Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 114793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 574(@200wpm)___ 459(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 574(@200wpm)___ 459(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
I stepped in behind him, sliding my hands under his shirt and lifting it slowly over his head. He let me, watching me in the mirror with that steady look of his like I was something he wasn’t sure he deserved but wasn’t about to let go.
He turned to face me, his hands gliding down to the hem of my top. With deliberate slowness, he undressed me, one piece at a time. Our fingers brushed as he pulled the fabric over my head, a quiet spark passing between us, our breaths gradually falling into sync. Piece by piece, our clothes slipped to the floor in soft, unhurried piles.
When we stepped into the shower, the heat wrapped around us instantly. I leaned back against the tile, and Webb’s hands came to my hips, his body pressing close to mine under the spray. The water ran over his shoulders, down the lines of muscle, over the curve of his jaw and that mouth that had kissed me like I was the only thing anchoring him to the world.
I caught sight of the water pooling in the curves of his gauges before dripping steadily from them, and for a moment, I got caught up watching it. It reminded me to keep my fingers away from them, even though the urge to touch every part of him was strong and stupidly hard to ignore.
He leaned in and kissed me again—slower this time, with less desperation and more intent. Every movement felt deliberate like he wanted me to feel exactly what he wasn’t saying out loud.
The kind of kiss that told you everything he hadn’t said today. That we were safe, for now. That he still needed me close. That there were lines between us that had blurred long before tonight, and he wasn’t ready to draw them again.
His fingers slid through my wet hair, and my hands found his back, pulling him even closer.
The heat of the water was nothing compared to the warmth of his hands.
Webb’s palms slid down my sides, slow and sure, like he needed to relearn every inch of me now that we weren’t in danger, at least not for this moment. His mouth trailed from mine to my neck, the hairs of his beard scraping gently against my skin and sending little shivers through me that had nothing to do with the cold.
I tilted my head to give him space, and he took it—his lips dragging along my throat, down to my collarbone, where he lingered like he couldn’t decide which part he wanted to memorize first.
“I thought we’d lost control of all of it when those assholes got to you,” he murmured against my skin. “But I never lost this.”
I cupped his face in my hands and guided his mouth back to mine. The kiss was deeper and wetter now, with the steam curling around us, as his tongue stroked against mine with a kind of quiet reverence that made me ache.
I shifted my hips and felt him—hard and hot against my stomach—and my breath hitched.
“Tell me what you need,” he rasped, his voice low and frayed.
“You,” I whispered against his lips. “Just you.”
That was all it took. He turned us gently and pressed me back against the warm tile, his hands sliding down to grip the backs of my thighs. I lifted one leg instinctively, wrapping it around his waist, and he caught me with ease. His body was flush against mine, every inch of him aligned with every inch of me.
He reached between us and guided himself to my entrance, the tip of him nudging against me and sliding through the wet heat already slick from more than just the shower. And then, slowly and deliberately, he pushed inside.
I gasped, nails digging into his shoulders as he sank into me, inch by inch, filling me completely. We moved together like we’d done it a hundred times before—like our bodies already knew the rhythm, the pressure, the way we liked to be touched, taken, and owned.
He was slow at first, rolling his hips into me in long, deep thrusts that made me shudder. My hands slid down his back, fingertips tracing the ridges of his spine, and I couldn’t stop the moan that spilled from my lips when he hit that perfect spot inside me.
He grunted softly, forehead resting against mine. “You feel so damn good.”
My other leg lifted, and he caught it, pinning me between him and the wall. The angle shifted, so it was deeper now, and the stretch was so intense that I almost sobbed with it. My back arched, head tipping back as the water rained down on us, and Webb kissed along my throat, one hand gripping my thigh tight while the other moved to cup my breast, thumb brushing my nipple.
Every motion was intimate and deliberate. Like he wasn’t just trying to make me come—he was trying to show me everything he hadn’t said since this whole thing began.