Page 112 of Goldrage
I should respond, but the words dissolve. His fingers slide inside me and I bite back a moan. I press myforehead to the tile, eyes squeezed shut, as he works me apart from behind.
“You like when I handle you,” he says, and it’s not a question.
I grunt, bracing harder against the ledge as he slides in and out, two fingers curling until I can barely hold myself upright. The tile is cold and slick under my palms. Adrian’s chest is heavy against my back; I can feel the tremble in him as much as in myself. My breath comes as short, ragged gasps, every nerve in my body bracing from the ruthless rhythm of his hand.
He fucks me with his fingers until I’m shaking, until my knees start to give and I whimper for him without dignity. I can sense his grin against my shoulder, the smugness of it, and it would piss me off if I weren’t already halfway gone. My hips buck into his hand, greedy for more, and he gives it without hesitation—his thumb circling my clit, fingers pushing deeper on every thrust. I try to stifle a scream but it erupts anyway.
“Good girl,” he says as my body pulses around him.
He doesn’t let me come down gently. He grabs my waist, yanks me backward, and lifts me. My toes barely skim the puddled floor before he pushes me forward, bending me over the built-in bench. I brace myself, body still spasming, and I know what’s coming.
I crave it.
He slides himself inside me in one hard, brutal thrust.
I cry out. It’s overwhelming. He’s thick, hot, relentless, and he uses the leverage of my hips to drive deeper. I can feel the edge of the bench dig into my thighs, theslap of skin on skin reverberating in the steamy air. The shower hisses around us, water sliding over my back. His hands pin me exactly where he wants.
“Is this what you wanted?” he grits, voice rough. “To be fucked until you forget your own name?”
I try to answer but all that comes out is a sob. And he loves it; he pounds me harder, one hand winding into my hair and pulling until my neck arches. His teeth scrape the side of my throat, marking me, and I clench helplessly around him.
He slows, just for a second, grinding deep and swirling his hips. It’s torture. I whimper, desperate for friction, and he rewards me by reaching between my legs again, thumb finding my clit.
I explode, again, so hard I swear my vision becomes white. He keeps fucking me through it, relentless, not letting up until he’s shaking too, breath ragged in my ear as he comes with a guttural curse.
When he’s done, he slaps my ass then gathers me into his arms and holds me upright when my legs refuse to work. Adrian cradles my head against his chest and we just enjoy holding each other in the afterglow.
I’ll never get tired of how this man fucks me. Loves me.
After a long, deep kiss, he doesn’t even help clean me up, just slips out.
“Hey!” I shout after him and he laughs.
I’m a little annoyed but still grinning as I lather more soap and clean myself. I start humming, loving the ache between my legs. Loving that I get to wake up each morning to that man.
After I’m done with the shower, I wrap my hair in a towel that smells like the lavender detergent Eleanora insists on using. I squat to grab a new bottle of styling gel from below the sink. As I’m reaching into the cabinet, my hand brushes against a box of tampons.
I suddenly realize it feels like a while since I last needed one. When was my last period?
I remember having one shortly after the funerals but after that…
I find my phone and check my period app. Wow, it’s been over two months. Maybe my body is still recovering from all the grief? I’ve definitely missed plenty of periods due to stress or not eating enough. And I only recently started eating better again.
But a whisper in the back of my mind won’t quiet. A possibility that feels too fragile to voice, even in the privacy of my own thoughts.
I get dressed and then slip out of my room in search of Maria, one of the household staff.
“Oh, good morning, Miss Aurelia,” the older woman says.
“Hi, um, I need...” The words stick. “Could you do something for me? Quietly?”
The wrinkles around her brown eyes crinkle with concern. “Of course.”
“I need you to go to the pharmacy.” My cheeks burn despite the steam still clinging to my skin. “For a pregnancy test.”
To her credit, Maria’s expression doesn’t change. “Any particular brand?”
“Whatever’s most accurate. And Maria?” I catch her sleeve. “Please don’t mention this to anyone.”
