Susan Moreau was still trembling.
Her robe clung to her skin like silk poured over fire. Her thighs slick, her pulse unsteady, her legs barely able to keep her upright.
She had just been f****d in the shower.
Fucked like a woman who had waited too long.
Keiran Vale had split her open with his c**k.
Bent her over slick tile.
Bitten her shoulder as he pumped hot c*m deep inside her soaking, needy p***y.
“You taste like heaven,” he’d growled.
“And I’m not done with you.”
She had screamed for him—fingers clawing glass, n*****s flattened to fog, begging him not to stop.
And when he finished inside her, her body had collapsed against his chest.
Now, she stood against the bathroom sink, steam still curling in the air, water dripping from her collarbones.
Her cunt ached. Her lips were
