CHAPTER 232

CHAPTER 232
AMARA

His forehead stayed pressed to mine for one more heartbeat, then he pulled back just enough to look at me—really look.

Those dark eyes dragged down my body slow, deliberate, cataloguing every inch.

His mouth found the side of my neck, kissing softly over the racing pulse there.

“I’ll try and be more gentle next time,” he murmured against my skin.

“Please don’t,” I whispered back.

He laughed—low, surprised, delighted—and the sound vibrated through both of us.

Without breaking our gaze, he reached past me and twisted the shower knob.

Hot water erupted overhead in a sudden, punishing rush—cascading over us both, sluicing down my spine, plastering my hair to my neck, turning every inch of skin hypersensitive and flushed.

He reached for the bar of soap resting on the ledge.

He worked it between his palms until thick white lather built up, slick and obscene, dripping between his long fingers.

He leaned in, lips brushing the shell of my ear, voice gravel-rough and velvet-low.

“Turn around.”

I did.

Slowly.

My palms found the cool tile wall; I braced myself, forehead tipping forward.

Water rained down my back, tracing every curve, every dip. I felt exposed in a way that had nothing to do with being naked.

His soapy hands found my shoulders first.

Broad palms slid over wet skin, thumbs pressing into the tight muscles there, working slow, possessive circles.

Down.

Down.

Over the blades of my shoulders, along the dip of my spine. He took his time, like he was memorising every vertebra.

When his fingers reached the small of my back he spread them wide, thumbs hooking under the swell of my ass, kneading the flesh there until I arched without meaning to.

“Fuck,” he breathed against my ear, so close I felt the shape of the word more than heard it.

“Look at you. Still shaking from earlier and already pushing back for more.”

Heat flooded my face. I bit my lip hard enough to taste copper.
He didn’t let me hide.

One hand slid lower, cupping the curve of my ass fully now, squeezing until the soap made everything slippery and obscene.

His fingers dipped between my cheeks—slow, teasing—spreading lather along the sensitive skin, circling my hole with the pad of his thumb.

I whimpered.

Couldn’t help it.

The other hand came around to my front.

He lathered my stomach in lazy strokes, then higher.Not pushing in. Just… promising.

Higher.

Until both palms cupped my breasts, thumbs flicking over my nipples in cruel little circles.

They were already so swollen, so tender from his mouth earlier that the lightest touch felt like electricity straight to my clit.

He pinched—gently at first, then harder—rolling the peaks between soapy fingers until my knees threatened to give.

“Sensitive little things,” he said, almost to himself.

“Bet I could make you come just from this if I wanted.”

“Please—”

“Insatiable,” he breathed, lips curving into a smile I could feel.

His right hand abandoned my breast and slid down my belly, over the soft mound, fingers parting my folds with no preamble.

Soap made everything glide—too slick, too much.

Two fingers slipped inside me without resistance, curling immediately against that spot that made my vision white out.

His thumb found my clit at the same time, pressing firm, relentless circles.

I moaned—loud, broken—hips jerking forward onto his hand.

“Shhh,” he said against the back of my neck, teeth grazing skin.

“You’re gonna take it slow. Gonna let me wash every filthy inch of you first.”

He kissed the mark—soft, possessive—

Two fingers inside me, moved slow and curling just right.

His thumb circled my clit in lazy, patient loops. I rocked against his hand, chasing the slow-building wave.

He pumped his fingers deeper, slower now, dragging against every ridge inside me while his thumb kept that maddening rhythm on my clit.

His other hand stayed on my ass, one finger finally—finally—pressing against my rim, circling, teasing, not breaching yet but close enough that my thighs trembled.

“You’re dripping again,” he growled.

“Not just the shower. You’re fucking soaked for it, aren’t you? For me stretching you open everywhere.”

I couldn’t answer.

Could only pant against the tile, rock back onto his fingers, chase the pressure building too fast, too sharp.

He pulled his fingers out abruptly.

I whined—actual, pathetic sound.

“Patience,” he said, and I could hear the smirk.

“We’re not done cleaning you up.”

He turned me around again—gentler this time—until my back was to the wall, water streaming over us both.

His eyes were black with hunger.

He dropped to one knee, hooked my thigh over his shoulder, and buried his face between my legs.

The first swipe of his tongue was slow.

Thorough.

Lapping up the soap and my arousal together like he was starving for the taste.

I cried out, fingers knotting in his wet hair.

He ate me like he was trying to ruin me for anyone else—long, filthy licks, sucking my clit into his mouth, then releasing it with a wet pop only to do it again.

When he pushed two fingers back inside me—then three—curling hard—I shattered.

My orgasm hit like a fist. Silent at first, then loud—choked sobs, thighs clamping around his head, hips grinding against his face while he drank every pulse.

He didn’t stop until I was shaking, boneless, barely upright.

