CHAPTER 407: CHAPTER 407; HONEYMOON PHASE 2 F (R+18)

He didn’t take her to bed immediately.

He stopped in the middle of the room, still holding her, and captured her mouth in another searing, devouring kiss.

It was a kiss of pure possession, of a man claiming what was his, branding her with his mouth.

When he finally broke for air, both of them were breathing heavily, chests heaving.

Without a word, Huo Ting Cheng carried her straight toward the master bathroom.

The space was luxurious, all dark tiles, gleaming fixtures, and a massive glass-enclosed shower that could easily fit four people.

He set her on her feet just inside the bathroom, and immediately his hands went to the clothes he’d helped her back into earlier.

This time, there was no patience, no careful handling.

Fabric tore slightly as he pulled her shirt over her head, her pants pushed down her legs with urgent hands.

When she was bare again, he stripped off his own clothes with efficient movements, never taking his eyes off her.

Then he walked them both into the large shower enclosure.

With one hand, he reached in and turned the knob.

A cascade of warm water instantly rained down from the ceiling-mounted showerhead, soaking them both within seconds.

Tang Fei gasped as the warm water hit her skin, washing away the slight stickiness from earlier, the gentle heat relaxing muscles she hadn’t realized were tense.

He finally pressed her back against the smooth tile wall, keeping one firm arm around her waist to steady her.

Water streamed down his hair, his face, his broad shoulders, running in rivulets down the planes of his chest.

He looked like a god of storms, his dark eyes never leaving hers, burning with intensity.

He reached for a bottle of liquid soap, pouring the clear, fragrant gel into his palm.

"Let me take care of you," he murmured, his voice rough but tender.

His hands were both gentle and possessive as he smoothed the soap over her skin.

He washed her neck, her shoulders, her arms, his touch clinical and caring but with an underlying current of sensuality that made every stroke feel like a caress.

When his soapy hands moved over her breasts, she bit her lip, still sensitive from earlier.

When they moved between her legs, she flinched, a sharp intake of breath.

"Shhh," he soothed, his touch becoming even lighter, just enough to clean her gently.

"I’ve got you. I’m taking care of you."

Once he was satisfied she was clean, he turned her around so the water could rinse the suds from her body.

Then, he pressed her gently but firmly against the warm, wet tiles and began to wash her hair, his strong fingers massaging her scalp with a tenderness that made her eyes prick with unexpected tears, not from pain, but from the sheer intimacy of being cared for like this.

She stood there, boneless and cherished, under the warm water and his meticulous attention, feeling something in her chest expand and warm.

But the tender moment shifted.

She felt him growing hard again against her back, felt the change in his breathing, the tension returning to his muscles.

When he finished rinsing her hair, she turned within the circle of his arms.

Her eyes, darkened and bold despite the wine still in her system, met his.

The careful, cleansing mood shattered in an instant.

She reached up, cupping his face with both hands, water running between her fingers.

"The fantasy," she said, her voice barely a whisper over the sound of falling water, "wasn’t just the kitchen."

A slow, dangerous smile touched his lips.

He understood immediately.

His hands, which had been gentle moments before, slid down her slick back, pulling her firmly against him.

The hard length of him pressed insistently against her stomach, leaving no doubt about his renewed desire.

"This," he rumbled, his voice rough and promising, "is a much better use of the water."

His mouth crashed down on hers.

This kiss was not like the one in the kitchen; it was wilder, more primal, fueled by steam and the slide of wet skin and the knowledge that they had all night, all week, all the time in the world.

There was no patience, only a raw, urgent need.

His hands roamed her body, sliding over her soap-slick curves, gripping her hips to grind her against him.

She met his ferocity with her own, her nails scraping down his wet back, leaving red trails, her teeth nipping at his lower lip hard enough to make him groan.

The water plastered her hair to her face and streamed into their mouths, but they didn’t care.

It was elemental, water and heat, and a desperate need.

He spun her around with controlled force, pressing her front against the cool, wet tiles.

His body covered hers from behind, one hand braced on the wall beside her head, the other sliding possessively down her body, between her legs from behind.

She cried out, the sound echoing off the tiles as his fingers found her, already swollen and sensitive from their earlier joining.

He teased her with knowing touches, his fingers working her with skill and precision, until her knees buckled and she was held up only by his body pressed against her back and his hand on her hip.

"Now," she begged, her voice ragged, desperate.

"Please, now. I need you."

With a guttural sound of male satisfaction, he positioned himself and drove into her in one deep, powerful thrust that made stars explode behind her eyelids.

The angle was different, deeper, and more intense, and a sharp, pleasure-filled scream was torn from her throat, echoing in the enclosed space.

He set a brutal, pounding rhythm, the sound of their bodies meeting muffled by the rushing water but still audible, still primal.

Her hands splayed flat against the tiles for purchase, her pleas and moans lost in the steam and spray.

He leaned over her, his mouth finding her shoulder, teeth scraping skin, his breath hot and ragged against her wet skin.