Page 88 of Arran's Obsession

The shower door opened, and I sprang my eyes wide. Arran entered, shutting us in then taking me in his arms. Naked, he tipped my head back to receive his kiss, his dick hard and between us. I met his lips, expecting a rough claiming, but instead, he commenced a slow exploration, his lips taking mine as if mapping them.

As he did, he took up the bottle of shower gel, the snap of the lid opening cluing me in to his actions. Then his hands were on my flesh, gliding up to my breasts. He rubbed the lather into my skin, focusing on my nipples.

He broke the kiss to speak. “I need every trace of every other person removed from your body. Lift your hands.”

I obeyed, and he cleaned me then sank to his knees in front of me. “Where else?”

I gazed down at him, how the shower darkened his hair. We were both completely naked probably for the first time. There was something intensely vulnerable about it. All of our antagonism suspended. It gave me a chance to look more closely at that which I’d only glimpsed previously. One of his tattoos was the logo of the club—a skull with a bandanna around its lower face. Another was a surfer on a wave with mountains behind.

He had scars on his skin, round marks like cigarette burns, lines and welts from unknown sources. I’d seen them in my flat but hadn’t wanted to stare.

Now, I did. He watched me, his jaw tightening.

“Answer me, Genevieve.”

“Two people sucked my nipples. Your man held my waist then my breasts, and the last person pushed his way between my legs, fucked me, then came over my belly.”

Arran poured more shower gel onto his palms, and I lowered my fingers to his hair, stroking over the strands while he cleaned my breasts again, my arms, my torso, and then my thighs.

Raising his gaze, he touched me between the legs. I breathed out, desire so close to the surface. He rubbed the suds over me, sliding back between my buttocks and taking his time. Another squirt of the gel landed on my clit. It was cooler than the shower’s heat, and Arran rubbed it in. This time I let the pleasure play out.

We were in some kind of no-man’s land. An amnesty.

My single orgasm from earlier felt like a gateway drug. An appetiser before a feast. At the time, it had been everything I needed, but now I knew it was nowhere near enough. With his light but thorough handling of me, Arran was only priming me up more, my body responding in insistent pulses of need.

I’d never get enough of him.

The realisation was swift and harsh. Even when he was done with me, I could never get over this.

His fingers entered me, and I gasped. My inner walls fluttered around his digits.

Arran dropped his forehead to my body. “I need to feel that around my dick. Please, baby.”

The endearment took me under. My reply came out breathy. “Okay.”

In a flash, he was on his feet and the shower was off, a towel around his waist and one bundling me up. Then I was in his arms with his mouth on mine. Still kissing me, Arran carried me from the bathroom to his bedroom, a bed with dark-blue sheets and a huge wooden headboard against a red-brick wall, another arched window uncovered and giving a wide view of the city lights.

They cast enough of a glow that the fact there was no lamp lit bothered me less.

Besides, my attention was all on Arran. He placed me down at the end of the bed then knelt between my spread knees, wasting no time in taking his mouth to my pussy. I arched my back, my sound of pleasure loud in the quiet room. Arran sucked my clit then speared his tongue into me. The warmth and the simple fact he was touching me there had me driving my heels into the mattress, trying to get closer still.

He lifted my ass to thrust his tongue in deep, the sensation incredible.

“Can’t get enough of the taste of you,” he growled into my flesh. “But I need to feel you more. I want you to come on my dick so I feel every single pulse.”

Lifting, he boosted me to the top of the bed; our towels dropped, nothing between us but the warm evening’s air.

Arran stroked his dick once then drove it inside me. He groaned, and it broke something in my brain.

“I need you to make that sound more,” I managed to utter.

He cupped my face and kissed me, then drew back, staring down at where my body was taking him, cursing with his lust.

“I need you to come,” he said.

I writhed, already closer than I wanted to admit. “Then make me.”

Again and again, he thrust in and out, each time taking me higher and nearer to bliss. One big hand splayed across my chestthen drew down to my belly, lingering to feel my soft skin. Then he cupped my mound, still pistoning away. The heel of his hand ground a circle into my clit. I reached for him.