Page 75 of A Wreck, You Make Me (Bad Boys of Bardstown #3)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

I find him beyond the glass door and under the shower, his head tipped back, his eyes closed, all wet and looking heartbreakingly gorgeous, but I ignore that and say, “What just happened?”

He probably knows I’m here, staring at him because he doesn’t look even remotely surprised at my sudden words. He does look angry though because his chest moves with a sharp breath. Then, slicking his hair back with both hands and water sluicing down his face and body, he orders, “Get out of here.”

I fist my hands at my sides. “Not until you tell me what happened.”

“Leave.”

I clench my teeth, my frustration with him rising. “Talk to me.”

He finally levels me with a look, daring me almost. “Don’t want to.”

“Why are you being an asshole right now?”

“I’m always an asshole.”

“What just happened?” His jaw clenches at my question. “We were all talk-y talk-y and mellow and everything was going amazing and you were all sweet and then you just?—”

“Maybe I’m all talked out right now.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Oh, you’re all talked out right now?”

“Yeah,” he says, growling, water dripping from his eyelashes, his jaw. “Not everyone wants to talk, talk and fucking talk all the time. Not every fucking feeling and emotion and thought needs to be discussed. So why don’t you get out of here and let me have some peace?”

With that, he goes back to showering and closing his eyes as if I’m not there, glaring at him, naked.

God, I want to punch him now. I really do.

But I refrain because I know that won’t have any effect on him.

So I do something else. I decide to shock him.

Electrocute him with my words and shatter that peace he so dearly wanted.

“You’re in love with your twin brother’s girlfriend. ”

He pauses at my announcement.

As in, really pauses. His arms were up once again, his fingers slicking his hair back.

His head was slightly tipped up to catch the water on his face and his jaw was ticking.

Because no matter how much he wants to pretend I’m not there, I am and he knows it.

But after my pronouncement, all of that stops, the pulse of his jaw, his fingers moving, his chest moving with breaths, everything .

But again, I keep going. Despite feeling like my throat is filled with sharp gravel and my tongue is covered in papercuts.

“Oops, sorry, fiancée. Because they’re engaged now.

The girl you’re in love with is engaged to your twin brother.

You call it a ‘problem’ because you don’t like to talk about it.

Because you probably think if you talk about it, it’s going to get even more painful.

Oh and her name is Isadora Holmes, and soon it will be Isadora Thorne.

But not because she’s marrying you but your twin brother.

And it hurts. It hurts so much that it’s affecting everything in your life.

Your relationships, your career. There you go.

Think about that while you take your peaceful shower.

And don’t come apologizing to me for being a giant dickhead?—”

My words morph into a mini scream when he grabs me by the arm and hauls me toward him, spinning me around. Suddenly, I’m standing under the hot spray myself, his wildly breathing, growling chest at my back, his fingers around my throat and his lips at my ear. “You need to shut the fuck up.”

I squeeze his wrist and say, “No, you?—”

This time, he cuts me off by pushing me into the tiled wall.

I gasp at the sudden cold contact, my hands coming up to slap it so I can find my balance, and he growls, “You’re so worried about me, huh?

About my game, about my trophy, my dream, about being my fucking cheerleader all the time, that you’re one pom-pom away from being banged like one behind the bleachers. ”

I’m panting from the contrast of his heated, humid chest at my back and the cold hard tile that’s raising goosebumps on my skin. That and the fact he keeps stealing my breaths every few seconds with his fingers. “You’re such a p - pig .”

“But what about you?”

“What about me?”

“What do you think we’ve been doing these past few days?”

“What?”

“Why do you think”—he moves his other arm, which was around my waist, lower, and without any warning, plunges his finger inside my pussy—“your pussy is full of me right now? Why do you think she’s fucking flooded with me, huh?

So much so that your body can’t even contain it.

