Chapter 177: Tub

Cecilia

"Fuck," Arthur groaned, his arms coming around me like steel bands, holding me immobile against his chest. "Ceci, baby, what—"

"So full," I gasped, my body stretched impossibly around him, every nerve ending singing with the combination of pleasure and the edge of pain that came from taking too much too fast. "Arthur, you're so—I'm so—"

His mouth found my ear, his breath hot against my skin as he held himself completely still, letting my body adjust to the intrusion.

"Just a second ago you were complaining about being sore," he said, and I could hear the strain in his voice, could feel the way his whole body was trembling with the effort of not moving. "Now look at you, taking me so eagerly. What happened to needing to go slow?"

Heat flooded my face, embarrassment mixing with arousal in a way that made me want to hide against the pillow. "I—you were teasing me. I couldn't—"

"Shh." He pressed a kiss to my temple, his hand sliding down to rest on my lower abdomen, and I felt him start to move again, this time with purpose, with the kind of controlled intensity that suggested he was done holding back. "Just feel, baby. Let me take care of you."

And he did, his movements slow but deep, each thrust calculated to hit exactly the right spot, to build the pleasure gradually instead of rushing toward release.

His free hand found my breast, palming the weight of it, his thumb brushing across my nipple in a way that made me arch into his touch despite the awkward position.

"That's it," he encouraged, his voice rough in my ear. "Just like that. You're doing so well, taking me so perfectly."

The praise combined with the steady rhythm of his movements, the way he filled me completely with each thrust, was driving me steadily toward that edge I recognized, that point of no return where nothing mattered except reaching release.

"Arthur," I managed, my hand coming up to clutch at his arm where it wrapped around my middle. "I'm—I need—"

"I know what you need." His hand slid lower, fingers finding my clit and circling with devastating precision. "Come for me, baby. Let me feel it."

The orgasm built fast, my body already primed from last night's activities, already sensitized in a way that made every touch feel amplified. I felt it starting at the base of my spine, spreading outward in waves that made my toes curl and my breath catch.

"Arthur, wait, I—" Panic suddenly cut through the pleasure as I registered a different kind of pressure, a familiar sensation that had nothing to do with arousal. "I need to—bathroom—I need to use the bathroom—"

His arm tightened around me, holding me in place even as I tried to squirm away, tried to escape before I embarrassed myself completely. "No," he said simply, his rhythm never faltering. "Stay right here."

"But I have to—" Mortification was flooding through me now, mixing with the building orgasm in a way that made everything more intense, more overwhelming. "Arthur, please, I can't—not like this—I'm going to—"

"Then do it." His voice dropped even lower, his movements becoming more purposeful, more demanding. "You did before, remember? When you were drunk. This is no different."

"That was different!" I protested, my body betraying me by clenching around him, by responding to his words and his touch in a way that made fighting impossible. "I was drunk, I didn't know what I was doing, but now I'm—oh god—"

He shifted slightly, changing the angle, and suddenly he was hitting that spot inside me with every thrust, the one that made rational thought impossible, that turned my protests into incoherent moans.

"Please," I gasped, not even sure what I was begging for anymore—for him to stop, for him to let me go, for him to finish this before I lost control completely. "Arthur, I can't hold it, I'm going to—"

"Then let go." His fingers pressed harder against my clit, his rhythm becoming almost punishing in its intensity. "Give me everything, baby. I want all of it."

The orgasm hit like a freight train, slamming into me with enough force to make my vision white out, my body convulsing around him as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over me.

And with it came the release I'd been trying to hold back, the pressure I'd been fighting giving way all at once in a rush that made me cry out with a mixture of mortification and relief.

"That's it," Arthur groaned, his own control finally breaking as he felt me let go completely, felt the evidence of my loss of control coating both of us. "Fuck, Ceci, you're so—"

He thrust deep one final time, burying himself as far as he could go, and I felt him pulse inside me, adding to the mess we'd already made, his release mixing with mine and with everything else in a way that should have been disgusting but somehow wasn't.

When he finally pulled out, the combination of sensations—his release, mine, the wetness from my loss of control—all came rushing out at once, and I felt tears of embarrassment spring to my eyes.

"So good," I heard myself murmur, aftershocks continued to roll through my body. "That was so good."

Arthur's arms tightened around me, pulling me back against his chest, and I felt him press a kiss to my shoulder. "You're incredible," he said, his voice still rough. "Absolutely incredible. And we're definitely doing that again."

"Arthur!" I tried to sound scandalized, tried to muster up some kind of protest, but all that came out was a weak laugh as exhaustion finally claimed me.

I felt Arthur's hand stroking gently through my hair, his voice soft and affectionate as he murmured, "Baby. I'll clean us up. And then later—" I felt his smile against my neck, "—we can discuss exactly how many more times we're going to do this before the wedding."

"The wedding?" I managed to ask through the haze of exhaustion and lingering pleasure, my brain struggling to catch up with what he'd just said. "You mean Alice's wedding?"

Arthur's smile curved against my neck, but he didn't answer—just scooped me up with that effortless strength that always made my stomach flutter, carrying me toward the bathroom like I weighed nothing at all.

The sound of running water filled the space as he set me carefully on the counter, his hands gentle as they steadied me while he adjusted the temperature.

Steam began to rise from the massive tub, and I watched through half-lidded eyes as he tested the water with his hand before turning back to me.

"Come here, baby," he murmured, lifting me again and stepping into the tub, the hot water enveloping us both as he settled onto the built-in bench with me cradled in his arms.

He shifted me carefully, positioning me so my back pressed against his chest, my legs draped over his thighs, and I felt the unmistakable hardness of him pressing against my entrance from behind—still ready, still wanting, apparently completely unbothered by the fact that we'd just finished.