He’s dominance incarnate.
Towering height. Corded muscle. Tattoos so intricate they tell silent stories across his skin. His five o’clock shadow along his jaw. And fuck, that deep, brooding stare makes my stomach clench.
I trace my hands down his broad chest, feeling the hard ridges of his abs—all eight of them—following the trail of dark hair leading to the deep cut of his V.
His boxers are already tented, thick beneath the fabric.
I bite my lip.
He’s holding his breath. His whole body tight as my fingers dance along the band of his boxers.
I look up at him through my lashes, licking my lips as my hands tease at the fabric.
A large, calloused hand wraps around my wrist.
Not stopping me—guiding me.
He presses my palm to his cock, letting me feel all of him.
I whimper, my thighs clenching at the hard length beneath my fingers. But it’s the metal that makes my breath stutter.
Piercings.
I can feel them along the underside of him, teasing against my palm.
His other hand grips my chin, tilting my face up so I have no choice but to drown in his blue gaze, pupils blown wide with hunger.
“What do you want, malyshka?” His gravelly voice scrapes against my nerve endings, sending a full-body shiver down my spine.
“I-I want to taste you,” I whisper, my voice breathy, needy.
He nods once. Releases my chin. My hand.
I drop to my knees, the hot spray of the shower beating down my back.
Slowly, he tugs his boxers down, and holy fuck.
My eyes widen.
Thick. Long. Heavy against his lower stomach. And those piercings.
Eight of them.
“I’ve never done this before.” Never even wanted to the voice in the back of my head adds.
I hesitate, flicking my gaze up to him, waiting for his disgust.
But his head tilts back, and he groans.
Groans.
“Don’t worry, dusha moya,” he rumbles. “Take your time.”
I swallow hard and wrap my fingers around his base. His cock twitches in my grip, and a bead of pre-cum leaks from the tip.
I lean in, licking it away.
His taste spreads over my tongue—salty, masculine, addictive.