Only then did he rise, licking his lips like a cat with cream, eyes glittering.

“Still sore?” he asked, voice wrecked.

I swallowed. Tried to find words.

“…yes.”

He smiled—slow, dangerous.

His hand wrapped around my throat—not tight, just possessive—tilting my head back so the shower rained directly into my open mouth.

“But we’re just getting started.”

Water pounded against my shoulders, sluicing down between us, mixing with the soap still clinging to my skin in slippery trails.

His cock, thick and brutally hard again, pressed hot and heavy against my lower belly.

I felt every vein, every throb. My body clenched on nothing at the memory of how deep he’d already been.

“Hands back on the wall,” he said. Quiet.

Final.

I obeyed instantly.

I turned slowly—heart slamming against my ribs—until my palms met slick tile. I braced myself, fingers spreading wide, instinctively arching my back just enough to tilt my hips toward him.

Water pounded my shoulders, traced the curve of my spine, dripped in slow, teasing rivulets between my thighs where I was already embarrassingly slick again.

He made a low, approving sound in his throat.

Then both hands were on me again—big, calloused, still slick with the last of the lather.

He dragged them down my sides, thumbs tracing the dip of my waist, then lower.

Cupping my ass cheeks, spreading me open slow and shameless.

I felt the cool air kiss the most private parts of me even through the steam.

Then his thumb—still soapy—circled my rim again, firmer this time.

Pressing.

Not entering, just… testing.

Teasing the tight ring until it fluttered under the attention.

“So fucking tight here,” he murmured, voice wrecked, thick with hunger.

One thumb traced the cleft of my ass, slow, deliberate—then circled the sensitive pucker, spreading slippery foam over skin that had never been touched like this.

“Fuck. Think you can open up wider for my cock… let me stretch this tight virgin hole until you’re dripping and begging to be fucked deeper?”

My breath hitched—sharp, audible, betraying every filthy thought racing through my head.

His free hand slid up my spine, fingers tangling in my soaked hair, tugging my head back just enough to expose more throat for his lips.

“Tell me, baby,” he growled low, lips brushing my earlobe, breath hot and ragged.

“Tell me you want me to ruin this perfect ass… slide in slow and filthy until every inch is buried inside you and you’re shaking, clenching, coming apart around my thick cock."

He pressed his mouth to the wet curve of my neck, voice dropping to a dark, velvet rasp right against my skin.

He rocked his thumb just a fraction deeper—deliberate, obscene—making me whimper.

“Say it,” he coaxed, darker now, voice wrecked with hunger.

“Say you need me to claim every fucking hole tonight… that you’re already aching to feel me stretch you open and fill you up until you can’t think straight.”

My thighs trembled.

My clit throbbed untouched.

He nipped the sensitive skin below my ear.

“I’m waiting, sweetheart. Tell me mate how bad you want this ass fucked raw.”

My whole body clenched—equal parts fear and want twisting together so hard I couldn’t tell them apart.

I wasn’t sure.

I’d never… not there.

Not even fingers.

The idea of him—thick, hot, impossibly big—pushing inside that untouched place made my thighs tremble and my clit throb untouched.

He must have felt the hesitation because his lips brushed the shell of my ear again, softer this time.

“You’ll enjoy it,” he promised, voice low and dark and certain.

“I’ll make it so good for you, baby. I swear.”

My answer came out as a shaky whine—barely a word.

“Okay—”

“Fuck,” he breathed, the sound raw, reverent.

He rewarded me immediately.

The pad of his soapy thumb pressed against that tight ring—gentle but insistent—sliding past the first flutter of resistance. Just the tip. Shallow. Barely inside.

My thighs shook violently. A sharp, electric jolt shot through me—half burn, half pleasure—making my clit pulse so hard I almost came right then.

I gasped—loud, startled—forehead dropping to rest against my forearm.

“Good girl,” he rasped, the praise sinking into me like heat.

“Just like that. Let me in slow.”

He didn’t push deeper yet.

Just held there—letting me feel the strange, full pressure, the slippery glide of soap, the way my body fluttered around that small invasion like it was trying to decide whether to push him out or pull him in.

His other hand slipped around to my front—fingers finding my swollen clit immediately.

He circled it with the same slow, maddening rhythm he used on my ass—light at first, then firmer—keeping me suspended right on the edge while he waited for me to relax.

“Breathe,” he coaxed against my neck, teeth grazing skin.

“Relax for me. Let your body open up. I’ve got you.”

“Breathe,” he coaxed against the nape of my neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin there in a slow, deliberate scrape that made my pulse stutter.

“Relax for me,” he murmured, lips brushing the shell of my ear now, voice low and velvet-rough.

“Let your body open up. I’ve got you.”

I did know.

Deep down, beneath the flutter of nerves and the sharp, unfamiliar stretch, I knew he wouldn’t push past what I could take.