“I’m not going to beg you. This is wrong.”
He grabbed me by the back of the head with one hand and forced my lips to his, opening his mouth and sending his thick tongue in to invade mine. My arms flew up to wrap around his neck as I pushed my hips into his. I sighed against his mouth. So much for resistance.
The soap on my breasts made moving against him so easy, so wet and slippery. All I had to do now was angle my lower body up somehow and I’d find that sweet relief that I knew only he could deliver. Memories of his heavy body on mine assailed my mind, making me admit that nothing had ever been as good since that night in Las Vegas.
“Say it,” he growled against my lips.
“No,” I growled back. “I won’t.” It was wrong, what we were doing. I wasn’t going to make it worse by begging. In the back of my mind I was thinking if I didn’t beg, I could blame all of this on the passion, on the confusion that muddled my brain any time Mack was in the same space as me. I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t be blamed. I was just a sorry little slut who couldn’t control her libido.
He grabbed one of my thighs and lifted it up, hiking it over his hip. He guided his cock down to my folds, and I nearly wept with joy when it made contact. He slid the head up and down, moving it across and around my entrance, giving small pulses forward as a tease when he reached the center.
“Just one word, that’s all I need,” he said. His voice was so calm and assured. It was maddening in its business-like tone. He had nothing but control, and yet I was barely holding on. The only thing I could do was refuse to beg, but otherwise, I was all-in. Lifeplan be damned.
He put his other hand on my lower back and pulled me towards him while holding himself out and ready with the other hand. The tip slid in with zero resistance, completely covered in my slippery wetness that the shower hadn’t managed to wash away.
“Oh my god,” I said, holding onto his shoulders, looking down at where we were joined. “What’s happening?”
“I’m going to come inside you now,” he said.
I looked up to see a fierce expression bearing down on me. His nostrils were flared wide and his jaw clenched. His blue eyes were stormy with passion, his hair drenched and hanging down over his forehead. I was swept away in all of it - the dark mood, the challenge, the commanding presence of this man who’d invaded my shower, my private places, seizing what he wanted and demanding that I cave in. One simple word. That’s all it would take.
“No,” I said.
But we both knew I didn’t mean it.
His cock went in slowly, slowly. I thought he was going to stop, a vague memory of our last encounter telling me that was how he did his thing … but he didn’t stop. He kept going, filling me until there was nothing left.
I ground into him awkwardly, trying to get as close to him as I could. The shower was too small and there was nothing to hang onto. I grabbed for the curtain when he pulled out and came back inside, and managed to yank the whole thing down on top of our shoulders.
He shoved the plastic off to the side and kept going, not letting the water or the mayhem even cause a stutter in his rhythm. And the whole time he was plunging into me, he never looked away; he stared into my eyes like he was driving home a point. And I felt that point he was making with every thrust. He was taking possession of me, laughing in the face of whatever plan I’d made before coming here. He was calling the shots, not me.
He picked up the speed of his rhythm, our wet bodies making slapping sounds when they came together. I didn’t care. The act was even more erotic knowing we were making a mess and being loud about it.
As I felt the heat building between my legs and coming out from my core, I suddenly felt the need to protest. No one had ever made me feel this way and it was wrong. It had to be wrong. It made my other experiences with other men seem boring and faked. He was going to ruin everything.
“We need to stop. We shouldn’t…”
With every thrust, he gave me his response. “You. Are. My. Wife.” The last word came out as a growl.
I clung to him, no longer caring whether it was right or wrong. All I wanted was for the feeling to keep on going forever. I’d worry about the consequences later.
He stopped suddenly when he was fully buried inside me and leaned over. Shutting off the water, he bit my neck at the same time.
“Ow!” I squeaked. “What are you doing?”
“Get out of the shower,” he said, pulling out of me in one smooth, quick stroke.
I immediately felt empty and abandoned. “What?” My brain was going in about five different directions, completely confused as to what he was doing.