All of Me (Confessions of the Heart 2)

A bronzed, tattooed statue.

It only made me hold on to that strength more tightly, clinging to the erratic beat of his thrumming heart, wishing that he might let me hold it.

He set me down in front of a glass-walled shower.

My legs wobbled.

He grinned. “Knocking you off your feet again.”

A blush rode up to my cheeks. “I’m not sure I’ll ever stop shaking when I’m standing in front of you.”

“You’d better not.” The sweetest kind of smirk rode around his full, full lips, as if another side of him was trying to break out.

Keeping a hand on my waist to keep me steady, he reached through the door and turned on the showerhead. I watched him, the profile of his masculine face, the bristling strength of his beautiful body as he removed the condom and tossed it into the trash.

The man was like raw, unedited art. The purest form of beauty.

Steam filled the room, and he stuck his hand under the fall of water as if he were checking the temperature the same way as I’d done for him.

There was something about it that felt the same. As intimate as that day he’d come into my salon.

The connection that stretched tight between us something neither of us could escape.

As if he felt the draw of it, he backed me into the spray.

Goosebumps crawled across my flesh.

From the change of the temperature or the sheer heat of his gaze, I didn’t know. All I knew was sensation was still racing everywhere.

Somehow growing even stronger.

The man had just obliterated me, heart, body, and soul, and I got the distinct sense that he was aiming to do it again.

His dick swung at half mast, and there was nothing I could do but reach out.

Touch him.

I fisted the velvet flesh, and my heart gave a quiver.

Overcome.

But I didn’t know how to stop. Not when I’d already been swept away.

He groaned out a needy sound, the man growing hard and long and thick where I held him in my hand.

I stroked him, relishing in the power of doing it. In being in control of his pleasure. Of his need.

He stepped closer, and my other hand felt along his hip, gliding down until I was cupping his balls.

His jaw came unhinged, and he dropped his forehead to my shoulder as I continued to stroke him.

“I thought you said you didn’t know what you were doing?” he rasped.

“The only thing I know is I don’t want to stop touching you.”

Pants rose into the air, at one with the steam that billowed between us.

I could feel it, the energy that lit into a frenzy.

Wild.

And I was stroking him harder and faster as need blossomed in my body, my belly shaking and center throbbing for him again.

Faster than I could make sense of it, he had my back pinned to the cold stone of the shower wall. The impact made me release him, and instantly he was the one in control.

A big hand gripped me by the chin, his fingertips sinking into either side of my cheeks.

There was some kind of war on his face, eyes flashing dark as they darted between my eyes and my lips.

“Fuck . . . Grace . . . what are you doing to me? You’re making me crazy. Making me want things I don’t fucking want.”

Pain.

It reverberated through the space.

The man giving me another glimpse.

My hand was trembling when I reached out and let my fingertips trace against his bottom lip in a silent question.

Why won’t you kiss me?

His mouth parted on a sigh, and his eyes closed, throat vibrating with a low, urgent sound.

In another flash, he had me spun away from him.

Whiplash.

My hands flew out to the wall, and I gasped out in shock when he tumbled his mouth down the length of my spine.

Desperate, needy kisses.

Flicks of tongue and soft, adoring lips.

Oh, God, he was undoing me.

Wholly and completely and permanently.

I had no idea how I was going to recover from this. How I would ever be the same when he gripped me by both hips, his rigid, hard cock sliding through the crease of my bottom.

“Ian.” It was a plea of confusion and need. His hands kneaded into my thighs, and my head turned to the side so I could watch him through the mirror.

He rocked his cock through the cheeks of my bottom like some kind of illicit threat.

Want gripped me everywhere.

Everywhere.

Everywhere.

A tight fist that squeezed my heart, so tight I thought it might shatter under the pressure.

“I want you everywhere, Grace. I want to fuck you until the only thing you know is my name. That sweet cunt and your mouth and this perfect ass.”

I was pretty sure what the man was fucking with was my heart.

He was taking over. Invading the places where I never should have let him go.