Page 141 of Mission Shift

Braxton hugged me tightly, his strong arms encircling me, providing a sense of security and comfort that I desperately needed. “Shh, you’re okay,” he murmured, stroking my back tenderly. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

My body shook against him, the storm still working its way out. He kept holding on, kept whispering soft praise. I was barely able to process it—only that it was kind. Gentle. Like nothing I’d ever been given before.

“You’re incredible,” he said into my hair. “The way you respond…the way you allow me to touch you… You’re perfect, Daria. You are.”

I squeezed him tighter, gripping him as though he was the only solid thing left in the world.

When I finally started to settle, he leaned back just enough to get a look at me. He brought his hands up to my shoulders, steady and warm, and his eyes scanned mine as though he was worried he’d done something wrong.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, suddenly serious. “Are you okay?”

I nodded, trying to pull myself together. Embarrassment washed over me as I realized how exposed I was, both physically and emotionally. Quickly, I wiped my face with the back of my hand. “I’m fine. God, I’m just being stupid. It’s nothing. I’m just tired and—”

“Don’t,” he said firmly, taking my face in both hands. “Don’t say you’re being stupid.”

I froze.

“What you’re experiencing is how sexual pleasure should always make you feel. Giving a man that special piece of yourself is the best gifthecould ever receive. You deserve to be adored and pleasured in every way, to be praised and feel loved. Your body is your temple, and any man should be lucky enough to worship before it.”

My heart cracked wide open.

“Seriously, you deserve to be worshipped,” he said, his tone unwavering. “Not used. Not hurt.Worshipped. Because your body—you—are sacred.”

I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. The intensity of his words wrapped around my chest and held me still. It was too much. No one had ever said anything like that to me—ever.

I stood on my toes and kissed him—slow and sweet—pouring all my gratitude and astonishment into that one moment.

His hand slid down my back again.

Braxton smiled against my lips and said in a playful voice, “I’m just getting started. I’m sure I’ll wring at least two or three more orgasms from you before we even finish our shower.”

I let out a choked laugh and shook my head. “That’s if we’ve got any hot water left. You’ve been fogging up this bathroom for twenty minutes.”

Braxton gave me a crooked smile. “Then we’d better make it count.”

He leaned over and untied his boots, then toed them off quickly. Rainwater still clung to his skin, having soaked through the long-sleeved shirt that was now plastered against his chest. I couldn’t help but appreciate the view as he began to strip off his clothes. In one smooth motion, he reached for the hem of his shirt and tugged it up and over his head.

I’d seen his muscular form during our time together. His body was toned from years of physical work as a paramedic and from whatever else he did. But there was something especially hot about watching him undress now—the way the wet clothing clung to his skin, the way his T-shirt molded to his abs before he yanked it over his head, the way his biceps flexed as he struggled against its hold, and the way his jeans emphasized the powerful lines of his thighs before he peeled them off and left them in a heap on the floor.

I couldn’t look away.

And when he finally stood before me, naked and gloriously hard, a feral surge of hunger made my mouth water.

Braxton caught me staring and let out a low chuckle. “You keep looking at me like that, and I’m not gonna make it to the shower.”

I smirked, lifting an eyebrow. “You’re the one standing there like a damn Greek god. What do you expect me to do?”

He stepped closer, taking my hand in his. “Come on. Let’s clean up before the hot water runs out.”

He led me in, and steam curled around us as hot water sprayed from the showerhead, washing away the last traces of the cold rain. He grabbed a bottle of body wash, squeezed a dollop into his palm, and slathered it over my shoulders, arms, and chest, his fingers working in slow, tantalizing circles. His movements were methodical, as if he’d done this a hundred times and already knew every inch of me by heart.

“You are sheer perfection,” he murmured.

The praise sent a shiver down my spine, and I melted into his touch. His hands roamed down my sides and over my hips, and then he gently pulled me closer, his fingers tracing circles on my lower back. “Turn around for me,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent heat coiling through my core.

I obliged. His touch lingered on the swell of my ass, his thumbs gently caressing the curves. My hips swayed and rocked against his hands as if they controlled me through some invisible force. “I love the way your body reacts to me,” he said.

Then his fingers trailed lower, outlining the crease between my cheeks. I couldn’t suppress a sharp intake of breath, and I rose on my toes. “So soft. I could spend hours just here.”

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