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“Stop fighting back,” I hear Elliot’s voice in my head right before his boot connects with my ribs where I’m lying in the street, Oliver holding me down. “Learn to take it like a good little bitch. That’s how I want you to take it when you fight the Crusher. Let him beat the shit out of you, fuck you up, like he did to—”
“Is it too hot?” Pax asks. She glides her hand over my back. “Riot?”
I fold one arm against the tiles, rest my forehead on it. “’S fine.”
No matter how hot the water is, I doubt it’ll seep deep enough into me to thaw the ice in my bones. I have five days. Five days before they come for me again and demand I fight.
Or rather that I lie down and take it until I’m as surely dead as Markus is.
Shit.
“Tell me if I press too hard,” she says, swiping her hands over my back. I don’t own sponges, or a bathtub, or a fancy apartment.
As if I need to remember any more differences between us, any more reasons for which we could never be together.
Her hands move in light circles over my back and up my neck. They vanish, then return, massaging shampoo into my hair. She must be standing on tiptoe to be able to do that, and I risk a glance under my arm.
Can’t see a thing, and the shampoo gets in my eyes, stinging. Then the water washes the shampoo off and God, it feels good.
Even better when she spreads soap down my back, over my ass, down my legs. I chew on my lip not to groan in pleasure when she kneads the muscles in my thighs. Heat is pooling behind my balls.
Guess I can get hard after all. When it comes to Pax, all bets are off.
And then she’s tugging on my hip, to make me turn around.
Oh fuck.
I turn, because I can’t hide, and why would I want to hide I’m fucking hard for her? Her eyes widen when she takes in the steel pole that is my dick, pointing up at her, the piercings glinting, then she reaches for it and runs her hand up its length, toys with the balls at the ends of the barbells.
“Goddamn.” My body is a live wire. Just one touch on my cock and I’m ready to go off.
“Lean against the wall,” she whispers, gives me a light shove until my upper back is pressed to the tiles. I hope she’ll keep touching me, but she squirts more of my cinnamon shower gel into her hands and starts washing my chest and arms. My breath catches when her hands approach my crotch, but she washes around it, moving down my legs, stroking down my shins to my feet.
Then gets more soap and starts washing my hands, pressing between my fingers, on my palms. And still jolts of pleasure go through me with every small caress. Her tits sway in front of me, and I’m dying to lick her dark nipples, suck on them.
Press her to the wall and sink inside her, fuck her until we both lose control.
Christ, she’s touching me everywhere but where I’d kill for her to touch me. My dick bobs, stretched to its full length, aching, diamond-hard. My blood’s on fire.
Her palms skim down my sides, her hands fasten on my hips. Still not touching my dick.
“All clean now,” she says, and when she looks up at me, her mouth tips up into a teasing smile.
“Yeah,” I manage between gritting teeth. Is she doing it on purpose, to show me she’s pissed with me no matter what she says, or is—?
Her hands are suddenly on my dick, squeezing, and I knock my head back against the wall, gasping her name.
“Looks like you might need some help wi
th this,” she says, laughter in her voice, as I blink the stars from my eyes.
“Inside you,” I say hoarsely, and when she nods, I push her until her back meets the shower door. “Fuck, I thought I’d never do this again with you.”
She starts to say something and I crush my mouth to hers, swallowing her words. My split lip burns but I barely feel it as she opens her lips and lets me in.
Her taste hits me like a drug, straight to the vein, lighting up every nerve ending I own. Our bodies align, and her leg curls around my calf. I grab it, lift it higher. My cock teases her entrance and she gasps.
I know I have to touch her first, get her ready. Between the pain flaring in my ribs with every movement and the burning need to come, my brain is a blank.
