Page 114 of The Final Faceoff
She moans, soft and needy, and I feel it everywhere.
I slide my hands down, lifting her off the ground, pressing her back against the warm tile as the water cascades over us.
“Hold onto me,” I order.
She does.
Her fingers grip my shoulders, her legs wrapping around my waist, locking me in, exactly where I belong.
And then—I give in.
I kiss her deep and filthy, sliding my tongue against hers, claiming her completely. She moans into my mouth, her hips grinding against me, her nails scraping down my back, pulling me deeper, pulling me closer.
“You want my cock, baby?” I murmur, dragging my mouth down her throat, sucking a mark just above her pulse.
She nods frantically, panting against my skin. “Yes, I need it.”
“Tell me,” I growl. “Tell me how bad you need it.”
Her body shakes, her fingers fisting in my wet hair. “Leif, please?—”
I line myself up, teasing her, dragging the thick head of my cock through her soaked folds, making her fucking beg.
“Say it,” I order, my voice dark. Possessive.
She groans, frustrated, desperate. “I need you to fuck me, Leif. Need you to fill me up. Please?—”
I thrust into her in one slow, deep stroke. She gasps, her entire body clenching around me, taking me deep, taking me whole.
Jesus Christ, she’s tight. I brace my hands on either side of her, holding her steady, holding her exactly where I need her.
“You take me so fucking well,” I growl against her neck. “Always so perfect for me, baby.”
She moans, hips rolling, chasing more. I grin, pulling back, then thrusting in harder. Deeper. She cries out, nails raking over my shoulders, and fuck if that isn’t the sexiest fucking sound I’ve ever heard.
I set a rhythm—slow, deep, relentless. Not just fucking.
Claiming.
Owning.
Loving.
She’s mine. My perfect woman. The love of my life.
Her body clenches around me, hot and slick, pulling me in deeper with every deliberate thrust. I can feel the tremors rippling through her, the way her breath stutters against my skin, the desperate little whimpers slipping from her lips.
“You feel that, baby?” I rasp, pressing my forehead to hers, my hands steady on her hips, anchoring her to me. “The way you take me? How perfect you are?”
She nods, a soft gasp breaking free as I shift, angling deeper, hitting that spot that makes her whole body tremble.
“Oh, God—Leif.”
My name on her lips is everything. I slide a hand down, fingers finding her swollen, sensitive center, circling in slow, teasing strokes. Her hands fly to my shoulders, nails digging in, a sharp contrast to the hot spray of water cascading over our bodies.
She’s close—I can feel it in the way she tightens around me, in the desperate way she moves against me, chasing the high she needs.
I press her against the shower wall, one hand sliding down to cradle the swell of her belly, feeling the life we made together. My perfect woman, carrying our child, taking me so well.
