Remnants of shampoo stung the corners of my eyes, mixing with the steam, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t care. Not with his mouth dragging groans from me, not with his teeth grazing the swollen tip and making me cry out—louder this time, shameless.
He growled low in his throat, a sound that vibrated against my skin. "Fuck, the sounds you make, Grace…" His teeth nipped again, just enough to make me jolt. "You moan like you want to be ruined. Like you need it."
I should’ve pushed him away. Should’ve clawed at him, should’ve said no.
But my hands were in his hair, anchoring him there. Pulling him closer.
His mouth moved lower, trailing down the curve of my ribs, his tongue leaving heat in its wake. He bit the soft flesh just above my hip, enough to make me suck in a breath, then kissed it like an apology. He traced the line of my stomach, hands gripping my thighs, exploring me like he had all the time in the world to relearn every inch of skin he'd already marked. I felthim pause when his fingertips brushed over a fresh bruise—one he’d left. His touch softened there, almost reverent, lips pressing lightly against the discolored skin like he knew exactly what he’d done and didn’t regret a second of it.
Then he moved again. Rougher. Hungrier.
His hand slid between my legs and I gasped, clinging to his shoulders as he dragged his mouth back up my torso. Every time he found a mark, his mouth softened to a kiss. Every place untouched was claimed with teeth and tongue and fingers until I was trembling, dripping, desperate. I arched into every pass of his hand, hips stuttering into his palm, shame dissolving in the heat pulsing low in my belly.
He growled again, the sound thick and guttural. "You let me touch you like this. You hate me, and still you open for me. Every gasp, every moan—it drives me fucking insane."
I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Not when his fingers teased me with slow circles, not when his mouth grazed the underside of my jaw like he was about to devour me whole.
And God help me—I wanted him to.
He didn’t waste the invitation. His fingers sank deeper between my thighs, parting me with a firm, unhurried confidence that made my breath catch. He stroked through the slick heat he found there, his knuckles brushing that aching spot again and again, teasing me until my hips were tilting into every motion, until I was panting with frustration.
"If this is hate," he breathed against my neck, voice rough, hungry, "then hate me, Grace. Hate me just like this."
I bit my lip to keep from making another sound, but he knew—he always knew. His mouth was at my ear now, hot and low. "Let me hear it. Let me hear what I do to you."
I shook my head, half in denial, half in surrender. He grinned against my skin, and then his mouth was on my breast again, his hand never pausing between my legs. He sucked harder thistime, teeth scraping until I cried out, one hand flying to the wall for balance, the other clawing at his shoulder.
He pressed closer, guiding me back against the tile, caging me with his body. His hand worked faster now, rougher, his fingers dipping inside and curling in a rhythm that made my whole body jerk. I could feel the edge coming, the tension winding tighter and tighter, and I hated him for knowing exactly how to get me there.
But when he hit another bruise—his thumb grazing the curve of my hip where he’d gripped me too hard—he paused. Slowed. His lips brushed the spot, tender. Gentle.
Then he growled, like the restraint cost him, and took my nipple into his mouth again—hard this time. Desperate. And I shattered on a gasp that turned into a moan, my body pulsing around his fingers as I came, loud and unguarded, against his chest.
He didn’t stop. Didn’t let up. He dragged it out until I was shaking, until I sagged into him, the heat of the water barely cutting through the heat still throbbing in my veins.
"Rafe," I moaned, breath catching on his name, torn from my throat like a confession and a curse all at once. "I still hate you."
His growl was feral, guttural—pure instinct. In the next breath, he grabbed my hips and spun me hard, pressing my chest to the slick wall, steam curling around us like a shroud. I barely caught myself, palms slamming flat against the tile as the room tilted with the sudden movement. The shock stole my breath—but not for long.
Behind me, his body crowded mine. Heat and muscle and brutal promise. His cock, thick and heavy, throbbed against the curve of my ass before sliding lower, pressing hot and deliberate against my entrance.
He bent forward, mouth at my ear, voice dark and cracking with restraint. "Say it again. Say my name. Say you hate me. I want to hear how sweet it sounds while you beg."
My fingers curled against the tile, jaw clenched, body already giving him every answer he demanded. He hadn’t pushed inside yet. He didn’t need to. The pressure of him there, thick and waiting, made my thighs tremble.
I hated how much I needed it.
He gripped my hips harder, thumbs pressing into already-bruised skin, his cock rocking against my slick folds in slow, merciless drags. Just enough to make me whimper. Just enough to drive me wild.
"You’re aching for me," he muttered, voice breaking against my spine. "Say you don’t want it. Say it, and I’ll stop."
I said nothing.
Because I didn’t want him to stop.
Because my body was already betraying me.
And he knew it.
