Malakai's POV
The water beat down on me like a penance I barely felt. Pink-tinged streams swirled at my feet and disappeared. Two men dead.
A leech still hiding in my ranks. The night clung to my skin worse than the blood, but all I could think about was the silence that had followed my question in her room.
She hadn't answered right away. That quiet stretched and twisted something sharp behind my ribs. Not rage. Something quieter. Hurt. I understood it, though.
Kiera was light in a world that had only ever taught me darkness. Innocent. Untouched in ways that made me want to protect her even as I corrupted her. I wouldn't rush her. I wanted her full trust more than I wanted her body—though fuck, I wanted that too. If she needed to step back, I would let her. I would always let her.
I tilted my head under the spray, letting it pound against my skull, and reached blindly for the soap.
Then I felt her presence.
I turned.
There she stood—completely naked, just inside the shower, water already beginning to kiss her skin. The sight hit me like a slow-motion strike.
Steam curled lazily around her. Droplets traced reverent paths down the elegant column of her throat, over the soft, full curves of her breasts, lingering on her nipples that had tightened into perfect peaks from the heat and nerves. Her waist was impossibly narrow, flaring into hips that begged to be gripped.
Long legs, smooth skin flushed with embarrassment and arousal. Every inch of her was soft femininity wrapped around quiet strength. She could bring empires to their knees. She could bring me to mine.
My cock twitched heavily against my thigh, already thickening at the sight of her.
Control frayed.
I closed the distance in one step, water sluicing between our bodies. My hand found her waist first—possessive, firm—then slid down to claim the perfect globe of her ass. Fuck. So soft. So plush and yielding under my rough palm. Like it had been made specifically for me to grip, to mark, to own. I squeezed, pulling her flush against me, letting her feel exactly what she did to me.
"Mine," I growled low against her ear, the word slipping out before I could cage it.
Her eyes widened when they dropped between us, landing on my cock—thick, heavy, and hardening rapidly against her stomach. The innocent shock in her gaze only made me harder.
"You've never done something like this before?" My voice came out rough, threaded with dark satisfaction.
She shook her head, cheeks burning.
I had known. But hearing the confirmation unlocked something primal and possessive inside me. She was mine to teach. Mine to ruin so beautifully.
I cupped her chin with one hand, tilting her face up, and kissed her slowly at first—deep and deliberate, savoring the taste of her uncertainty melting into need. My tongue traced her bottom lip before claiming her mouth fully. The kiss built like a gathering storm: unhurried, dominant, my hand still kneading her ass while the other tangled in her wet hair, tilting her head exactly how I wanted it.
I poured every dark, dangerous thing I felt for her into that kiss. The want I had tried to deny. The realization that this girl had crawled under my skin in a matter of months and made a home there. It was dangerous. Reckless. But in this steam-filled sanctuary, with her soft body trembling against my hard one, I didn't care about the blood on my hands or the empire I ruled. I only cared about her.
I broke the kiss and dropped to my knees before her.
No one had ever brought me down like this. No one ever would again.
Only Kiera.
I pressed my mouth to her lower stomach, kissing reverently, then lower, trailing open-mouthed kisses across her abdomen. Her breathing grew ragged. I lifted one of her legs, draping it over my broad shoulder, opening her completely to me. My hands gripped her thighs—firm, commanding—holding her steady as I kissed down to the apex of her thighs.
Her scent was intoxicating. I brushed my lips over her clit first, teasing, then gave her one long, slow lick from her entrance to the sensitive bundle of nerves.
The moan that tore from her throat was exquisite—raw, surprised, melodic. She tasted like heaven.
Pure. Sweet. Clean. A perfect balance of sweet and salty. Addictively hers. I groaned against her core and devoured her properly.
My tongue moved with deliberate dominance—long, slow strokes, circling her clit, then plunging inside her tight heat. I explored every inch, fucking her with my tongue while my grip on her thighs kept her exactly where I wanted her. She started grinding against my face, chasing the pleasure I gave her, her hips rolling in helpless little movements.
I slid one thick finger inside her, curling it slowly, stroking that sensitive spot while my tongue flicked relentlessly over her clit.
Her moans grew louder, more desperate—addictive sounds that made my cock throb painfully. I added a second finger, stretching her gently but firmly, pumping in a steady rhythm that matched the wicked movements of my tongue.
Her hands fisted in my hair, pulling hard, though I doubted she even realized it. Her head fell back against the tiled wall. Water cascaded over us both, but it couldn't drown the wet sounds of my mouth on her or her broken whimpers.
I felt her climax building—the way her walls clenched around my fingers, the trembling in her thighs, the frantic little gasps. I didn't relent. I sucked her clit between my lips and stroked deeper, faster, demanding her release.
When it hit her, it was cinematic.
Her entire body vibrated—shaking violently as the orgasm tore through her. A raw, keening moan echoed off the tiles. Her juices flooded my tongue in hot, sweet pulses, spilling down my chin and jaw despite the shower's relentless spray. I growled and drank every drop, licking her through the waves, refusing to waste any part of her pleasure. I licked her clean, soothing her oversensitive flesh with gentler strokes until she was whimpering, legs trembling.
Only then did I rise.
I pulled her into my arms and kissed her hard—deep, devouring, passionate. Her arms wrapped tightly around my neck, clinging to me as if I were her anchor. Our bodies pressed together, slick and heated, my cock trapped between us, throbbing with unmet need. I kissed her like she was my last breath. Like the world outside this shower didn't exist.
We finally broke apart, both of us gasping, foreheads resting together under the falling water.
I pressed a tender kiss to her forehead, lingering there, breathing her in.
Then I reached for the body wash—my own, the one that carried my scent—and placed it in her hands.
"We should finish the shower," I murmured, voice low and rough with lingering desire. "It's late. Let's get cleaned up and go back to bed."
I watched as she nodded and processed to shower. Her body still flushed and jolted . Post-orgasm syndrome.
Even during it, she looked like an angel