Page 38 of Iron Roses

Let it—the pain hits.

It begins in my spine. A white-hot jolt that arches my back involuntarily. I try to rise, but I can’t. My body doesn’t listen. Muscles lock. Then seize.

I try to scream, nothing comes out. My vision goes black.

And then—

Cassian.

He’s there.

I’m sprawled across him, my legs open in the tub, and his fingers slide over me like a ritual—mannered, devastating. My body reacts before my mind can catch up. I cry out, the sound caught between pleasure and something deeper. Something I can’t name.

He kisses me—rough, full of need. My head lolls back, and he drinks from my mouth like it costs him something.

The tattoo on his hand brushes my ribs. He lifts me, shifts me, guides me to his lap.

I feel him beneath me—His fingers slide into my pussy, two of them, curling just right. My thighs twitch around his hips as the stretch makes me whimper, my cunt clenching like it’s trying to keep him in.

His palm grinds up against my clit as he thrusts, and my whole body jolts. I gasp, loud, open-mouthed, head tipping back as water sloshes around us. My nipples brush his chest.

He fucks me with his fingers like he owns me. Like this is just the beginning.

His other hand grips my ass, squeezing hard, pulling me tighter against him as he works me open. I can feel the thick length of his cock, hot and rigid beneath me, pressed right against the curve of my ass, twitching every time I moan.

My pussy’s soaked, slick not just from the water but from how badly I need more. His fingers are drenched with it, and when he drags his thumb up to circle my clit, I nearly fucking lose it.

My hips grind down. I ride his hand shamelessly, chasing that edge, that heat coiled tight in my gut. He leans in—mouth crushed to mine—tongue pushing deep as his fingers thrust harder. I groan into him, the sound swallowed by his mouth, by the desperate kiss that’s more bite than breath.

His teeth catch my lip. His fingers curl.

He breaks the kiss just long enough to pant against my cheek, forehead pressed to mine. Our breath is ragged, wet, tangled like everything else.

My pussy clamps around his fingers so tight it’s almost painful, and I ride it—every pulse, every wave, every fucking second—while he holds me there, mouth locked to mine like he’s drinking my orgasm from my throat.

His mouth stays on mine as his fingers keep moving inside me, relentless and deep. Every thrust makes my hips jolt, my breath stutter. The heel of his palm drags against my clit and I’m unraveling, legs beginning to tremble where they’re folded over his thighs.

My back arches. Water sloshes around us, spilling over the edge of the tub, but I barely register it. All I can feel is the wet glide of his fingers inside me, the swirl of his tongue against mine, the way his chest is rising beneath me.

My toes curl on the porcelain. My thighs twitch violently. I’m close again—too close—and I can’t stop the whimper that escapes against his mouth.

He pulls his hand from me.

I suck in a sharp breath, half in protest, half in need, but he’s already moving. Lifting me, repositioning me.

Water surges around us, strong hands gripping my hips and turning me in the cradle of the tub. My knees scrape gently against the slick porcelain as he maneuvers me forward, chest down, ass up, thighs spread between his. He leans over me from behind, the heavy drag of his cock sliding across the mess between my legs.

I freeze for a second, hands bracing against the warm, wet porcelain wall in front of me, breath caught in my throat.

Then he sinks into me. My pussy stretches around him, tight and slick, swallowing him inch by inch. My fingers claw at the edge of the tub. My whole body strains, thighs quivering as the length of him slides deeper, presses high and hard inside me until there’s nowhere left for him to go.

I hold on to the edge, nails biting porcelain. He’s fully inside me now. I feel him throb. The stretch is perfect. Too much and not enough all at once.

His hand finds my hip, grips it, then slides down to my lower belly—anchoring me, steadying me. His other hand is on my back, between my shoulder blades, holding me down while his cock pulses deep inside me.

He just breathes against my spine—heavy, hot—and I feel it all. The way his abs brush my back when he exhales. The way his thighs tremble slightly, bracketing mine in the water. The way his cock twitches inside me like it owns the space.

He drags out almost all the way, the thick ridge of him sliding against my inner walls, before pushing back in, deeper than before.

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