Fresh out of the shower, I’m brushing my teeth in nothing but a towel when Flint pads into the bathroom. He steps up behind me, folding his arms snug around my waist.
His lips attack the side of my neck, hot and sweet and oh-so-bothered. “Bad timing. I was hoping to catch you in the shower. But this works just fine.”
“Oh?” I put away my toothbrush, all the while watching him in the huge mirror in front of me. “Can I help you with something, sir?”
My little coy act must be working. He breaks into a savage, bright-eyed grin.
“Depends. How are those hands?”
I hold one up to the mirror. “Better. I changed out the bandages, just need to be careful for a few more days.”
“Then we’ll be careful, Val. Keep your hands behind you when we fuck,” he growls, gingerly running his fingers up my arm.
Oh, wow.
He untucks the edge of the towel between my breasts and lets it fall to the floor. “Also think you need a full exam from someone more qualified to handle this body than Cash. Gotta make sure you don’t have any bumps or bruises from yesterday.”
His hand cups my breast and I tumble back against him, loving the feel of him touching me, holding me up, making me weak at the knees. “Hmmm. And what will you do if you find any sore spots?”
“Kiss that shit and make it better. And if I can’t…I’ll make other places sing so loud they drown out everything else.” He kisses my shoulder.
I lean my head to the side, rubbing my shoulder. “Come to think of it, this is kinda sore.”
He kisses my shoulder, softly at first, then adding a quick, electrifying brush of his tongue. “Better?”
“I think so.”
I let out a husky moan, letting him know exactly how it feels.
“Just think?”
I nod. “Not sure, yet. Might need a little more convincing…”
Biting back a grin, he trails more smoldering kisses down my shoulder, up my neck.
“Val?” he growls between more kisses.
“Mmm, I think…oh. Oh. Definitely better.”
Then his hand wanders down, finds my nipple, and rolls it between his fingers. “And these? Do they need some therapy too?”
I arch my back, inadvertently pushing my boob into his hand. “Well, now that you mention it, doctor…”
Growling, he spins me around, lifts me up, and sets me on the counter.
My pulse quickens even before his mouth attacks one of my nipples, pooling between my legs in this steady throb. I lean back, arching into him, giving over everything.
Flint turns less caring doctor and more hungry thief. He claims every aching bit of me with his lips, his teeth, his hands, leaving me a squirming mess on the counter.
His fingers find my folds, moving in, thumb against my clit with just the right pressure.
There’s no time to think anything more nuanced than how flipping good he feels.
When his face pushes between my thighs and kisses upward, when his tongue replaces his fingers and makes me shake, when I’m grasping at his head even with the cuts on my hands stinging, creating this mad, magnifying clash of pleasure and pain…
Holy hell, I’m gone.
And Flint Calum Takes. Me. Places.
I come with him buried between my legs, growling, his tongue striking deep and hot and wild. He lashes my body into line with feral licks, bringing order to my chaos, dragging me back with falling kisses when I stop convulsing and remember how to breathe again.
Oh. My. God.
“You’re in good shape,” he grunts, standing again, kissing me with my own slick cream on his lips like he wants me to taste what he’s done. God. “Nothing wrong down there. Your pussy still tastes sweet as pie. Fucking love it.”
Just hearing him say that brings my desire up a notch.
I reach between his legs, rubbing the bulge under his boxers. “You’re a lucky man because I like this, too. Maybe we’d better check you for damage…”
“Oh, fuck,” he growls. “Yeah, find out if I can still make you scream for me in sixty seconds.”
Just like that, he picks me up, carries me to bed, and puts me down on my knees. There’s a snap of an elastic waistband behind me as he peels off his boxers. Then he folds his hands gently around my wrists, bends me over, slides his thick cock into me, and—
It’s not even sex.
The word doesn’t fit. Not for the way he alternates between savage strokes and tender, slower thrusts. Not for how he whispers sweet nothings in my ear, calls me baby, tells me I’m going to come so good for him I’ll be ruined.
And I do.
Several shameless times.
Definitely not a fit for the wicked, exhilarating end of round one, when he’s slamming into me so hard I might break, and I’ve got my face pushed deep into the pillow to muffle my screams, and my pussy tightens on his frolicking cock so sweetly I think it just drags the truth out of him.