Chapter 108: Seducing Her

Alexander didn’t give her space to think. He stepped directly under the stream, the hot spray breaking across the broad planes of his shoulders and streaming down the carved ridges of his chest, and he closed the distance between them in a single, deliberate stride until his massive frame pinned Iris flush against the wet stone.

Her back met the slate with a soft, startled gasp. The tile was cool and slick against her shoulder blades, a sharp contrast to the furnace heat of his body pressing into her front. His hands came up—those long, scarred, impossibly careful hands—and slid around her waist, fingers digging into the soft skin of her hips with a grip that was anything but careful now. He pulled her into him, eliminating every fraction of space between them, and the full, heavy weight of his arousal pressed hot and unmistakable against her stomach.

“Alexander….” His name left her mouth in a whimper, and the word was swallowed entirely by his.

He kissed her the way a dam breaks. It wasn’t slow, nor was it tentative. His mouth descended on hers with an aggressive, possessive hunger that consumed the breath from her lungs before she could draw another.

His tongue parted her lips with a heavy, masterfully demanding stroke, tasting the warm water that clung to her mouth and something beneath it—something sweet and inherently her—and Iris let out a helpless, breathless moan that disappeared down his throat.

Her arms moved without her permission, wrapping around his neck, fingers tangling into the wet silk of his dark hair as her spine curved and pressed her chest into the hard, bare muscle of his.

Alexander growled into the kiss. The sound vibrated through his chest and into hers, low and beast-like, and his hips shifted forward.

The thick, scorching head of his erection pressed directly against her lower belly—heavy, hot, and insistent—sliding against her slick skin with every ragged breath he dragged through his nose.

The friction was unbearable. An intoxicating, electric heat that pulsed in perfect synchronization with the mark on her neck, which had gone from a faint warmth to a low, insistent burn that threaded through her veins like liquid gold.

His hand left her hip. It slid up her side with a slowness that contradicted everything else about him—the roughness of his palm dragging over her ribs, her waist, the curve beneath—until his hand cupped her breast, fingers closing around the soft, wet weight of it.

His thumb swept over the hardened peak with an exquisite, deliberate pressure, a slow, circular stroke that made her back arch off the wall like a bow being drawn.

Iris cried out against his lips, the sound breaking into the steam, her toes curling against the wet tile as a wave of intense, liquid pleasure rippled from her chest straight to her core, melting whatever thin, fraying thread of resistance she had left into pure, unadulterated desire.

“You run from me,” Alexander rasped against her lips. His voice was gravelly, deep and thick with unsated lust, and his mouth dragged down her jawline, leaving a trail of biting, hot kisses over her pulse point.

She felt his teeth graze the mark there, and the sensation was a live wire straight to her spine. “You ask for space… while your body screams for mine.”

He ground his hips into hers again. The hard, thick length of him slid firmly against the warm, slick crease of her thighs, not entering her yet—just there, teasing her opening without breaking the seam of her, and the pressure was so precise, so devastatingly well-placed, that Iris gasped.

Her hands gripped his wet shoulders for support, nails biting into the dense muscle there, and her head fell back against the tile with a soft thud. Water ran down her throat and over the mark, and the heat of it mixed with the heat of his mouth still dragging across her neck.

“Alexander… please…” she whispered. The word hung in the steam between them, and she didn’t know—genuinely, honestly didn’t know—whether she was begging him to stop or begging him to fill the excruciating, blooming ache that had taken root between her legs and was spreading outward through her thighs, her stomach, her chest.

He paused. His heavy, crimson-tinted eyes looked down into hers through the falling water. The blue of his irises had thinned to a ring around the dark, blown-out pupils, and the red there was deeper now, almost burgundy, the color of old wine.

His chest heaved in ragged, heavy thrusts, water streaming down the ridges of his abdomen, and his long fingers gripped her hips so tightly that his knuckles were white. He held himself at her entrance, the blunt, broad head of his cock resting right against her core, and the restraint in his body was a living, trembling thing—visible in the corded tension of his forearms, the locked set of his jaw, the deliberate, measured control of his breathing.

He was fully, achingly hard. She could feel the heat of him radiating against her, the thick pulse of his arousal matching the pulse of the mark on her neck.

He was entirely capable of taking her right here against the stone—of burying himself inside her in one stroke and swallowing whatever sound she made—but he held himself on the razor’s edge, waiting for her surrender, forcing her to confront the absolute truth of what her body truly wanted.

“I know you asked for space, and I agreed to it,” he said. His voice was breathless, wrecked, barely holding together. His heart hammering against his ribs. His hardened member throbbed where it rested against her, and she felt the twitch of it against her slick, swollen flesh.

“But right now I want you. And I know you want me too.” His face was barely an inch from hers, his blue eyes searching her dark, dilated pupils.

The water fell between them, breaking over his brow and jaw, and she could count the droplets on his eyelashes. They could feel each other’s ragged breath—the hot, unsteady, mingling in the narrow space between their mouths.

“But I need you to say it,” he rasped, his thumb stroking her hip in a slow, intoxicating rhythm. “I need to hear you say it, Iris.”

Iris couldn’t think straight. The mark on her neck was like a furnace now, pulsing with heat and desire, sending wave after wave of raw, primal need through her nervous system until her thoughts were static and her body was a live circuit.

The rational, hesitant part of her brain that wanted to take ‘baby steps’ dissolved beneath the absolute certainty of his gaze.

She knew—knew without him touching her, without his fingers confirming it—that she was wet and dripping for him, that her body had been ready since the moment he stepped under the stream, since the moment his scent hit her through the steam, since the moment his hands found her hips. She stood on her tiptoes, her fingers curling into his wet hair, and she brought his face down to hers and kissed him.

Her breasts swelled against the hard muscle of his chest, her nipples pressing into him, and the contact sent a fresh jolt of pleasure through her.

Alexander growled into her mouth, his hands dropping to her ass and squeezing with a grip that would leave crescents, and the sound she made against his lips was not a moan but something closer to a sob.

His right hand traveled downward, slipping between her thighs, fingers spreading through the wet hair between her legs, and she felt her own hips tilt toward his palm before she could stop them, an answer she hadn’t authorized.

He didn’t push inside yet. He just cupped her, the whole heat of her in his hand, and his middle finger slid along her slit once, slow, from front to back, and came away slick.

“God, you’re so wet,” he muttered, his voice a low rumble.

She was very, very wet. He groaned when he felt it—the slick, hot evidence of her arousal closing around his fingers—and the sound was raw, unfiltered, a sound that came from somewhere deep in his chest where his beast lived.

His finger slid along her again, and this time when it reached her entrance it pressed the tip of a finger in, and her whole body clenched around nothing and she made a sound she was glad the water covered.

He was breathing hard now, and she could feel how hard, the rise and fall of his chest against her breasts, the way his control was a thing he was holding with both hands

His finger pushed in. Two of them, this time with a slow, deliberate push — she felt the stretch of it, the slight burn at the edges of her, and then the deep impossible fullness of being opened by someone who knew exactly how much room she had, and her head fell back against the slate and her mouth opened and nothing came out for a second.

“Oh,” she said. Just that. It came out of her like something knocked loose.

He used his fingers to move inside her, sliding in and out with a measured, stretching rhythm, curling them upward in a slow rotation that pressed against the front wall of her core.

******

Note: To my Wonderful readers …If I receive a gift of a Magic Castle, I’ll do a mass release of Five Chapter!!!!!