His thighs lock, his whole body trembling with restraint. His grip spreads wider under my ass, holding me solid against the wall. “You want me to stop?”
“N-no. God, no. I’m okay,” I pant, clinging tighter around his neck. “It’s just… it’s been a few years. Don’t stop.”
His chest heaves against mine. “A few years?” He exhales sharply. “Damn, Georgie. You’re gonna feel every inch of me.”
He eases back, then thrusts in again, deeper.
“So… fucking tight. I can’t—” His breath snarls out, jaw tight. “Can’t even think.”
“P-Patrick—”
“Yeah… that’s it. Give me—those sounds. Don’t hold ‘em in. Don’t be shy with me.” A guttural groan shudders out of him. “This tight little cunt—gripping me—like it never wants to let go.”
“You’re so crude,” I gasp, half-aghast, half-coming apart. This is the kind of sex that changes you, that you spend the rest of your life trying to relive. I know I’ll compare every man after him to this moment. I know I’m probably making a terrible mistake.
But right now, I simply don’t care.
“It’s the truth. You feel—fucking—” a growl scrapes his throat, “incredible. So wet… I can feel… every pulse—around me.”
Another helpless sound bursts out of me, my nails clawing red lines into his shoulders, water slicking us together until we’re nothing but skin and steam. I can feel my pulse everywhere at once, like the water is carrying it.
“That’s it,” he growls, hips pounding deeper, water smacking against his back. “So fucking good. Give me everything.”
And I do. My body unravels in one violent wave, orgasm tearing through me. I clamp down on him, my body milking every inch.
He doesn’t stop. Keeps driving, breath hot and ragged against my neck, every thrust deeper, harder, until his control snaps. A guttural sound rips from his chest, echoing rough off the tiles as he shudders, spilling inside me.
For a moment, there’s nothing but pounding hearts and the rush of water over two naked bodies locked together.
The water keeps falling, but the world feels still. His breath finds mine, our foreheads pressed together.
Oh my god. I am Georgie; the woman who gets naked in an ice bath then has intense shower sex.
No, it’s bigger than that. So much bigger.
I am Georgie, and I just broke into the heavens and conquered a god.
Patrick
Her head rests against my shoulder, her hair sticking to my chest in damp curls. She’s half sprawled over me, skin warm and bare against mine, her thigh hooked over my hip. The sheets are a tangled mess around our legs, twisted evidence of how fast we stumbled out of the shower and into bed.
Outside the window, Portree sits quiet. Fishing boats rocking in the harbor like nothing’s changed. But everything has.
I never meant to take her against the shower wall. That wasn’t the plan. There wasn’t a plan. I just saw her, water running downher skin, and suddenly I had her pinned against the tiles with no thought beyondmore.
“You all right?” My hand moves over her back, checking. Making sure I haven’t hurt her. “Was I too rough, holding you up like that?”
She tips her chin up, eyes bright, a shy smile tugging at her mouth. “I might have bruises tomorrow.”
My whole body goes rigid.
She giggles, nose scrunching. “I’ll wear them like badges of honor. Battle scars from shower wrestling with a Yorkshire giant.”
“You’re so bloody small,” I mutter. “I forget my own strength.”
Half of me hates that I might’ve marked her. The other half, the primitive bastard part, gets a dark satisfaction knowing she’ll feel me on her skin for days.
“I can handle it.” Her voice goes softer, and she bites her lip. “I’m supposed to act cool now, aren’t I? Casual and sophisticated. Like I do this all the time.” She takes a shaky breath, and her whole face changes, becoming vulnerable and completely open. “But Patrick... that was the best sex of my life.”
