My body locks up. "Ivy—"
"I'm on the pill," she breathes. "I trust you."
"You're sure?" I manage, the strain in my tone undeniable, my hand already wrapped tight around the base of my cock, holding back from slamming into her like I'm dying for it. "Because I swear to God, babe, I won't last long. Not like this. I've never—" I groan, forehead falling to her shoulder. "I've never fucked anyone barebefore."
She leans her head back into me, lips brushing my jaw. "Then make me the first."
I groan and slide inside her with a sharp thrust. The sensation is indescribable, each pulse and quiver of her body searing into me.
"You feel—fuck—so good like this. You're such a good girl for me." I grit, panting.
She moans loud and long, arching against me, and I start to move, pulling out just an inch before slamming back in hard. The shower rains down on us, steam rising around our bodies, turning everything dreamlike and hazy except for the crystal-clear sensation of being inside her.
"Look," I rasp, my palm gliding up her stomach, over her chest, until it finds her throat. I curl my fingers gently there, guiding her gaze back to the mirror. "I want you to see exactly what I do to you."
She obeys, and fuck me, it's everything. Her tits bounce with each thrust, mouth slick and parted, face twisted in raw pleasure. She takes me so deep, so perfectly, I swear her body was made to swallow mine whole. Through the steamy mirror, our eyes lock, and something passes between us—bigger than this moment, bigger than anything before.
"You see how beautiful you are? How you take me? How fucking perfect you look when I'm inside you?"
She nods frantically. "Caleb," she moans.
"You love it, don't you?" I whisper, dragging my tongue along the curve of her shoulder. "Letting me fuck you raw. You love how filthy this is."
"Yes, yes, I love it!"
I slip a hand between her legs, fingers sliding over her clit in quick, firm circles, and she loses it. Her walls clamp down so hard I nearly fall forward, her whole body quaking under my hands as she climaxes.
"You're gonna make me come," I grit, hips stuttering. "Shit, Ivy. Where do you want it?"
"Inside," she gasps, her voice shattering.
My hips snap forward once, twice, then I'm spilling into her with a shout, my body locking tight as I empty myself deep inside her. The world whites out for a moment, nothing existing but the place where we're connected, where I'm marking her in the most primal way possible.
It's the most intense orgasm I've had in my life. No question. No competition. Nothing comes close to what it feels like being buried inside her—completely, deeply—and knowing she wants me that way. That she chose me.
I hold her under the stream, water washing us clean, our heartbeats finally syncing again. She leans back into me, her body soft, her head tucked under my chin as we both watch the fogged-up mirror, still breathless and dazed.
"This is it for me," I whisper, my arms tightening around her. "You and me. Every Christmas. Every damn day."
Five Years Later
The bell above HarvestMoon Coffee chimes as I push through the door, and the familiar scent of espresso and fresh pastries welcomes me. Caleb's hand is warm in mine as we weave through the morning crowd, heading for the corner table where Kristal's already set up what suspiciously looks to be a mobile wedding command center.
Caleb looks relaxed in a soft T-shirt and dark jeans, his skin still carrying that golden glow from our recent trip to Thailand to visit my parents. The sun had been kind to him there, even if meditation with Sage and Jasper hadn't been his strong suit.
"You're three minutes late!" Kristal calls out, not looking up from her rose gold laptop. Her clipboard obsession has evolved into a full-blown tech empire, but that manic planner energy is exactlyhow I remember it from Matt and Sarah's big day. "But I'll forgive you, because you're my favorite couple this season."
"It's April," Caleb points out, pulling out my chair. "How many other spring couples do you have?"
"Seventeen." She finally looks up, her lined eyes widening. "Oh my stars, you two are even cuter than your engagement photos! Except for the duck chaos."
I laugh, remembering how they had crashed our photoshoot in the backyard. Ducky, now a distinguished gentleman of five years, had taken offense to the photographer's reflective lens and staged a full rebellion. The resulting mayhem produced some of my favorite pictures—Caleb trying to wrangle four indignant ducks while I collapsed in laughter, my vintage ring catching sunlight as I tried to help.
"The ducks are non-negotiable," Caleb says, already reaching for the coffee Kristal's ordered for us. "They're basically our kids at this point."
"Please tell me you're not planning to let them waddle down the aisle. The liability forms alone—"
"No ducks in the ceremony," I assure her, though Caleb's pout suggests we might have discussed this more than once at home. "But they do need a special place in the after party."
