Her eyes swam with tears. They spilled over, sliding down her face. He was completely naked to her. Wide open. It was unbearable.
Shame transformed instantly into anger. For a moment, he hated her for witnessing his weakness. He shoved her away from him.
She stumbled back, startled. When he dared to look at her again, her gaze was wide and cautious. She was wiping her eyes, covering her breasts with her hands, backing away. Too late for that. Power welled up inside him, sexual and dangerous. His cock jutted toward her.
He advanced on her. "You want to know me, Erin? I'll show you everything I've got. Let's go into the bathroom and get started."
Her eyes were full of tremulous uncertainty. "Connor? I—"
"I want to wash my come off you. Then I want to fuck you in the shower. And I want to do it now. So move."
Her mouth snapped shut, and she gave him a jerky nod. Her slender back trembled as she preceded him into the bathroom.
He'd scared her. He almost relented, and then he thought of that naked moment at her breast. She had tricked him into this. No masks, no mercy. She showed him hers, he'd show her his.
It wasn't his fault if she didn't like everything she found.
The bathroom was still humid and perfumed from her hair goop. He wrenched aside the shower curtain, set the hot water running, and motioned for her to get into the tub.
She was silent and wide-eyed, hot water pounding down and soaking her curtain of dark hair. He grabbed the shower gel, sudsed up his hands and turned her around, yanking her back against him so his cock was pressed against her ass. He washed his sticky come off her belly, her breasts, touching her with proprietary boldness. She reached down to wash between her legs, but he grabbed her hand.
"No. Don't wash your lube away. It's better than soap or water, and you're really tight and small. You're going to need all of it."
She shivered at his matter-of-fact tone. He covered her soapy hands with his and pressed them against her breasts, glad for any excuse to fondle them. He shoved her legs wider so he could nudge his cock between her thighs and set his teeth against the tender curve between neck and shoulder.
"Still want to know what's under my mask, Erin?" He slid his fingers down to tangle in the curls between her legs. "Still convinced?"
He was taunting her. He couldn't help it. He almost wanted her to chicken out, so they would have to stop. So they wouldn't slide down this slippery slope to God knew what.
She pressed her body back against him, clasping his cock between her clenched thighs, and turned up her wet, flushed face to him. Her eyes glowed with primal female challenge.
"Yes," she said simply.
Water pounded around them. If she had been any less heightened, the look on his face would have terrified her. He pushed her until she tipped forward.
"Brace yourself against the wall." His voice was harsh and breathless. "Spread your legs wider."
"Connor?" She caught herself against the cold, wet tile.
He gripped her hips and bent her over. "You want me to put my mask back on? Just say the word if the real me is too scary for you."
"This does not give you the right to act like a prick!" Her voice choked off when he slid his fingers between her legs.
"Oh, I'm not acting," he said. "I thought that was the whole point."
He nudged the head of his penis between her soft folds, and pushed. He seemed impossibly large from this angle. Her body bore down on him, and he slowed, stroking her hips. "Arch your back," he commanded. "It'll make it easier for you."
"This isn't for me, though," she snapped. "This is all for you."
He shoved himself deeper. "You showed me yours, and I'm showing you mine. I'm just following my instincts. That's all there is under the mask, Erin. Instinct. Appetite. We're all just selfish, hungry animals underneath."
That's not true, she wanted to cry out, but she was too overwhelmed by his body, penetrating and invading her. Her arms trembled with the strain, and her hair hung down like a dripping curtain before her eyes. He thrust into her again, and a blaze of startled heat kindled. She quivered, softened around him.
He made a low, approving sound and gripped her hips, pulsing and pressing himself against that hot spot deep inside, a font of sensation so new, her brain barely knew how to process it She pushed against him, seeking more, but he controlled the rhythm completely.
"See? It's not just for me," he said. "You get it now?"
She reached down to touch herself, but a single trembling arm wasn't strong or stable enough to brace her weight against the wall. She had to use both. He slid his own hand around her hips immediately, and found her clitoris with his fingertip, teasing it tenderly.
"I've got you," he said. "I'll take care of you, Erin."
Then he let himself go and took her deep and hard. She cried out and stumbled closer to the wall, bracing herself with her folded forearms. She gave in to it. Every deep, gliding thrust stoked that secret glow inside her, every seductive stroke was slicker, more liquid.
But Connor was angry with her, and she didn't know why. She felt the barely restrained violence with which he was using her body, and thought of how her father had betrayed him, abandoned him to die. The searing anger that must have caused. Rage that had no outlet.
Until now, a voice in her head whispered. She'd offered herself up on a silver platter. Here she was, naked and bent over for his pleasure.
He felt the fear and shame that clutched her, and stopped. He was shoved so deep inside her, she felt him pressing against her womb.
"Had enough, Erin? Want the mask back?"
"No, I don't want masks! That's not what I want at all, Connor—"
"Then what the fuck do you want?" he panted.
I want you to love me. She stopped the words just in time. "I want to turn around," she said. "I need to see your face. Your eyes."
He pulled out and spun her around, pushing her back against the wall. He wasted no time in scooping her leg up to dangle it over his arm.
He drove inside her once again. Water pounded, steam billowed. Erin gasped for breath and hung onto his shoulders, just as she hung onto the piercing comprehension that had come to her when she had held his head at her breast. The pang of grief and empathy for a bereft, motherless little boy. The longing she ached to soothe.
That was the shining truth beneath all this push and shove. She was in love with him. She wanted all of him, every face, every side: the furious demon lover, the grieving child, the tender seducer, the gallant protector. She loved them all, and if surrendering could prove that to him, then surrender she would. She had no choice anyway; he ravished her senses, he flooded her body with wild heat. She melted around him in an endless, shivering climax that embraced everything he was: his body, his passion, his pain, his anger. She wanted it all.
He wrenched himself out of her with a shout, seizing her hand and wrapping her fingers around his shaft. He erupted. Jets of hot semen welled up and trickled over their interlocked fingers.
They sagged to their knees together in the ankle-deep water. After three tries, Connor finally managed to raise his arm high enough to push down the faucet knob. Silence, and then the hollow drip of the shower. They clung to each other, trembling.
Connor was the first to raise his head. He tried to smooth back the soaked hair that clung to her face. "Erin—"
"No," she said.
He frowned. "No, what?"
"No, you didn't hurt me, so stop worrying. It was fabulous."
He looked mystified. "How did you know what I was going to say?"
"Must've learned the mind-reading trick from you," she said, nuzzling his throat. '"You made me angry, but you didn't hurt me. You couldn't. You don't have it in you. You're too sweet."