Phei scooped Elena up at her quiet, trembling command—princess carry his one forearm hooked under the soft bend of her knees, the other banding iron-strong across her back, cradling her shoulders as though she weighed nothing at all.
The damp towel clung desperately to her lush, dripping curves, already soaked transparent where her fever-hot skin fused to his chest.
It hid nothing of her from him.
Her body was pure fucking sin wrapped in sodden terry cloth.
Soft. Heavily gifted. Dangerous with her hot skin scorching his forearms, flushed crimson from the shower and the deeper, hungrier heat blooming inside her.
Her breasts were the full, obscene, impossibly soft pillowed heaviness that pressed against his pecs, shifting with every ragged breath she took. Her fat, stiff nipples stabbed through the thin fabric like they were trying to carve their way into his skin, scraping slow, torturous circles with each heartbeat.
