Page 22 of The Captain’s Bounty (The Collectors #2)

It smelled good. It smelled really good.

It smelled like him.

Or rather, he smelled very faintly of it.

Either way, oh god...

She jumped when he brushed the back of her shoulder.

“I thought you said you weren’t going to draw me a bath,” she blurted out of sheer nerves.

“This isn’t a bath. It’s a shower. And you can’t exactly do it yourself.” He swept her long hair up in gentle hands, rubbing the soap into her wet tresses and sending tingles racing though her skin. She’d never tingled for anyone before that wasn’t at least a thousand years dead.

“I could if you took these off.” She meant to rattle the handcuffs at him, but at the first shake, she brushed up against him and instinctively closed her hand around the thing she touched. All the way around, so… not his thigh. And not his wrist.

Dear God, she’d just grabbed his cock! It wasn’t flaccid, either. It was thick and long, and hard as hell.

She immediately let go, her gasp so loud it actually echoed in the tube. “When the hell did you get naked?”

“Do you not get naked when you clean yourself?”

“No! I-I mean, yes… but y-you’re not supposed to get naked with me! This is a kidnapping! Can’t you–y-you keep it professional?”

“Professional?” He chuckled, and all those chills under her skin became instant goosebumps. Her nipple tightened. Her pussy ached, every rivulet of water trickling down her belly to drip between her thighs, as soft as fingertips caressing through her folds.

“You know what I mean. And what difference does it make anyway? Bath or shower, you’re still manhandling me!”

The gentle hands in her hair stopped. The next she knew, he’d tightened his fist in her hair, and instead of being held under the spray, he shoved her flat against the wall.

The hot press of his cock pressed into the crack of her ass and the small of her back.

She had never been so aware of anything as she was of his teeth when he nipped the nape of her neck, and then slowly, savoringly, even sensuously, bit her.

She could feel her skin dimple beneath the points of his prominent canines, so vividly she could almost ignore the growing interest of the entity, at least until it plucked at her nerve endings in harmony, amplifying the effects of Bruwes’ touch and bringing her right to the edge of orgasm.

“A bath is what lovers do, a calm gentle mating designed to keep me from going into Rage,” he breathed against her neck.

“A shower is harder.” He pumped his hips, not soft faux thrusts, but a single hard one that bounced her hips into the shower tube and made her pussy throb in wanton response.

She wasn’t supposed to like the slick slide of his cock gliding up and down along her crack, the tip of it bumping into her captured fists.

She certainly wasn’t supposed to moan, but stopping that errant sound wasn’t possible.

He laughed again, moved around to the other side of her neck, biting just below the sensitive lobe of her ear.

“The difference is also this.” His other hand shoved between her and the wall, squeezing to get down between her tensing legs, and taking ownership of her pussy at last. He grabbed all of it, squeezing hard enough to make her shout.

“Keep it professional?” he asked with a throaty purr. Fingers releasing their hold, he parted her instead.

“Oh no,” she breathed, but “oh yes” was the magic of his fingers stroking as he parted her seam to bathe in the slick flood that spilled from her.

“You like your Master’s touch,” he laughed, throaty and deep.

Her throat tightened. Unable to make herself speak, she shook her head.

Abandoning her needy pussy, he shoved far enough off her to land a hard barrage of stinging slaps to as much of her bottom as the narrow confines would allow.

She made it through the first five or six smacks with gritted teeth before he broke her silence.

She shouted, but whether he stopped because of that or because he was simply finished, she didn’t know.

She only knew the pain he’d ignited went straight to her clit, and so did his hand again.

Pinned to the shower wall by the hair, she couldn’t move, couldn’t protest.

Nor do you want to , the being chuckled.

I thought physicality disgusted you ! Lissa thought at it, embarrassed.

It does. It used to , it amended in a scientifically-interested internal tone. I suppose our fusion has acclimated me to some degree, which in turn has allowed me to more closely observe .

Don’t observe. And don’t participate! Go away!

I can’t , the entity replied placidly.

Well, then at least stop watching!

I can’t . It followed Bruwes’ hand down her body, stimulating from within what he explored from without. And I don’t particularly want to .

“You like this.” Bruwes reclaimed her pussy with another gentle stroke of his fingers, so slick from both herself and the soapy water that she could have cried.

Her hips twitched, bumping her back against his cock, and she did not move away. She leaned into him wantonly, rubbing her burning ass against that hard promise while he showed her the proof of her desire dripping from his fingers.

“You,” Bruwes whispered in her ear, “like this very much.”

She shivered, with the hot spray of the shower pouring part on her and part on him. It was luxurious, and for her that was a whole new definition of the word, growing up as she did in her family’s neat, scholarly home.

This was different. It was seductive and wrong, and yet how could anything this good be truly bad?

She closed her eyes, panting her breathy moans into the wet wall as he alternated between stroking her pussy and caressing the outer seam, sweeping his fingers back and forth between her folds and her clit, rolling the slick nub of her pleasure with his thumb before seizing her pussy in his domineering grip. Owning it; owning her.

Sometimes he went slow, only for his fingertips to circle faster, press harder, bring her arching onto her tiptoes with a plaintive cry for more locked behind her trembling lips.

He took her right to the brink, winding her up so completely that every muscle in her body shook and shook, but just as her orgasm was about to break, he abandoned her clit entirely and swept down to sink all four fingers deep inside her.

Forget the dubious professionalism of how bounty hunters should treat their captives, this was more than she’d ever wanted. This was every fantastic sexual experience she’d ever had, all rolled into one powerful explosion she was only just holding back. She didn’t even know why.

