Submission Is Not My Style - Chapter 83: Chapter 83

His lips curl into a slow grin against my fingertips, his eyes darkening into molten pools of heat and hunger. Before I can brace for it, he scoops me off the bed and into his arms. A soft gasp escapes me as I cling to his strong shoulders, my heart fluttering.
“Why don’t we take a shower first?” He drawls, his voice thick and low, teasing. “You’ve been unconscious for days… and I’ve been glued to your side. Pretty sure we both need one.”
I laugh, leaning my head against his chest. “So I stink?”
“No,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of my head, “but you smell too damn good for someone who hasn’t showered in six days. It’s distracting.”
He carries me straight into the bathroom and kicks the door shut behind him before finally setting me down on my feet. The tiles are cool beneath my toes, but Jack’s steady warmth behind me keeps the chill at bay.
“Here,” he says softly, his fingers brushing my arm. “Let me help you.”
I give a quiet nod, lowering my arms to my sides.
His fingers find the hem of my shirt, and he lifts it slowly, reverently, tugging it over my head and leaving me bare before him. His gaze roams over me, a raw hunger flickering in his eyes—but he holds himself back, jaw tight with restraint.
Without a word, he sinks to his knees. He eases my pants down, inch by inch, his fingers grazing my skin in feather-light strokes that leave a trail of fire. Then he slides my panties down with the same careful, deliberate touch, as if memorizing the feel of every inch of me.
When he rises again, towering over me, his breathing is uneven, chest rising and falling a little faster. His hands twitch at his sides, fighting the urge to touch.
I want him to touch me.
“Jack…” I whisper, my voice barely audible above the pounding of my heart. His eyes lock on mine, and the fire there steals my breath.
And then he strips. His shirt comes off, his pants next, and before I can catch my breath, he lifts me again and steps into the shower, the warmth of him pressed against me.
The water flows gently from above, steaming around us, fogging up the glass.
Jack stands behind me and starts to lather shampoo into my hair, his fingers threading through my strands, massaging my scalp with slow, delicious pressure. A moan slips from my lips, and he chuckles softly, nuzzling his face into the crook of my neck.
“God, I missed that sound,” he murmurs.
The suds run down my back as he rinses, his hands trailing gently down my shoulders, then my spine, then lower. He picks up the lavender-scented soap and rubs it between his palms before smoothing it over my skin. Over my arms. My stomach. My hips.
His fingers linger longer when they slide over my breasts, and I lean back into him, breath hitching.
“Still sure you’re feeling okay?” he murmurs into my ear.
“Getting better by the second,” I reply, breathless.
When he finishes, I slowly turn to face him, my hands finding the bottle of shampoo. “My turn.”
I lather it into his dark hair, my fingers massaging gently, and he lets out a groan—low, deep— that makes my toes curl.
“You’re going to kill me,” he mutters under his breath.
“Not yet,” I tease, rinsing his hair. “We haven’t even finished bonding.”
His eyes lock with mine, full of unspoken promises and burning intensity. I pick up the same lavender-scented soap and begin to glide it over his chest, down the hard planes of his torso, over his arms, around his back.
And then… I pause, biting back a laugh.
Because there he is.
Long, awake, and definitely paying attention.
“I see someone’s wide awake,” I say innocently.
He smirks. “He missed you too.”
The heat between us thickens, swirling with the steam around us. But we don’t speak—not really. We don’t need to. Not with the way our bodies speak for us.
His hand finds my cheek, cupping it gently. His thumb brushes soft, soothing circles over my skin as he leans closer, his breath warm against my lips.
“I’ve never been more afraid in my life than when I saw you lying there… unconscious for so long,” he breathes against my lips, resting his forehead against mine.
“I’m here now, Jack… with you. And I’m never leaving.”
As soon as those words leave my mouth, his lips crash down on mine in a bruising kiss that steals the breath from my lungs.
His mouth moves against mine—hot, fast, and desperate—like he’s been starving for me, like waiting even another second would kill him. I melt into him, kissing him back with everything I have, loving the feeling of him consuming me.
I’m delirious with pleasure as his hands roam my slick, wet skin. He cups my ass, squeezing gently, and I gasp softly into his mouth—he swallows the sound hungrily, his tongue dominating mine with urgency. Goddess, I want this man.
