Powerless Read Online Free Page B

the soldier. I rebuttoned my pants and grabbed a black T-shirt with the Revolution insignia from the closet, before looking at Armise, who was just as visibly hard as I was. “We finish this later.”
    A darkness crossed Armise’s features, then he prowled across the room to me. “Fuck that. Fifteen minutes is more than enough time.”
    He popped the button on my pants and took my cock in his hand, kissing at my neck. He pushed my pants down, ripped the shirt from my hands and threw it to the side. He forcefully moved me backwards, and I couldn’t have stopped him if I’d wanted to.
    “Shower,” he prompted me, spinning me around and pushing me in that direction.
    He discarded his own clothes with thumps on the floor. I entered the bathroom and stepped under the spray of the shower. The water was too hot, pelting against my skin, raising red marks where it assaulted me. I flipped the temperature down, but not too much, because the coldness of Armise was behind me within seconds, bringing chill bumps to my arms, the familiar sensation of his frigid skin pressing up against my back.
    Armise kissed at my tattoo, ran his tongue over the scar, and I arched away from the uncomfortable feeling. His cock slid along the crack of my ass as he thrust against me. He pulled at my nipple piercing with one hand and circled the other around my dick, pumping me slowly, as he licked the rivulets that ran down my neck and over my shoulders.
    I dropped my forehead to the shower wall and pushed my ass into him, matching the movement of his hand so I was fucking back on him while he worked his hand down then over the head of my cock. His breath came in shallow gasps, a soft moan escaping his lips. I closed my eyes and gave in to the rhythm of our bodies moving together.
    Armise circled his hand around my hip, his finger digging into my skin as he rutted against me, his movements becoming more frantic, hurried, and erratic with each passing second.
    “Tighter,” I ground out.
    He coiled his fingers around my dick with brutal pressure until I could see stars behind my eyelids from the pain.
    “Fuck. Faster,” I ordered, my voice gruff and unhinged.
    He sped his hand on my cock, rubbed himself forcefully between my ass cheeks, rocking us forward and back. I let the pain of his tight grip drive me deeper, careening me towards the edge until I couldn’t hold on any longer and I was collapsing on the wall, my body shaking, racked with the intensity of his hand wrenching my release out of me. He spilled hot against my back with a muffled roar and bit down on my shoulder, most likely on my tattoo—over the last four months I’d discovered he had a penchant for leaving his own mark across that ink.
    I put my arms against the tile and settled my head on them. Armise reached around me and turned up the temperature. The hot spray hit my neck and shoulders, ran down my arms, over my cheekbones and off my lips as I caught my breath.
    Armise slid his hands over my torso, down the curve of my ass and up around my thighs. He grasped my hips then ran his palms over my stomach and my chest—rough hands on scarred skin, over and again—soaping me, washing away the grime accumulated on the last leg of our mission. He threaded his fingers through my hair, lathering the shampoo, the tepid water rinsing away the bubbled remnants almost immediately. I didn’t speak, didn’t question how comfortable—how abnormally normal—it felt to have him doing something that was so domestic.
    I could have stayed in the shower and under the press of Armise’s capable hands for hours. But I was overly cognizant of the passage of time and a pressing need to see the President’s face—whether in person or not—and make sure he was okay.
    I flipped my head back, slicking the wetness out of my hair, closing my eyes as I allowed the spray to beat directly onto my face. I opened my mouth, drinking it in—I hadn’t been able to do that safely in months—then spat the