Outside His Shadow

Chapter 14: Steam and Sandalwood

The steam was already beginning to curl around the edges of the frosted glass door, turning the marble sanctuary into a humid, white-walled blur. I had barely reached for the handle of the rainfall shower when the bathroom door opened behind me. I didn't need to turn around to know it was him. The air in the room seemed to displace, pressurized by his sudden presence.

​I felt the heat of his body before he even touched me. He didn't say a word. He didn't ask if I wanted company. He simply stepped into my space, his hands sliding around my waist to pull me against his chest.

​"Michael," I breathed, my voice a mix of genuine surprise and the practiced softness I’d adopted all week. "I thought you had calls."

​"They can wait," he rasped, his lips ghosting against the sensitive cord of my neck. "I watched you walk away from the bed, Olivia. I didn't like the distance."

​He reached past me, turning the heavy silver handle. The water hissed as it hit the floor, a sudden roar that drowned out the rest of the villa. He stripped with a frantic, predatory grace, his eyes never leaving my reflection in the steamed-over mirror. I followed suit, my fingers feeling heavy and clumsy. Every inch of skin I revealed felt like a surrender, an opening for him to reassert the dominance.

​As we stepped under the heavy downpour, the world outside the glass vanished. There was no Sloane, no Beatrice, no career applications, and no secret phones. There was only the stinging heat of the water and the crushing weight of the man who claimed to own me.

​Michael didn't waste time with gentleness. He pinned me against the cool, wet marble wall, his body a scorching contrast to the stone. He grabbed the sponge, lathering it with the expensive, sandalwood-scented soap that always seemed to cling to my clothes long after he was gone. He began to wash me, his movements firm and rhythmic, his hands tracing every curve of my body as if he were re-mapping a territory he had almost lost.

​"You're mine, Olivia," he groaned, his voice vibrating through my chest as he leaned down to bite gently at the junction of my neck and shoulder. It wasn't a question; it was a brand. "Tell me."

​"I'm yours," I gasped. It slid out of my mouth as easily as the soap slid over my skin.

​He dropped the sponge, his hands capturing my waist as he lifted me. My legs instinctively wrapped around his hips, my back pressed hard against the tile. ​In an instant, his mouth was on my breast, his tongue tracing a searing path over the damp skin while his hand captured the other, caressing it with a possessive, rhythmic intensity. He moved with a desperate hunger, as if he were trying to drink me in. He gently switched sides, his stubble grazing my skin with a rough friction that sent a jolt of electricity straight to my core.

​“Uhh...” I couldn't hold it back. The sound—a low, broken moan—escaped my throat and was immediately lost to the roar of the water.

​He entered me in one deep, devastating surge, a guttural sound escaping his throat that was half-triumph, half-desperation. I arched my back, my head hitting the marble with a soft thud as a high, broken cry was swallowed by the sound of the shower. It was intense—a rhythmic, driving force that felt like he was trying to push his way back into the very center of my soul, trying to fill every empty space I had carefully cleared for my escape.

​"Look at me," he commanded, his fingers digging into my thighs.

​I opened my eyes, my vision blurred by the water and the steam. He was looking at me with a dark, liquid devotion that looked so much like love it was terrifying. It was the look that had kept me trapped for years—the belief that I was the only woman who could truly shatter him.

​"I'm never letting you go again," he rasped, his pace quickening, his movements becoming a frantic, beautiful blur. "Whatever you want, whatever you need, I'll give it to you."

​I gripped his wet shoulders, my nails digging into his skin, my breath coming in short, jagged hitching sobs. I was right on the edge, the pleasure coiling tight in my gut, threatening to break the last of my defenses. As the climax broke over me like a wave, I buried my face in his neck, my muffled screams lost in the heat and the water.

​He followed me a second later, his entire body tensing as he spilled himself into me, his forehead resting against mine as we both shook from the sheer, violent intensity of the release.

​We stayed there for a long time, the hot water raining down on us, the only sound the heavy, synchronized thud of our hearts. Michael held me tight, his arms a cage of muscle and warmth, his lips pressed against my temple.

​"I love you, Olivia," he whispered into the steam.

​I stayed silent, my eyes closed. I let him hold me.