So damn thick it feels like I’m splitting open, like he’s carving a space inside me that no one else has ever touched.
My hands press flat against the wall. My forehead follows, lips parted as I moan his name again.
He groans like he’s just found heaven.
“Fuck, Honey. You feel like a dream.”
His hips roll, slow and deep, giving me time to adjust—and when he pulls out and thrusts back in, the stretch is mind-numbing in the best possible way.
Every nerve ending sings.
Every thought is burned away until all that’s left is the delicious fullness of him, the wet slap of skin on skin, the steam and the heat and him.
I push back to meet his rhythm, my body greedy for more.
More of him. More of this.
Our movements build, faster, harder, as the shower continues to rain down on us, steam clouding the glass, our moans echoing in the tiled room like a duet only we can sing.
His hands roam—gripping my hips, sliding around to tease my breasts, to thumb over my nipples until I cry out, trembling, caught between pleasure and the desperate climb toward another peak.
“You gonna come for me again?” he growls.
“Yes, oh my God—yes, please.”
And when he reaches between us, fingers rubbing through my slick, strumming my needy clit like a master, I explode again—louder this time, his name breaking from my lips as I come apart around him.
“Fuck, Honey, you're squeezing my dick so damn tight!”
And then, he follows me into oblivion with a savage growl, thrusting deep one last time before pulsing inside me, holding me so tight I know he never wants to let go.
For a long moment, we stay like that.
Breathing. Shaking. Clinging.
When he finally pulls out, it’s with a soft, tender sound of regret—and a kiss pressed to the curve of my shoulder that makes my heart clench.
He helps me turn, his strong arms wrapping around me as water sluices over our bodies. He kisses my temple and murmurs something I don’t catch.
But I feel it.
In the way he touches me. In the way he holds me.
Like maybe he’s already mine.
Eb moves first after several long moments when we’re both just trying to find our breaths.
He reaches between my legs, rinsing his cum from my thighs, and he drops a tender kiss on my temple, stepping outside of the shower first—which I appreciate.
I need a moment to myself to process all this.
I mean, magic? Fated mates? Earth shattering sex?
Can this really be my life?
A few minutes later, and we’re both wrapped in towels, just standing in the middle of my bakery apartment like we haven’t just rewritten our entire universe, he leans down and kisses me once more.
“I didn’t plan any of this,” he murmurs, his voice rough. “But I’m not sorry.”
