steady thing that vibrates up my leg to every part of me.

“I fuckin’ want to,” he rumbles, and suddenly his mouth is on me, devouring, tongue sinking into me, stroking over my clit with a quick burst.

He swears again, a string of filthy praise I can’t even register because all that matters is his tongue, swirling, then sucking, then working me in a rhythm that has me gasping. I want to tell him that we’re going to fall over, that the water’s too hot, that I need him inside me so bad I might actually combust, but nothing comes out except a strangled moan.

He just keeps going, switching between delicate little flicks and rough, hungry sucks with maddening precision, like he’s mapped my body and knows exactly what I need. My hips start moving, chasing his mouth, and he has to pin me harder, rougher, but I love it. I love the way he won’t let me escape him. My head hits the wall, and the sensation is nothing compared to the electricity threading through my nerves—every lick, every glide of his tongue shoots right up my spine.

He looks up at me, eyes hungry, water trickling down his jaw and over the curve of his lips, trailing off his now long and fucking gorgeous beard. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he growls, and I can see he means it. He really, truly means it.

He doesn’t stay away long, he pulls my leg up and over his shoulder, making me gasp and then wiggle. I have never had a man in front of me while I am so exposed before, not like this, anyway. It has always been in dimmed rooms, with covers and boring men. This, oh this, this is feral. A low rumble against my clit again, before he slides his fingers inside me and then sucks my clit hard enough to send a white-hot wave of pleasure right through me.

I didn’t even know I could make these kinds of sounds.

My hand is in his hair, fisting hard enough to hurt, but he just growls against me, and keeps licking, sucking, driving me mad. He doesn’t stop, not until I’m trembling and begging, my fingers pressing as hard as I can against the tiled wall, so much so they ache.

“Ace—” I gasp, and I know I can’t take much more.

One more deep suck, and I’m done.

I rasp his name as an orgasm so intense, and so fucking beautiful, rips through me. I don’t know how I don’t crumple to the ground, and I know if he wasn’t holding me up, I probably would. It’s a feeling so deep, so intense that it travels through every nerve ending, making it feel as though the world actually stops for a moment.

“Fuck, Gracie,” he hums against my skin when I stop gasping and trembling.

“Yeah,” I finally croak. “Fuck.”

“If you weren’t so fuckin’ exhausted, you’d be fuckin’ shocked by the things I would do to you right now.”

I’m shaking, legs useless, but I pull him up and wrap my arms around his neck before biting his lower lip. Hard. “Try me.”

He laughs—God, that sound—and I barely register that my hands are trembling. I want to tell him I missed him, but it’s not the right word. I want to tell him I love him, but that’s not right, either. Nothing in this moment feels quite right, but I do know that standing here, in his arms, makes everything clear.

I am wholeheartedly and desperately in love with this man.

I don’t know how long we stand there, just pressing our foreheads together, bodies wrapped around the other, but eventually the rusted pipes whine and the water pressure drops, cold shock splashing between us. I shriek and jump out of the stream, slipping on the wet floor, but Ace’s arms are faster and he manages to catch me before I slide all the way down.

“Guess that means our shower is up,” he murmurs, opening the small door and letting me step out. “Doesn’t mean I am finished with you, though.”