Chapter 47 A STEAMY BATH
Sebastian’s POV
The bathroom door clicks shut behind me as I enter the bathroom.
After thinking it through, I decide not to dwell on my thoughts and instead clean myself.
If Alpha Ragnar comes back I don't think he'll appreciate my dirty ass still hogging his sheets.
I actually make a little sound of shock when I see the enormous monstrosity Alpha Ragnar has for his bathroom.
It's enormous.
There are Ragnar’s dark stone walls with something that looks like silver stripes that look like veins all around it.
And sitting in the middle of it all, is the biggest tub I've seen in my life.
It's extremely huge and looks like it'll accommodate four big wolves conveniently with even room to spare.
And there's a rainfall showerhead the actual size of a dinner plate too.
I mean just wow.
I once again blush at my reflection when I catch sight of myself in the mirrors everywhere. I can't even escape seeing myself.
I turn everything on full blast and actually feel giddy when steam starts rising.
I ignore the fact that this was just supposed to be a quick wash before Alpha Ragnar gets back.
I don't know if it's the heat that somehow melted my brains or the hot water getting to me but I'm feeling confident and not caring whatsoever happens.
Besides, I need to wash him off me.
I really need to wash the entirety of last night off me.
The tunic, Alpha Ragnar's that is,hits the tiled floor with a wet slap and I find myself back in my birthday suit.
Every bruise, bite and hickey mock my reflection as I'm once again face to face with them.
They are scattered across my neck, collarbone, shoulders, wrist and even go past my inner thighs. My cock twitches traitorously at the sight of myself.
Stop it Sebastian.
I step under the shower and crank the heat higher until it hurts.
Hot water pounds at my shoulders really scalding causing me to wince.
I didn't think that one through.
I grab a bar of pine and cedar soap that smells exactly like him and start scrubbing myself hard.
I ignore the fact that I just mentally took note of the name of his soap.
I also ignore that in my ‘cleaning’ myself with his exact scent, I'm not just wasting my time.
I try to ignore what his exact scent on me is doing to me and remove distractions from my mind.
I can’t.
Every time I close my eyes, I see his face right above me, with him rocking just between my thighs with a deep growl in his throat.
I even feel the ghost of his fingers curling and stretching me open until he hits that spot that makes stars burst behind my eyelids and makes me scream.
My cock is fully hard now and flushed dark with liquid leaking against my stomach.
No.
No.
No damn it!
I wrap my hand around it anyway.
I'm already breaking rules by being here, I might as well go hard or go home.
No pun intended.
I slowly stroke myself once and I have to hide a gasp with the back of my hand.
I'm still so sensitive from yesterday.
At the second stroke, I'm biting my lip so hard that I taste blood and it just reminds me of the blood kiss we shared mere hours ago.
I try not to think too much about yesterday as I continue.
It doesn’t work.
The more I stroke myself, the more vivid it gets for me, it's almost like my brain decided to reward me with the memory right now.
I recall his praise rumbling against my ear of “good boy,” “so perfect for me,” and the way he licked every drop of blood from the shallow bites he left on my inner thighs like he was on a desert and they were water for him.
My hips jerk forward into my fist with that exact memory. My precum mixes with shower water as it drains off.
“Hhhnn.” My breath comes out in short desperate pants at the memory.
I don't know what comes over me as I reach blindly for the towel hanging on the rack and I yank at it, pulling it to me.
It smells overwhelmingly of him and I groan at it
“Nnnhh.” It's like he's here with me in the tub.
The towel smells of smoke and pine.
I even catch the faintest trace of my own slick from when he used it to clean me up.
I shouldn’t.
Sebastian you shouldn't.
I struggle internally for a bit before I press it to my face anyway and inhale like a drowning wolf.
“Hnnnnnnnh.”
Then I wrap the fabric around my cock and shudder when I see what I'm doing.
The texture is rougher than my hand and slightly abrasive but it's perfect.
I groan into the falling water and start doing the most fucked up thing I could think of.
I start fucking into his towel really fast with my hips snapping up in short thrusts.
My free hand braces against the tile as I start making short frantic thrusts into Alpha Ragnar's towel.
I moan out in abandon as turn and press my forehead to cool stone with my eyes squeezed shut.
“Nghh! Oh fuck…!”
Every slide of the towel over my sensitive skin drags a needy whimper out of me.
I imagine it’s his hand again this time. His bigger, rougher and calloused hands on me.
I imagine him behind me, holding me still with his chest to my back and growling out low commands to me while he works me open with those wicked fingers of his.
“Ragnar–” His name slips out of my lips in between my broken moans and sobs.
My stroking falters and stops.
I’m close.
I'm so freaking close I could almost taste my orgasm.
But it's not enough.
I don't know why it's not enough. I'm tearing up with sadness and frustration at the thought that I'm doing something wrong.