Page 19 of Blood and Redemption

“Let me.” Stepping forward, he scoops the dark blue liquid from my palm before rubbing his hands together, creating more suds. “Come here. I want to make sure you’re washed thoroughly.”

I move toward him without thinking, his voice all the demand I need.

He doesn’t touch where I’m throbbing the most, not at first. Instead, he takes one of my arms. Dragging his fingers along thelength of my limb, he makes every inch tingle as he does the very same to the other arm.

Stepping closer, I close my eyes and feel his hands move to my back.

“You’re soft everywhere,” he murmurs, more to himself. “A complete opposite of me.”

I enjoy feeling his hard chest brushing against mine. His bobbing erection isn’t unnoticed either, brushing against my thighs as he drags his hands lower.

A soft gasp leaves my lips as he moves to cup my ass. Kneading the muscles, his fingers inch closer to my pussy.

Can he feel how hot I am? He must. I feel each throb of his cock as he continues to touch.

Just when I think he’ll finally give me some relief, his hands move back toward my hips. “Turn around for me.”

I’m dizzy as I follow his order. As my back presses against his chest, he’s spreading suds against my chest.

His front vibrates in approval as I press against his cock, my body not hiding how badly I want him.

Rocco has more patience than I do. He’s cleaning my body, just as he said he would.

If he’s not quicker with it, I might have to figure out a way to move this along on my own.

9

Rocco

She’s starved for touch, for me.

I hear it in every shaky exhale, feel it in the way her body arches into my hands like a flower tilting toward the sun. Too long apart. Too many nights spent pretending we’re not drowning in this hunger.

From the way it looks, I’m the one who is better at hiding the struggle of keeping a distance.

My palms slide up her ribs, claiming the weight of her breasts. A possessive squeeze—just this side of rough—and she rewards me with a moan so soft.

Washing her body was nothing more than a flimsy excuse to map every dip and curve of her with soap-slick hands.

Every shift of her hips against mine is torture—the sweet, slow kind that has my cock dripping like a leaky faucet, catching just enough friction to make my teeth ache.

I’ve never been a man ruled by lust. Never chased pleasure like some starving dog.

But her?

She rewires my instincts with every gasp.

When my palms slide down her waist, she’s already arching, thighs falling open to give me the room I need without any hesitation, like she’s been waiting for this moment.

Petting won’t cut it. Not with how her breath hitches when my fingers glide over her swollen lips. Not with how her back arches, a silent plea written in every trembling muscle.

Fuck gentle.

She doesn’t want gentle. She wants release.

Stepping her toward the stream to wash away the suds, my fingers remained tucked between her thighs. As the water hits her breasts and nipples, my other hand slides toward her throat. Giving it a light squeeze, she arches against me.

“You’re soaked, angel.” My fingertips graze her swollen clit and the next moan that leaves her lips pushes me to stroke her sensitive nerves. “Fuck, will my fingers be enough?”

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