Julian didn’t let my feet touch the floor.
He scooped me off the island like I was made of paper, my legs still shaking around his hips, his c**k half-hard and coated in us, with c*m smeared between my thighs. The stairs creaked under his weight, every step drove him deeper, the head nudging my cervix until I whimpered into his neck, tasting his sweat and the faint copper of my own blood from where he’d bitten my lip.
He kicked the bathroom door open. Tiles slapped cold against my soles when he set me down. The claw-foot tub gleaming under the light. He twisted the taps and water roared out, steam curling thick, he dropped a little eucalyptus oil into the water, the oil slicking the surface until the air smelt sharp.
“Get in, little sister,” he ordered. “Gonna wash my c*m out of that
