Damn him.

One last time. Before he had to face the world and the truth, he wanted her one last time.

Viève gasped when he suddenly reached out and grabbed her by the waist, jerking her into hard contact with his body. Her breasts were crushed to his chest, her hips were connected to his. She was on her toes because of their disparate heights, but she was there all the same.

But then clearly it wasn’t enough for, as he swooped in and took her mouth, he gripped at her thighs and dragged her feet up off the floor. He managed her weight as if it were nothing, bringing her legs to wrap around his waist and hips, her ankles locking in the small of his back. He turned and pressed her to the tiled wall of the shower and she squealed at the cold of the marble against her skin. He kissed the sound away, feasting on her lips. All the while the hot water rained down on them.

He felt her hands alternately gripping his shoulders and caressing his chest. Then her touch followed the water down his body until she had her hands wrapped around his cock, embracing and stroking him with both hands at the same time. Stroking and cupping until he was hard as nails. Not that he hadn’t already been immediately hard for her, but this made him all the more so. All he kept thinking was that this would be the last time she would let him love her so freely, and it spurred him to ever more heated passion. He jerked her hands away from his body, aimed himself at her and with a single thrust found his way inside her. She was so wonderfully hot and tight around him. Such wet flesh. It was astounding.

He was not gentle with her. The time for gentleness had passed. He wanted her with a fervor he couldn’t contain. He thrust hard into her as he pinned her to the wall with his hips. He mauled her breast, brought it to his mouth and sucked hard on her nipple. His teeth came into play and she cried out. But he knew he had not hurt her. Hers was a cry of passion. He could feel it in the answering slickness of her body. He thrust harder…faster…working himself into a frenzy as pleasure gripped him. But this wasn’t just about his selfish needs. There was plenty of that, yes, but there was more than that. There was her pleasure too. He wanted to make her scream his name, wanted her to remember this pleasure well into her years to come.

To that end he pushed his fingers between their bodies, found the nub of her clit, and stroked her in time with his thrusts. She reached orgasm the hard way, with savagery and heat. He kissed her cries away then removed his hand so he could grasp her hips with better traction. He fucked her to within an inch of her life, wrenching a second orgasm from her…and then a third. Still he would not finish. He wanted the sound of her cries emblazoned on his memory for all time…from this lifetime and into the next.

He pulled out of her, placed her wobbly legs on the ground and turned her roughly about, so now her front was to the tile wall. She gasped as he jerked her bottom up to meet his searching thrust through her wet folds. He found her easily and filled her again. Their cries and moans echoed into the shower stall as he found a new, tighter rhythm into her. This was slower, more intense, and he reached around to work her pleasure spot even as he continued to push inside her.

He bit her on her shoulder, then her neck, then the lobe of her ear. He wanted to make her come one more time…just once more to feel her tighten around him. She began to crescendo again, her wet head arching back, and then she burst apart, clenching around him like a fist, milking at him in unbearably sweet tension.

He came with a roar, his hand gripping her hair, his body emptying into hers almost violently. She had her hands pressed to the wall and now collapsed against it. Her legs gave way, but he held her up. He left her body with regret, then lifted her into the hot spray of water. Her head came forward to rest on his chest and she murmured something nonsensical to him. He reached into the little alcove and came away with a bar of soap. Slowly he began to wash her, every inch of her, his hand turning over each curve lovingly. She would not smell of strawberries tonight. Tonight she would smell of his soap and his scent and his shampoo. Whatever else happened, that would be the way of it for this night. She would be marked as his, whether she remained so or not.

Once he was certain every last crevice had been attended to, he put the soap aside and got his shampoo. He manipulated it into her long hair, working up a lather in the silvery gray strands. He massaged her scalp and the back of her neck, rinsed her free of every last bubble. She sighed in contentment as she leaned her weight into his body. He liked the feel of it, their naked bodies slipping against one another.

He had already washed by the time she had entered the shower, leaving only his hair to be done. But when he went to do his own she snatched the bottle away from him and poured the shampoo into her palm. She crooked her finger at him, beckoning him to bend down so she could more easily reach his head. He closed his eyes as her small fingers worked their way through the strands of his hair. He kept it reasonably close cut these days, preferring the wash-and-go style. But there was enough of it to enjoy what she was doing. It was pure decadent pleasure. A luxury. One he wasn’t sure he was going to get to experience ever again. Not from her. And for some reason that hurt. It caused a physical pain in his chest when he thought of her turning against him.

But she would have every right to. Especially since he hadn’t been forthright with her from the beginning, before they had become intimate. If he could change it…he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t deprive himself of the last twenty-four hours. He was just that selfish.

His thoughts dampened his mood as he helped her rinse his hair. When they were done they stepped out of the stall and he retrieved a big, fluffy towel. He had this to say about the body Politic, they lived well and bought the best of everything, from designer clothes to designer sheets. They had housekeepers that kept all three of the houses on the property pristine at all times. Although they tended his rooms as little as possible, so he made his own bed every day. They came to change out sheets and towels once a week, but otherwise…it was clear he was something to be avoided.

He focused on drying her, running the thick towel up and down every pale limb, around each generous breast and the tempting swell of her bottom. Once she was dry he wrapped her up in the towel and then grabbed another to dry himself with. He tucked his around his hips, took her hand and walked into the next room with her.

Chapter 13

“We’re going to have to get you some clothes while you’re here.”