The Boy Movie Brahms Heelshire x reader FanFic

I Am Yours - Part 45

Later, you both shower together.   It's almost like a ritual, to wash away the night's events; and Brahms insists on it.     As he undresses you, you feel numb and guilty.  You keep hearing Melinda's screams and threats.   You keep reliving the moment you pushed her through the window.   You can't erase the image of her broken body.   Brahms's fingers brush your skin as he undoes your robe.   Those fingers feel warm and sensual.   He slips the garment from your shoulders where it pools at your feet.  You watch him pull off the black cotton top; stare at his chest and belly, hard with muscles.  When he's undressed you both walk naked into the shower.  Needles of water sting your face.  Steam builds around you as his lips find yours.  There's something so powerfully erotic about being in water together; sharing each other's bodies, being as one.  It feels elemental, and incredibly sexual.   

He's kissing you more deeply now, and you respond in kind.  You feel his breath quicken, the passion builds between you both.    His beard tickles your face.  His tongue is insistent and probing.  You love the taste of him and his unique masculine scent.   As you kiss him back, your breasts crush against that chest.   He's so tall and strong you feel small and vulnerable; but not in a bad way.   It's the kind of way that thrills you.  The kind of way that makes you feel very feminine.   You're opposites and yet the same.  Yin and Yang. 

All his strength and power is reined in by the tenderness of your response.   And that's where your own power lies.   Your power over him.   You're his woman.   His mate.   He'll die for you.  Kill for you.   And you for him.

My Brahms...

Water streams through your scalp, rivulets criss-crossing your body.   Above you, his black curling hair glistens in  coils about his face and neck.  The muscles on his shoulders and arms glisten, each curve and swell shadowed and highlighted.  With an effort you break the kiss; then  take a handful of shower gel,  working it over his body.   His chest rises and falls as he watches you do this, both arms extended to each tiled wall of the shower.  The gel foams, its ocean perfume filling the cubicle.  You know you won't finish this cleansing ritual.   He'll take you long before that.  Reaching up you take his face in both hands, watching him blink against the spray.   Droplets hang from his lashes that are  clumped with moisture; his lips are parted, he's breathing heavily, holding back.  The oakmoss eyes flicker over your face, then down to your breasts. 

On tiptoe you stretch up to kiss him.   He holds back a little, as though teasing you.  You love the way he does this sometimes.   Often his passion overrides this restraint, and he'll be almost animalistic in his love making.  He'll be rough, bruising your mouth, making you cry out with a mix of fear and ecstasy; dominate you totally; bend you to his will.   Other times, he's so gentle it makes you cry, treating you like something made of glass; something precious and beloved.   He'll take you from behind, watching your face in a mirror.  He'll pin you to a wall, staring into your eyes as you come.  He'll bury his head in your hair, holding you round your waist, murmuring your name over and over like a prayer.  He'll come to you masked, firing up primordial fear.  But always, always, he comes to you with love.

You murmur, "Brahms!" into his mouth, inhaling his breath, breathing him in.   You feel his right hand come between your legs, and there's a fire down there, an ache only he can ease.  He knows how you are and where you are, and each intimate part of you responds to his touch.   He gets you into a state of such libidinous lust, you'd do anything he asked of you right now.  You're his passion, his desire, his slave.    He has an arm around your waist pulling you close.  You feel him hard and ready, and gasp.   Your bodies slide together, slick in the soapy foam.  You marvel, as you always do, when he pushes himself inside.  You're two halves of the same person; like creatures made to fit.    You cannot think, in this time and space, of ever doing this with any other man.   He's your addiction, your dark forbidden fruit.   And you love him so much it hurts.

You bring your legs up to encircle his waist, clinging to him as he swallows your cries with his mouth.   You both try to hold back, to prolong the pleasure for just a little longer; but as always you synchronise and shudder at the same moment.     Your head lolls back and water splashes into your face, forcing you to blink and close your eyes.  Brahms kisses your throat, smiling at the final moan you give.   

You're still tied to his body as he walks from the shower.  Soaking wet, he lays you down on the bed, using a towel to dry you.  You feel satiated but exhausted.  Lying there, you stare up at him as he strokes  your damp hair.  You've not spoken a word to each other.  You take his hand and kiss the palm.  

Brahms smiles.