His fingers skim slowly along the side of my waist, teasingly, ghosting just beneath the swell of my breast before cupping it in his large palm, pulling another moan from deep in my throat.
His lips leave mine just long enough to turn off the water. Then he scoops me into his arms again, and I cling to his shoulders as he carries me out of the shower.
He sets me down gently on the counter by the sink. I barely have time to catch my breath before he’s wrapping a soft, white towel around my shoulders. Then he grabs another, smaller one, and begins patting my wet hair dry—but all I can focus on are his lips, so close to mine, so full and kissable.
I move before I can think, pressing my lips to his in a soft, hungry kiss.
He growls low in approval and grips my thighs, pulling them apart as he steps between my legs. His hands slide to my hips, kneading the soft skin before slipping down between my thighs.
I gasp when his fingers brush my sensitive center. His smirk presses against my lips as he teases slow, torturous circles over my clit. My toes curl, my head falls back, and a sound between a gasp and moan slips from my lips.
His mouth trails to my neck, lips grazing my mark as he sucks gently, his strokes on my clit growing faster, more desperate. I cry out as my hips buck, coating his fingers with my arousal.
He hums against my throat, tongue dragging languidly over my mark, sending waves of pleasure through my entire body.
I’m so lost in the haze of lust I barely notice when he lifts me again, carrying me out of the bathroom. A small sigh of satisfaction leaves me as his weight settles over mine on the couch. He grips my thighs and spreads them wide open.
I feel the hard length of him slide against my dripping entrance, teasing me, coaxing soft, needy moans from deep in my chest. His lips trail down the valley between my breasts, his thumb flicking over one already-hardened peak.
I shiver when his warm mouth wraps around my nipple, sucking gently, while his other hand massages the other breast. I writhe under him, desperate for more.
Then he slides a finger inside me—slowly.
I cry out, gripping his shoulders, the sound of my pleasure bouncing off the walls as he adds another finger and thrusts deeper.
He releases my nipple with a soft pop, his eyes locking onto mine. Slowly, he withdraws his fingers, glistening with my arousal, and brings them to his lips—licking them clean without breaking eye contact.
I feel him shift above me, the thick, hard length of him nudging at my entrance. My legs wrap around his waist on instinct, my body craving him.
“I’ve waited so long for this, Kali… I’m done waiting,” he growls, low and guttural.
Then he thrusts into me in one smooth, hard motion.
I gasp, my eyes flying open to meet his. He stills, jaw tight, waiting as I adjust around him. I grip his shoulders, urging him silently with my body to move.
He begins to thrust, slow and hard. Every stroke steals the breath from my lungs. He grips my thighs, kissing me with the same intensity, swallowing every sound I make.
His pace quickens. The obscene, wet sounds of us fill the room.
“Open your eyes,” he growls against my lips. “I want to see you when you come undone.”
My eyes snap open, locking onto his just as the orgasm slams into me. I cry out, trembling, convulsing around him as wave after wave rolls through me.
He doesn’t slow down. He drives into me through the pleasure, chasing his own release. His thrusts become rougher, more erratic, his breath ragged and uneven. Then with a deep, guttural groan, his body jerks, and I feel him spill inside me—hot, deep, and full—filling me completely.
He collapses over me, bracing himself with one arm beside my head. His other hand rises to my cheek, fingers brushing with a tenderness that makes my chest ache.
Our eyes meet.
He kisses me again—slow, reverent. A kiss that says everything he doesn’t have the words for. A kiss that marks me all over again.
And then I feel him—already hardening against my thigh.
A helpless moan escapes my lips, swallowed by his mouth.
He pulls back, eyes dark and full of sin, that familiar wicked smirk curving his lips. But this time, there’s something deeper in his gaze—something carnal. Claiming.
Without a word, he scoops me into his arms again and strides toward the bed with confidence. He doesn’t set me down gently this time.
He throws me.
Onto soft sheets that barely catch me before he’s climbing over me like a predator that hasn’t had his fill.
“Round one was for you,” he growls, voice rough and dripping with dominance. “Now…” His fingers curl around my thighs, dragging me down the bed toward him. “Now, it’s my turn.”
And I already know—
I won’t be walking tomorrow.