Page 98 of The Ruthless Rivalry

His lips found my neck again, nipping at the sensitive skin just below my ear, and I gasped, my fingers pressing into his chest as he guided me toward him.

Bishop’s grip tightened on my thigh, and without warning, he was lifting me up and pushing me into the cold tiles of the shower as my legs wrapped around his waist. My breath caught, the chill of the wall a sharp contrast to the heat of his body pressed against mine. The sound of water rushing over us seemed to disappear, the air thick with tension, and I could feel the roughness of him in every move he made.

His hands gripped my hips, hard, pulling me closer to him with a force that made me gasp. I didn’t expect him to be gentle—that wasn’t who Bishop was. He was raw, rough, and unapologetic in a way that made my pulse race, every inch of him burning withthe intensity I craved. He wasn’t here to be kind. He wasn’t here to soften his edges.

His cock slammed into me, the force of it knocking the breath from my lungs. The impact sent a jolt through my body, reverberating deep inside me, making my head spin. I gripped his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as I fought to steady myself against the onslaught of sensation.

Every move he made was rough, unapologetic, demanding—just like him. His hands moved with purpose, guiding my body, forcing me into a rhythm that matched his own, relentless and intense. The water pounded down around us, but it did little to cool the fire between us. Instead, it only added to the heat, the steam thick in the air as we collided with an animalistic urgency.

There was no room for gentleness, no space for hesitation. With Bishop, everything was about the moment, the raw, unfiltered need that consumed us both.

“Stop holding back,” he growled in my ear, his voice dark and demanding, sending a shiver down my spine. Without waiting for an answer, his hands moved to my back, pulling me closer, pressing my body hard against his. His lips found my skin, teeth sinking into the soft flesh of my breast with a sharp bite, marking me. I couldn’t stop the moan that escaped me, my hands desperately gripping his arms, my body aching for something I couldn’t even name.

His lips hovered over my collarbone, the heat of his breath a tantalizing tease before he bit down again, harder this time, a sharp sting of pleasure that made my body jerk against his. I gasped, feeling the bite deep inside, the sensation pulsing through me, leaving a mark that would linger long after the physical one had faded.

Bishop’s grip on me never faltered, his hands moving with a purpose, urging me closer, driving me harder into the cold tiles. I couldn’t focus on anything but the overwhelming sensation ofhim—every inch of him, every breath he took, all of it consuming me.

The water slashed against us, but it was nothing compared to the fire burning between us. His movements were relentless, pushing me toward something I couldn’t escape even if I tried. I didn’t want to.

His teeth scraped against my skin as his hands shifted to my thighs, lifting me higher, forcing me to take him deeper. I couldn’t stop the gasp that left my lips, a mix of pleasure and need spilling from me with each hard thrust. His growl against my ear, the way he gripped me, molded me to him—it was all too much, too overwhelming, tooright.

Bishop pushed harder, faster, not giving me a second to breathe, to think. There was only him. Onlyus.

Just as I felt myself teetering on the edge, the pressure building, the release within my grasp, Bishop pulled out abruptly, the sudden emptiness making me gasp. My body tensed, the frustration rising quickly in the pit of my stomach. I was so close—too close.

He noticed, of course. He always did, because this was exactly what he wanted.

“You think you’ve earned this?” he murmured, his voice low and dripping with cocky arrogance. “You didn’t answer me the first time I asked where you were tonight. Made me wait, force it out of you, like I’m some kind of pathetic afterthought. I’m not.”

Of course he’d do this. Take back control. Take, take, take. That’s all he knew, wasn’t it? But I should’ve known better—this was Bishop, after all.

His gaze was dangerous and predatory. “Now? You’re going to have to wait until I decide you’ve earned it.”

He leaned back, his hands resting casually above me on the shower wall, like he didn’t just have me on the brink of losing control. Like he wasn’t the one who had orchestrated every inchof this. I could barely breathe, my mind spinning with the want that was left unfulfilled.

As my eyes flicked to him, I noticed something I hadn’t before. There was a red band wrapped loosely around his wrist. It was simple, but the color stood out against his skin. I stared at it for a moment, the fabric catching my attention.Has that always been there?I couldn’t recall seeing it before, but now that it was in my line of sight, I couldn’t seem to look away.

Bishop just stood there, eyes dark and filled with dominant hunger, watching me like a predator. He was enjoying this—enjoying seeing me on the edge, naked, desperate, and craving.

But he wasn’t going to give in that easily. That wasn’t him.

With a sharp breath, I glared at him. “Please. You think you’re the only one who can make me lose control? You’re not that special.”

“Try to get this from anyone else,” he growled, his voice thick with a possessive edge, “and see what happens.”

His words weren’t just a warning—they were a challenge, daring me to push him, to see just how far he’d go if I tested him. I could see the tension in his body, the darkness in his eyes, as if he were daring me to call his bluff. Expecting it.

It was almost like he wanted me to try. Wanted me to see how far he’d take this, how crazy he could really become if I pushed him.

I didn’t flinch. If only Bishop had known what Sylvester and I had done the night of the pre-trial games—maybe he wouldn’t be so quick to play puppet master. But I kept that little memory to myself, tucked away like a secret weapon.

Bishop gave me one last look, eyes still burning. He didn’t bother with his shirt, just casually zipping up his pants as he turned to leave. He glanced back over his shoulder, his smirk still in place.

“You’re cute when you’re frustrated, Prescott,” he teased, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

I clenched my fists, watching him leave, that maddening, too attractive expression still etched in my mind. The bedroom door slammed behind him, and I was left standing in the shower, utterly unsatisfied and seething.

My fingers moved, frustration surging through me as I took matters into my own hands, finishing what he’d left unfinished. It didn’t take long, but even as I let myself finally find release, his words, his presence, still lingered in my mind.

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