He Lost His Place Protecting Me, So I Took the Whole Family novel · Chapter 5 of 24

Chapter 5: Tile

He turned the shower on hot and put me under it with my back against his chest.

The water ran down my face and over my shoulders.

His hands were full of soap and moved over my arms, my ribs, my stomach.

He washed me slowly.

It was seven o'clock on Sunday evening, and we had not left his flat all day.

We had eaten eggs standing at the counter.

We had gone back to bed twice.

The bathroom was small, and the glass was fogged to the ceiling.

His chin rested on top of my head.

"Hold still," he said.

I held still.

His soapy hands slid up to my breasts and cupped them.

His thumbs circled my nipples under the hot water until they were tight and aching.

I leaned back into him and felt him hard against the small of my back.

"Luan."

"Quiet."

His hand slid down my stomach.

It went between my legs and stroked once through the slick, and I jumped.

"You're already wet," he said into my ear.

"You've been touching me for ten minutes."

"I've been touching you for two years. In my head."

My breath caught.

I turned in his arms to look at him, and his eyes were black and wet-lashed under the streaming water.

I took the soap out of the dish.

I worked it into a lather between my palms, and then I took him in both hands.

He was hard and heavy and slick, and he hissed through his teeth.

"Drita."

"Hold still," I said.

"I'm trying."

I stroked him with my soapy hands, root to tip, slowly, and twisted a little at the head.

He braced one arm against the tile beside my head, and his stomach shook.

I watched his face change.

The water ran down his chest and over my fingers.

"You'll make me come," he said.

"Not yet," I said, and let him go.

He laughed, breathless, and I kissed him hard.

He kissed me back, with one hand in my wet hair, and walked me two steps backward until my shoulder blades met the tile.

It was cold, and I gasped into his mouth.

He broke the kiss.

He took both my wrists and lifted them over my head and flattened my palms against the wall.

"Keep them there," he said.

"Or what?"

"Or I stop," he said.

"You wouldn't."

"Try me."

I kept them there.

His mouth went down my throat and my collarbone.

He took one breast into his mouth and sucked, and the water ran off his shoulders and over my skin.

I arched into him and bit my lip.

His hand slid down again and found my clit.

He circled it with two fingers, lightly, then slower and firmer, while his mouth worked my breast.

"Please," I said.

"Not yet."

"I don't want your fingers. I want you."

"You'll have me," he said.

"When?"

"When I say."

I made a sound of pure frustration, and he smiled against my skin.

I had never seen him smile like that.

He slid one finger inside me and then two, and I rocked onto his hand.

"Look at that," he said. "You can't keep still."

"Then stop making me."

"Turn around."

I turned.

I put my forehead against the tile, and my palms flat against it, and the water beat on my back.

He stood behind me.

I felt his hands on my hips, and then on the backs of my thighs.

He nudged my feet apart with his own.

"Wider," he said.

I moved them wider.

"Good girl."

He pressed his chest against my back and slid his cock between my thighs from behind.

He did not go in.

He moved along me, slow, hot and slick, with the water running over both of us.

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