Page 57 of Goode to Be Bad

“My turn,” I said.

“Your turn?” Lexie breathed. “For what?”

“To make you come so hard you see stars.”

“You already did.”

“Not good enough.” I reached out and snagged the bar of soap. Lathered it up and began running it over her skin, starting at her shoulders. “Not to equalize what you just did to me. I feel like I owe you at least three more orgasms for that.”

“I told you, I’m not keeping track.”

“And I told you I do.” I ran the bar of soap all over her, lathering her breasts, her diaphragm, down her belly.

I ran the soap over her hips, all over her thighs from back to front, avoiding her ass and core—saving them for last. Letting the water run over her, sluicing onto her head and neck and shoulders, letting her stand in the stream and luxuriate in being washed. Taking my time, scrubbing and massaging all at once. Brought the lather up to her sex and went to my knees. Pivoted her so she could brace against the wall, because I planned on making sure she’d need to brace herself. I took my time washing her core, nudging her thighs aside and using the gentlest touch I could. Kneeling behind her, my arms around her hips, the soap running over her slit, my other hand working in the lather and letting the rivulets of water rinse it all away. Then I brought the soap around to her backside, massaged the globes and scrubbed them, working my way inward. I leaned forward to kiss her back, her hips, tasting the clean water on her skin. I ran the soap and my other hand in slow slides inward, parting her ass cheeks. Over the tender knot. Just a pass of my hand, at first. The soap. Again. She gasped as I lathered the inner curve of each cheek and the parted seam between, and massaged the tiny virgin knot of muscle.

“Ohhhh fuck, Myles. You’re doingthat?” she gasped. “Now?”

“Uh-huh,” I murmured.

“Ohhh fuck.”

“Better hold on to the wall, babe.”

She clapped her hands against the marble wall, leaning forward and arching her back inward to press her ass outward. Eager. I set the soap aside and gathered water as it ran over her shoulders and spine and hip, splashed it over her ass, rinsing her clean. And then set about kissing: spine, hipbones; ass cheek, upper swell of her thigh. Working my kisses inward. She was moaning as my lips and tongue dared and delved closer and closer, moaning from anticipation. I hesitated, and then took my first taste of her. She gasped, a sharp shrill whimper, and one hand left the shower wall, reached back to scrabble at my head, and I took that as encouragement. I slid my fingers between her thighs, up, found her clit and circled it hard and fast as I used my tongue against her ass to make her writhe. She lifted up on her toes, away from me even as she pressed her ass back against me, and I devoured her harder, faster, more vigorously than ever, head whipping from side to side and my fingers circling in a blur—she screamed, bit down on it, and her voice cracked, broke, and she dissolved into weak-kneed dipping, shaking, whimpering breathlessly, coming hard. I pushed her through it and to another, sliding my fingers inside her, delving in and smearing her with her own essence, returning to her clit until she broke apart again.

And that was when she lost the battle.

Her knees gave out, and she slid down to the floor of the shower. Trembling. Shaking all over, gasping for breath.

She lifted up to watch me splash water on my face, and rub my mouth clean.

“Holy shit,” she breathed.

Watching her lose control had been almost as arousing as anything she could do to me, and I was achingly hard for her again.

She saw this. Moved on all fours across the shower floor, toward me. I clambered to my feet and she followed me. Stood in front of me, breasts brushing my chest. Her breathing came in ragged pants, her chest lifting with each one. She was wild, aroused beyond all control. Her hands shot out, clawed, and hooked into my pecs, shoved me up against the wall. Fingers trailed down my cheeks, clutched my jaw. Eyes on mine, hers alight with aroused ferocity. Panting. Holding still, in the way a lioness freezes before she pounces.

And then she lunged at me. Lifted up, hooked one knee around my hip, heel on my opposite thigh, and sank down onto me. I growled wordlessly, feeling myself slide into deep wet soft perfection, felt her clamp around me, clenching spasmodically as she shook from the aftershocks of two potent back-to-back orgasms and quaking her way to a third as I drove up into her. I was beyond all control. All thought. I was alive with need, not for climax now, not for release, but forher.For intimacy.

For this.

She lifted up on her toes and I cupped her ass and lifted, and we set her down together, onto me. Lifted in synch. She slammed her mouth onto mine and stole my tongue, sucked it into her mouth, and drove her hips against mine. I gasped, feeling her slick wet heaven sliding around me, squeezing me, and I knew nothing but Lexie, but this, but us.

Pushing, thrusting.

Needing more.

I palmed her ass in my hands and lifted her all the way off the floor, stepped forward to press her back to the opposite wall, and she clung to my neck and writhed on me and her heels scrabbled desperately at my ass and she was a wild thing, a feral cat, all claws and teeth, nipping my neck and earlobes and shoulder, clawing at my back.

“Myles,” she breathed, those two syllables a broken, ragged plea.

I was so close. Drowning in her.

I had one brain cell operating enough to know what she meant with that single desperate plea of my name.

I set her down and wrenched control over myself—found it from somewhere within. Slid out of her. Stepped away. Shaking.

She whimpered, this time from loss, from confusion, from I wasn’t sure what.