Page 70 of The Belle and the Biker

He's brought in another condom and carefully sets it on top of the bar of soap. Then he turns the water on and tests the temperature. "In you go. We've got to clean off every inch of you."

I shiver because there is no doubt in my mind what he means by clean. Hot water sprays over my skin, and I lower my head, letting the stream flow over me as I brace a hand on the wall in front.

I am right—there is barely enough room for both of us. Crash squeezes in behind me, his hands sweeping up my torso to cup my breasts. I can tell he's happier and happier to be with me by the second.

"Again?" I say in a tone of amazement. My knees are still weak.

"You have to ask?"

"I thought you'd need time to recover."

He grins at me. "It's been two, three minutes already? I'm good."

He leans forward and kisses my shoulder as he unwraps the condom and rolls it on. I lean back, grinding my butt into his groin. His arm winds around me, and his fingers slide down my body, finding my folds and parting them.

"Oh, God," I say, biting my lip.

"Bend forward," he says gruffly, "as far as you can go."

"What if we slip?"

"Savannah."

His growl tells me he is running out of patience. I bend forward, and it takes a minute, but we manage to maneuver in the tiny shower so he has the angle and access he desires. Under my feet, thankfully, are little blue fish that make the shower floor anti-slip. Perfect.

I brace myself against the wall as he enters me from behind.

With a hand pressed above me, Crash forces his thickness into me until I'm filled close to bursting, and then he pumps into me in hard, steady strokes. I strangle on a cry of pleasure. He withdraws and slams back in.

I'm pinned between Crash and the wall, and the air is filled with sounds of wet, slapping flesh.

"Whose old lady are you?" he demands.

"Nobody's!" I gasp.

He pounds into me so hard that I almost lose my footing.

"Try again."

"Nobody's old lady! But I can be your girl."

It's a wonder I manage to get a word in between his furious strokes because each time he pierces me, it takes my breath.

My body clenches around him, the tension twining higher and higher. Suddenly he pulls away and spins me around so my back is on the opposite wall of the tiny shower. He stares down into my eyes, a feral grin on his lips.

"Don't you ever forget it, baby. I don't like to share."

Crash lifts me, and I wrap my legs around his waist. He braces one arm around my waist and the other against the wall. I position his cock at my entrance, and he surges back in, fitting us together. His hips pump and grind into me, the motion slow and deep. My breasts are smashed against his chest, the friction against my nipples a pleasurable torture.

"Savannah," he says in my ear, and it sounds like a promise and a demand. "This isn't just a fuck."

I like that he won't let it go. I need it, too. He's the second man I've been with, ever. The first one took my sky-high self-esteem and fed it through a blender. But all that's fading now, and there's just me and Crash, my big, growly, protective, jealous bear of a man. He's everything I never knew I needed.

"It isn't," he repeats.

"Me either," I gasp. "I'm yours. You're mine. You…oh…”

My body shatters and remakes itself around him, and it's all I can do to keep my legs wrapped around his waist so I don't send us tumbling to the floor. Crash follows me mere moments later, panting with pleasure as he climaxes.

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