Page 94 of Savage Saint

I pick up the bottle and let a stream of gel slide from her collarbones down the center of her chest to her mound. The scent thickens, and she hums, completely sweet against me as I spread the soap with my hands a minute later.

I wash her. Memorize every contour and dip.

The weight of her breasts in my hands and the width of her hips.

How she trembles when I press a kiss to her neck or rub the area just above her clit to tease her. Genesis is sensitive, but so pretty when she moves her hips, silently asking for more.

“You’re tired.”

“Need you.” Another of those soft little sighs that tell me I’m doing something right. “You’re good at this, Santos. I like this.”

“Washing you?” I ask, but she shakes her head. Doesn’t say anything for a while, and right when I think she’s maybe fallen asleep, I hear it. Low. Nothing more than a whisper.

“Taking care of me.”

My hand stills for a beat, just enough to digest her honesty, and then I continue. “Get used to it.”

She turns in my arms, sleepy eyes lifting to mine before her mouth brushes across my chest. Once. Twice. Then lower.

I catch her wrist when her fingers wrap around me. “You’re exhausted.”

“Still want you.”

“Genesis.”

“Just let me feel you inside again.” She strokes me from root to tip, pausing only a moment when her nail catches on the piercing and grins. “I’ll be exploring that soon.”

“You dirty fucking girl.” I lift her, settling her against me beneath the spray, and this time there’s no rush. No hard thrust up, I notch myself at her entrance and let gravity lower her onto me. Her forehead rests against the base of my neck, pussy already clenching as I flex my hips into her in slow, measured strokes.

I never completely pull out either, giving her body only enough space to tighten around me with every thrust.

She clings to me, arms around my neck as a tremor runs through her. “You feel so good.”

“And you feel like you were born to be mine.” I kiss her temple before turning us toward the side wall, letting her upper body rest against the cold, black marble, pinning her with my hips. A hiss escapes her, but it quickly turns into a moan when one of my hands slips between us, finding her clit. The other settles around her throat, and those brown eyes flash.

The reaction is immediate; her pussy clamps down around me. I stop moving.

My Pocket Doc makes a soft, needy sound, but I don’t move. Instead, I slightly tighten my fingers around her neck and run tight, little circles over her bundle of nerves. The way she contracts and pulses draws my balls tight; she’s milking me with every clench to pull me in deeper.

“Santos…”

“I know. Come for me.”

This time, she falls apart slowly. A shuddering breath against me, the slight rocking of her hips chasing every last wave of pleasure, and as her juices slide down my shaft, I follow. Her walls pull rope after rope of spend, and unlike the last time I jerked off in here, it’s not wasted going down the drain.

My come belongs inside of her. Keeping her full of me.

By the time I rinse us both off, my girl is barely standing.

I wrap her in a towel, barely drying her, and slip another one of my shirts over her head before carrying her into my bedroom. And for once, she doesn’t argue. That’s how tired she is.

Lying her on my side, I lean down and press a kiss to her button nose because I can. That makes her face scrunch up. Cute. “The food will be here soon.”

“Later. Much.”

“Won’t be the same cold.”

That earns me one narrowed, angry eye. “Santo, we will use a microwave. Let me nap.” Then she rolls onto her side, burying her face deeper into my pillow, effectively telling me the argument is done. That she’s done.