"No, the kissing part," he clarifies, adjusting the temperature until steam begins to rise around us. "The shower was improvisation."
I'm about to deliver some witty comeback when he places me down in front of him and his hands find the hem of my soaked sweater. "This is in the way," he murmurs, his voice dropping to that low register that makes my insides clench.
I raise my arms, letting him pull the heavy, wet fabric over my head. He tosses it with a wet slap onto the tile floor. My thermal layer follows, then my sports bra, until I'm bare from the waist up, water cascading down my skin.
His eyes darken as he takes me in. "Fuck, Charlie."
I should feel exposed, vulnerable. Instead, I feel powerful. Wanted.
Feeling bold I reach for his layers now. "Your turn."
We continue undressing each other with fumbling urgency, laughing when I nearly fall trying to peel off my thermal leggings, groaning when my fingers brush against his erection through his boxer briefs and soon we're both naked.
Bash spins me around so suddenly that my palms slap against the cool tile to catch myself. The shock of cold against my overheated skin makes me gasp—a sharp contrast to the scalding water still cascading down my back between us. His body molds against me, every hard plane and muscle pressed flush against the length of me as if trying to imprint himself into my skin through sheer force of will.
"Is this okay?" The question ghosts across the shell of my ear, his breath hot and uneven against the water-slicked curve of my neck. One broad hand splays across my stomach, fingertips tracing hypnotic circles just above where my hips begin their dangerous curves.
"Yes," I manage, even though my throat feels tight. The word comes out rougher than I intend, half moan, half plea. I twist a little to see his face over my shoulder, catching the way his pupils have blown so wide the glacial blue of his irises is just a thin ring of color.
"More than okay," I add, arching back into him when his teeth find that sensitive spot beneath my ear. The teasing scrape sends sparks skittering down my spine straight to where I already ache for him.
His hands begin a slow, torturous exploration—down the slope of my waist, curving possessively over my hips before sliding back up to claim my breasts. His thumbs brush my tightening nipples with just the right amount of pressure, and I can't help the way my back bows, pressing every inch of skin I can against him.
"Do you have any idea," he rumbles, the words vibrating against the nape of my neck in a way that's making my toes curl, "how much I've been thinking about this? About you?" The deliberate drag of his erection along the dip of my lower back punctuates the question like an exclamation point.
I can feel the answering throb between my legs, the heat pooling there making my thighs tremble. His sheer, unapologetic want is intoxicating—no pretenses, no games beyond the delicious teasing of his wandering hands.
One large palm glides up to cradle my throat, not restricting but claiming, his fingers spreading wide over my fluttering pulse. His other hand traces lower,following the water's path down the curve of my spine before wrapping around my side and landing between my thighs in a slow, exploratory stroke that has me gasping his name.
"Tell me," I demand, voice catching when his fingers withdraw just as quickly. The shower spray drums against my back, the sound nearly drowning out my labored breathing, but I know he hears me from the way his lips quirk against my shoulder.
His teeth graze the delicate shell of my ear, followed by the damp heat of his tongue. "I've wanted you every day since that first night." His fingers return with purpose, slipping through slick folds to find me more than ready. The blunt press of two fingers inside has my head falling back against his shoulder. "Thought about how you taste," he continues, curling those clever fingers in a way that punches a moan from my throat, "how you sound when you come." His thumb circles my clit with just enough pressure to make my vision blur at the edges. "How tight you get around me when you're close."
As if to prove his point, he scissors his fingers slightly, the stretch burning so perfectly I can't help rocking back onto his hand. The tile is cool against my front, his body scorching behind me, the push and pull of contrasting sensations makes every nerve ending sing.
"That's it," he praises, voice gone rough and ragged as I chase the friction of his touch.
The hand that's wrapped around my throat slightly tightens, tilting my head back so he can claim my mouth in a searing kiss.
His kiss turns filthy, all teeth and tongue and hungry noises between us, his fingers working me with relentless precision. The steam thrums thick around us, wrapping us in our own shared, humid world where nothing exists except his hands on me, his body surrounding me, his voice low in my ear—
"Sebastian," I gasp against his lips, his name ripped from me as my hips stutter against his hand.
He stills for one breathtaking moment before renewing his efforts with single-minded focus. "Say it again," he demands, his thumb pressing hard against my clit as his fingers continue thrusting deep.
"Sebastian," I cry out again, feeling my walls start to clench around him. The name becomes my anchor, my prayer, the only word left in my vocabulary as pleasure winds tight in my core.
"I've got you," he promises against my damp skin, lips trailing fire along my shoulder. His rhythm never falters, his wrist flexing with each precise movement. "Let go, Charlie. I want to feel you come apart on my fingers."
And with that the orgasm crests like a rogue wave—one moment I'm teetering on the precipice, the next I'm tumbling into freefall, my cry echoing off the shower tiles as pleasure whites out my vision. He works me through every pulse and shudder, murmuring praise that barely registers through the ringing in my ears.
When I finally come back to myself, boneless and breathless, he slowly withdraws his fingers and I turn in his arms to face him properly. The raw hunger in his gaze steals what little breath I'd managed to regain—there's no artifice now, just naked want and something deeper that makes my stomach swoop.
"My turn," I murmur, letting my own hands explore the carved planes of his chest before trailing lower. His stomach muscles jump under my touch as I wrap my fingers around the thick length of him, eliciting a sharp inhale between clenched teeth.
"Charlie, you don't have to—" His protest dies when I rise up on my toes to silence him with a kiss, my fist tightening just enough to make his knees buckle slightly.
"I want to," I say against his lips as I turn us so that now his back is pressed against the wall before dropping slowly to my knees on the shower floor.
