Page 96 of Never Stop

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Brooke

Easton threw open the door, turned back and picked me up from the hallway. My legs automatically wrapped around his waist as our mouths fused together and we entered the small hotel room. Being inThe City of Lovewas turning out to be true. Weloveda lot.

My back hit the wall, and the door slammed shut as we began stripping each other of our clothes. Easton started to unbutton my jeans, his hand slipping inside my panties. His finger brushed over my clit and slipped inside me. I sucked in a breath as our lips broke free.

“I need you,” I moaned as he nuzzled my neck.

Kissing…

Licking…

Tasting…

“You have me,” he murmured against my skin.

“No. Inside.”

Easton picked me up. “I have an idea,” he groaned.

We moved into the shower, my back pressing against the cold surface and he reached with his free hand to turn on the water. It sprayed out, hitting my legs that were still wrapped around his waist. After the water had warmed up, he reached over and grabbed the handle, aiming it directly at my pussy. Warm water shot up, hitting my clit, and I moaned.

My hands went into Easton’s hair, our moans of pleasure echoing in the glass cube. “Please?” I begged.

“Yeah, fuck this creative shit.”

He put the showerhead back and without another word, he slid into me.

No more touching.

No more groping.

No more teasing.

My back arched as he rocked his hips up, my hands around his shoulders as I held on. The water was still spraying against us, but I was so lost in the pleasure that nothing was registering except him and me.

“Fuck,” he groaned against my neck. “This might be the only thing this shower is good for.”

I chuckled through my building pleasure. All week he’d complained that using the handheld showerhead to bathe was like showering with a garden hose.

Easton grabbed my hands from around his neck and raised them above my head. Our fingers locked together as he rocked up—hard. My back slid against the white fiber glass with each thrust.

“I’m close,” I panted.

With one hand, he found my clit and rubbed. That was my undoing. My body convulsed as I climaxed around him. A few more pumps and he followed me over the edge. After our breathing had returned to normal, we washed each other with the shower head.

Thesecondbest thing about the French style shower.

Paris was amazing. My entire week was amazing.

I married the love of my life, had pastries in Paris, and saw the Eiffel Tower every day. It was a dream. I was literally living in a dream.

One day we walked to Pont des Arts. At one time it was known as the romantic bridge that was lined with padlocks. Couples would write their names and date on a lock, then secure it along the chain linked fence and throw the key in the Serine. It would symbolize unbreakable love. Except today there were no padlocks. There was a fence made of Plexiglas, and weird ass sculptures in the center of the bridge the entire way down.

“Guess we won’t be needing this lock,” Easton had said.

I sighed. “Guess not. That fucking sucks.”