“You’re still shaking,” he observed, concern underneath. His lips brushed my neck, too tender for our position. “We should get you into bed.”
“No,” I said firmly, my hand covering his. “I need this. I need you.”
I felt his forehead press against my shoulder blade, a moment of vulnerability. This wasn’t just sex—it was reclamation. Me, taking back my body from Brock. Him, choosing connection over isolation.
He positioned himself at my entrance, the thick head pressing insistently. Despite how wet I was, he was filling me in ways that made my breath catch.
“Relax,” he murmured, his hand cupping my face with tenderness. “I won’t hurt you.”
I took a deep breath. My body yielded gradually, accommodating his size as a sweet ache spread through my core.
A sound escaped him like nothing I’d heard before—something between a groan and a gasp, as if he was experiencing something entirely new. “You feel…” he started, then stopped, unable to find words in his assassin’s vocabulary for his feelings.
When he was fully inside me, we both froze, adjusting to the overwhelming sensation.
“You’re perfect,” he murmured against my neck. “I didn’t know it could be like this. That anything could feel like this.”
I shivered at his words, the raw honesty sending tremors down my spine. This intensity should have scared me, but Ifound myself arching closer, craving more of this dangerous connection.
“And you’re mine,” I whispered, the declaration as much promise as claim. His hips jerked in response, driving deeper as a shudder ran through him.
“Yours,” he echoed, sounding foreign on his tongue, like he’d never belonged before. “No one else’s.”
He moved with calculated restraint, withdrawing almost completely before sliding back. Each thrust was perfectly calibrated—as if he’d memorized exactly what my body needed.
Water cascaded over us, creating a sensual barrier between us and the world. Our breathing echoed against tiles, punctuated by wet skin against skin as his pace increased.
A deep thrust hit something that made me cry out—a sharp sound I barely recognized as mine. Reaper’s eyes flashed with satisfaction.
“Let me hear how good I make you feel,” he demanded, repeating the same angle.
This time, I didn’t hold back, a raw moan tearing from my throat as pleasure radiated through my body. I was suddenly aware how vocal I was—far more uninhibited than during our first time—but I couldn’t control it. Each thrust drew sounds I didn’t know I could make.
“That’s it,” he approved, breathing ragged as his pace intensified. “Don’t hold back.”
“You make me forget,” I gasped, confession torn from deep. “Everything but this. You.”
His rhythm faltered for a heartbeat, my words affecting him more than physical sensation. When he resumed, there was something different, more raw emotion.
My inhibitions dissolved under relentless pleasure. When he shifted slightly, changing the angle so his cock dragged against my front wall, something primal took over.
“Harder,” I demanded, surprising myself. “Right there.”
Dark satisfaction crossed his features. “Whatever you need, I’ll give you,” he promised, voice a dangerous rumble. He adjusted his stance and increased force, driving exactly where I needed him the most. Each thrust now hit that perfect spot, sending shockwaves through my body. The bathroom filled with sounds—my desperate cries, his controlled grunts, the rhythmic impact of bodies.
I felt his eyes on my face, tracking more than pleasure. Even as my body arched, his gaze noticed the tremor in my thighs unrelated to arousal. He caught the subtle falter in my breathing—heavier than it should be.
“Hold on tight,” he commanded, hands adjusting beneath my ass.
Before I could respond, he pivoted, maintaining our connection but changing the angle. My back left the cold tile as he took two steps, bracing me against the corner. The new position took all the weight off my trembling legs while driving him impossibly deeper.
“Oh God,” I gasped as he filled me completely, the new angle hitting places I didn’t know could feel so good.
“I can feel your pulse around my cock,” he said, voice tinged with wonder. “Every heartbeat. Proof you’re alive. That we both are.”
There was something reverent in his observation—scientific exactness transformed by desire. His ability to read my body became intimate—the ultimate connection. A reminder we’d both survived what should have killed us.
The words combined with him bottoming out inside me sent electricity along my nerves. I was impaled completely on his cock, stretched around his thickness. The vulnerability of the position—held at his mercy, supported by his strength—should have frightened me. Instead, it fractured something inside, breaking my last barriers.