Your tiny little tight as fuck cheerleader pussy can’t contain me and I am running down your fucking thighs right now. ”

To emphasize, he curls his finger inside me and…

Oh Jesus , I can feel it. I can feel his long, thick finger brushing against the upper wall of my pussy like he’s made a hook inside of me and now scooping out—I can’t even believe I’m using that phrase in this context—his cum, making it run down my thighs even harder.

Making me go up on my tiptoes and arch my back so I somehow get him deeper inside of me while also getting away from him.

Because it’s too much. I’m too sensitive down there, too tender and too horny.

“Shepard, stop. You?—”

“Because I came inside you,” he grates, completely ignoring me and my plea.

In fact, he puts a second finger in and does the same.

Curls them and massages the upper wall of my channel and holy fuck, if he doesn’t stop I’m going to come.

I’m going to come big . I may also pee. So he really, really needs to stop.

But instead of telling him that, all I can do is moan and sob as he continues, “I came inside you not once, not twice. Not even three times. I came inside you every fucking time we’ve been together.

I came inside you even when all I had planned to do was eat your pussy and drink your cum.

But because you’re so fucking delicious, so fucking tasty, I had to fuck my fist and then shove my cock inside you so you could catch my cum.

Because I wasn’t going to come anywhere else but inside your strawberry pussy now, was I?

Your sweet, tart, tight , cumbucket of a strawberry pussy. So what do you think that is?”

Again, he’s right. He did come inside me multiple times last night, even when he wasn’t inside me.

Even when he was jerking off like he said.

He’d fuck his fist while eating me out and when he’d be close to coming, he’d slip the tip in and put his thick, hot cum inside of me.

And I loved it. I loved how he refused to come anywhere else other than my pussy.

How sometimes we came together like that, me from his mouth and him from his fist while using his mouth on me.

“And why do you think every time I came inside you, I not only used my dick to push my seed in, I used my fingers too,” he keeps growling, playing with my channel. “Not that I was successful. Clearly. But I managed to get most of it in, didn’t I?”

“Why are we t-talking about this?” I ask, my eyes clenched shut and my head rolling side to side on his drenched chest. I wish I were able to put this all together in my head, because the answer seems pretty obvious.

But the way he’s manipulating my body makes it unreachable.

Not to mention, I’m supposed to be mad at him right now.

“We’re talking about this,” he says, his teeth clenched, “because I want you to tell me what happens when a guy comes inside his girl’s pussy without a rubber?”

“R-rubber.”

“Yeah. What do you think happens when a guy rawdogs his girl’s pussy and comes inside her so many times that not only can her body not contain it, but just the thought of doing that, flooding his girl’s pussy, her fucking womb with his cum makes him want to nut inside her again.

And again and again, and fucking again .

Until her womb is all swollen with him. Her tummy is all swollen.

Her tummy hurts with the amount of cum he leaves inside her and all she can feel is him.

Him, him, him and nothing else . Ever, not in this life and not after.

So again, baby, what do you think that is? ”

There is no hope that I can answer him at all.

No hope whatsoever, because sometime while listening to his dirty words, dirty and angry, agitated and seething, I came.

His fingers and his relentless assault have made me come and all I can do now is sag against his strong body, all boneless because I know he’ll take care of me.

Even if his motivations are a mystery right now. Even if we’re fighting.

“Why are you…” I whisper, letting the steam and the hot spray beat down on my body as I relax against him, “being so dirty right now? Why are you…”

He takes his fingers out of me but still keeps them on my core.

He still keeps running his fingers up and down and side to side, almost caressing my pussy lips, petting them lovingly and tenderly.

Then he does it with his cheek too, runs it along mine as if caressing my face with his.

It’s such a tender gesture and so like him, to torture me and then lick my wounds, that I fall deeper into his spell. I fall deeper and deeper into him.

“Because, baby,” he whispers, his tone soft now, almost gentle as his fingers on my pussy. “Instead of worrying about me like my sweet Little Strawberry, you should be worried about yourself and what your toxic asshole stepbrother is doing to you.”

“What are you?—”