Borgata - Book II #wattys2016

Chapter 42: Femme Fatale

ME PIRATES!

WATTTTTPPPPAAADDDD, WHAT IS GOOD FAM??

Anyone taking college summer classes rn?? DAMN, I didn't realize how much work summer classes are! LOL.

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 Fico slammed my back against the wet tile wall of the shower, his teeth scraping my throat. Each wet slap our hips brutally colliding seemed to fuel the animal inside of us both.

I fisted his hair, our mouths crashing together right as I shuddered against him.

"Fuck," he growled, and I could tell by the tension in his shoulders he was close to his own release.

My nails scraped the serpent tattoo on his chest, before I made him put me down. "Sit on the shower bench," I gasped out.

Fico sat down with a dark look in his eyes, his breath ragged, his skin flushed with arousal and exertion. This had started off with having gentle lovemaking in the bedroom and well, things got a little wild.

I eased back onto him with a small whimper. His head went back against the tiled wall, his fingers digging into my rocking hips. His black hair was slicked back away from his face. And he was watching me with the same hungry but loving intensity.

His lips kissed the sensitive spot between my jaw and ear, and I rewarded him by licking up his throat, over the masculine tendons of his throat. The low groan he produced vibrated against my tongue.

My hips started moving faster, his strong hands guiding me into the perfect rhythm, until we both suddenly couldn't take the friction anymore and came apart. His palm flattened against the shower door, my scream of pleasure smothered by his large hand. I kissed him softly on his palm, then on his lips. He cradled my lower back, as we slowly, deliciously, came down back to earth.

"And then I punched her in the face in front of all of the other girls," I was telling Fico about ten minutes later. "She never made any snarky comments about me after that."

Fico turned toward me with a snicker as he rinsed the rest of the conditioner from his hair under the shower stream. "How old were you?"

"I don't know, six? Seven?"

"Hm." He made a judgmental face. "A late bloomer, I see. I threw my first punch when I was three years old."

"Damn, that's edgy as fuck."

He chuckled. "There's a lot about me you don't know, cucciola."

"Like how you methodically trim all your facial hair and even your nose hairs so they're a perfect length?"

"I definitely don't do that," he said with a roll of his eyes, as I laughed at my own joke. "But I do like when things are just the way I like them, and people do what I tell them to do. Which is why I hate you."
"You don't say?" I asked, playing along, when really, I was distracted watching the water cascade over his abs.

"Yes." He shut the water off and tilted my head up to his amused face. "Take a bath with me. It relaxes me before sleep."
I stepped into him, sliding my hands up the lean muscle on top of his shoulders. "Guess I didn't do my job well enough, then."

"Hm, yes. I'm not sure if you gave me my money's worth."

I went to pinch his nipple, but he fended me off with a chuckle, pulled open the glass doors, and practically leapt from the shower to get away from my crab claw fingers.