“Thank fuck,” he whispers against my ear. As he braces his hands on my hips, I feel the head of his cock brush my entrance. My hips jerk forward as he goes balls-deep in one hard thrust. He growls my name as I moan helplessly. This is what I’ve been wanting since the moment he opened the door. His big cock is deep, so deep in this position that he is bumping against my cervix. The discomfort just adds to the flood of sensations racing through me. With each thrust, my nipples brush against the cold granite, bringing me closer to orgasm. Lucian’s mouth burns a trail of fire down my neck as he nips and laves me. My hips meet his, eager to take every inch he has to offer. Soon I am close, and I know from his frantic movements that he is, as well. His big hand comes around, finding my slippery clit, and I clench around his cock as my orgasm explodes. He pounds hard before his cock starts twitching within me. Without his support, I would be face down on the floor. I am spent and wasted. There is no denying I’ve been fucked by Lucian Quinn; his stamp is all over me both inside and out.
He continues to move leisurely in me for a few moments as we both get our breathing under control. I whimper as he pulls out, my body sore and sensitive. A feeling of warmth washes over me as I feel his lips against my spine before he helps me turn. I am too tired to protest when he picks me up in his arms and moves through the apartment. We pass through what I assume is his bedroom and into a large bathroom. He lowers me down gently onto my feet and starts the water in the shower. I stand apprehensively, wondering if we are showering together. When he steps into the steamy, glass enclosure and extends a hand to me, I have my answer. Without thinking, I throw my shirt quickly off and follow him.
Now that the sexual fog was somewhat abated, my usual shyness is returning in full force. Stupid, I know, since the man had his head between my legs just moments ago, but things always feel different in the light of day, so to speak. As I reach for the soap, he takes it instead, creating a rich lather before starting to wash my shoulders. Neither of us speaks as he washes first my front and then his with quick efficiency. If I was expecting an encore shower session, I was out of luck; he might as well have been washing a Buick. Just the thought of that brings a smile to my face and then a giggle escapes. Lucian holds the washcloth suspended as he looks at me as if I’ve lost my mind. “What?” he asks, looking adorably confused.
Somehow, that just makes me laugh harder until I am leaning against the wall of the shower stall holding my sides; the whole situation is so absurd it’s hilarious. How in the world has someone such as myself ended in up Lucian’s Quinn’s shower being washed by him, after having what can only be called dirty sex on his kitchen counter? It really is too much to take in. I barely know the man, and he’s washing my hoo-ha, as Rose calls it, after just having licked it thoroughly. The sensible Lia Adams has left the building and in her place is a…tramp? Me, a tramp? That’s unreal. Most people have colon cleanings more than I have sex. Why him, though? We are worlds apart in every way, but I feel so damn comfortable with him. He is familiar, and when I’m dying to have him inside me, I just want to be with him. He begins to look worried as he continues to study me. “Sorry, I just lost it there for a minute. I…I’m just not used to someone washing me.” He smirks before grabbing my arm and pulling me forward.
“Let’s finish the job then.” I can only blame what happens next on my complete absorption in all things Lucian. As he twirls me around to face the wall, I laugh until I hear his harsh inhalation. Oh, fuck. Oh, my God, how could I have forgotten my back? As I attempt to jerk around, he holds me immobile. “What the fuck is this?” he asks too quietly. I shrink as far away from him as I can. I feel the need to apologize as if I have deceived him somehow.
“It’s just a scar,” I say instead, dropping my head in shame. Like Jackson, he won’t want me anymore. I am marked…ugly. “Please, let me go, Luc.” I hate that my voice wobbles as I beg him to release me. When instead I feel his hand softly gliding over my marred flesh, I jolt as if I can still feel the hot brand of the iron; no one has touched me there since that day.
“Lia…baby, how did you get this?” Before I can answer, he adds quietly, “It almost looks like an iron.” Whereas just a moment ago, I was laughing, I now feel tears start to flow, blending in with the water from the shower. I want to disappear, to escape the embarrassment beating down on me. How could I have forgotten? How could I have let him see my back? His grip on me has loosened as he stands looking at my back, and I take advantage of it, wrenching myself free and stumbling from the shower. I have to get away; I need to cover myself from his prying eyes. Not bothering with a towel, I try to pull my shirt on over my wet skin.
Lucian jumps out of the shower, taking in my struggle to dress in one glance. Without saying anything, he takes the shirt from my hand and wraps me instead in a fluffy bath towel. He puts another towel around his waist and then just stands, looking at me.
Picking imaginary lint from the towel, I say, “It is an iron; at least, it was.” He curses low under his breath but doesn’t move.
“Who?” he asks. Lying seems pointless; he doesn’t know me or my family, and I’m unlikely to see him again after this.