“You make me ache,” Bruwes breathed, the heat of his breath burning her hotter than the water. She ached so badly too. Please, she ached.

Interesting.

She pressed her face to the tube’s wall, trying to shut its voice out of her head. She didn’t want to share a single stroke of this. She wanted grumpy Bruwes and his magical fingers all to herself.

“You are hard to ignore. No matter how much I try, you appeal to me.”

A writer of love sonnets he was not, but it didn’t matter.

He was pretty hard to ignore right now too, especially with the full length of his cock digging into her from behind.

With each slow pump of his hips, he rubbed his cock in the valley of her ass, but the head of him was traveling, lower and lower down.

If only she could move, just the smallest wiggle might get him low enough for his cock to burrow between her legs.

Right up against her pussy, where the magnificence of him could continue to work its magic.

“I want to be inside you.” He gently bit the lobe of her ear, the minor sharpness of his teeth making the rapture of his touch burst like champagne bubbles under her skin.

It was in her perked nipples, her stomach, her ass.

God, her pussy—she was a hot, throbbing, tingling, pulsing mess and there was no stopping this before she hit the beautiful end.

“I want to feel the fluttering squeeze of your flesh as I bring you to arrival.”

“Coming,” she moaned.

He paused, his fingers on her clit pressing down hard on it until she could feel the exotic pressure against her public mound. “What?”

“It’s called coming, not arriving.” She wanted him so much she gave in to her desperation and reached for his cock.

The strain in her shoulders from having to twist her wrists enough to catch him in both hands was nothing compared to the quiver that fluttered from her sex to her womb.

A mini orgasm all its own, she tried to pet and stroke him back, but he wasn’t moving in the same helpless little twitches that she was.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he said, deep and low. “And it is what I say it is.”

As if this was the hill she wanted to die on, she stubbornly argued back, “How sexy is that? ‘I’m about to arrive, I’m arriving, you have arrived.’ I sound like a navi-comm. Is that what gets your engine firing?”

He reared off her again, yanking her off the wall to slap her pussy.

She shouted, the stinging swat leaving her greedy sex not just aching, but aching for more. It was shocking how quickly her flesh absorbed the hurt and turned even that into the next hottest thing she’d yet had a man do to her.

It was just as shocking when he flattened himself to the back shower wall and forced her all the way around. Just as fast as her back was against the wall, he was on her again, pressing her into it.

“It is whatever I say it is, and if you argue, you don’t get to arrive at all. On your knees.”

His eyes were so red, but she only caught a glimpse of them before he was pushing her down. She wasn’t ready for it, or strong enough to resist.

You don’t want to resist.

Down, she went. It hurt to kneel on the grated shower floor, but not enough to distract her from this eye-to-penis view.

“Open,” he ordered, gripping the base of his shaft. Water hit her in the face when he shoved it to her lips. She could have yelled, twisted away, or even bit him when he pushed, but she was too busy opening her mouth to figure out the alternatives.

His cock was more than her mouth could take, and he didn’t stop pushing until he was already in the back of her throat.

She gagged, but he only pushed deeper, his groan a growl.

She couldn’t stop him. She couldn’t grab him back or stay the pumping of his hips as he took her mouth for his own pleasure.

Did she really want to? Her pussy flexed, tiny orgasmic spasms gripping and shivering her as his movements became quicker, shallower, and more erratic.

His eyes were closed as he braced his arm against the wall and used his other, once more tangled in her hair, to hold her bound for his pleasure.

For her pleasure too, it seemed. She couldn’t get enough. The more he forced her, the hotter her pussy throbbed and twitched.

He spoke, husky and low. A single word short and sharp, and not in English. It might have been a curse, and a thrill of pure power swept her when she thought it meant he was about to come.

Yanking out of her mouth, his dark veiny cock seemed to twitch before her eyes, and then he heaved her by her hair back onto her feet.

That should have hurt too, but the equal thrill of being completely under his control was too arousing for her to care. Turning her again, she was once more face-planted against the wall.

“You want my cock. Say it,” he breathed, gripping himself tight, already angling to enter her from behind.

God, yes...

“I want your cock,” she moaned. “Please, I want your?—”

She startled when she felt the nudge of his cock against her back passage. She stiffened, and yet her own hips betrayed her, arching back against him, making the angle of entry easier.

“Cock!” she shouted as he pushed. His cock was wet from her mouth, and her ass slick from the soapy suds that had trickled down her spine and into the crack.

He went in with very little effort, and it hurt. She’d never been taken this way, not by someone as large as he was. The pain was burningly sharp, but he still took her. Strong deep strokes that filled her beyond bearing.

Beyond thinking or breathing.

Beyond holding still for, not that she tried to twist away.

She was arching back, twisting her hips as if to ride both him and the burning pain of his ruthless pounding.

Until the heat overwhelmed the pain, and only the friction remained.

Growing hotter, twisting all the nerves inside her until she was wound so tight she knew he was going to break her.

Until the pleasure from out of the burning of his thrusts exploded through her.

It shattered her, battered her, ripping her apart on the teeth of an orgasm so intense it buckled her knees.

She’d have gone down if not for his pinning grip on her body.

“God!” she shouted.

“Forget Him,” he growled in her ear. “You belong to me, Bruwes!”

He bit her shoulder, and she shattered all over again, and then again, his virile conquering stealing all the strength from her body and the breath from her lungs.

There was no hurt at all when at last he slammed into her, seething a groan between clenched teeth as he emptied himself into her.