“I will.” She smiles up at me. “I know how consent works, Knox. And it goes both ways.”
I nod once and reach past her for the water, adjusting it a notch warmer. She shivers with it and then settles. I pull her back under the spray, shoulder to shoulder, side to side, bodies lined up. Hands find places to fit. Mouths do the rest. The steam blurs edges and makes the room feel closer and safer.
Somehow, we become one.
I’ve got her pressed against the tile, my forearms bracketing her head. Her brown eyes are almost as dark as mine, and I can’t look away. Especially when my cock makes them roll back. Her face is flushed, rivulets racing down her cheeks from the showerhead. I suck her bottom lip into my mouth when she groans.
“Like that.”
I release her lip, nuzzle against her neck, and mutter the only thing on my mind. “Fuck, baby, I can’t get enough of you tonight.”
“Then keep going,” she purrs as her pussy tightens on me.
Time thins. Breath shortens. The sound she makes when she’s close is quiet and sure. She clenches my shoulders and lets out a low yes that turns into a laugh at the end. It’s the best thing I’ve heard all week. I follow over that edge with her, not because I force it, but because I have no other choice.
We stand under the water while our pulses come back down. My guilt hasn’t vanished. Real guilt doesn’t evaporate. It’s worn smooth around the edges. Manageable. I can pick it up later and carry it without dropping everything else.
“You okay?”
She blows out a breath. “Better than.”
I kiss her earlobe. “Good.”
We turn off the water. The sudden quiet rings in my ears. I grab a towel and wrap it around her shoulders, rub her arms briskly, then take a second towel for her hair. Another for me.
She watches me in the mirror while I blot my face. Steam gives us blurred versions of ourselves that look softer than we are. She looks younger like this, which is saying something. But there’s a maturity in her eyes that speaks to decades of hard times. I don’t know her whole story, but I bet it’s one hell of a ride.
Robes on, we step back into the hall. The suite is the same room we left. TV still blue. City still flashing. Salem now on his side,dead to the world. Houston awake enough to look up and track us with a small, satisfied line for a smile before sleep pulls him under again.
“You really thought this was a bad idea?” she asks me.
“Yes.”
“So why can’t you stop?”
I look at her and don’t try to hide it. “Because you’re easy to be around.”
She blinks at that, like it’s not what she expected. “That’s it?”
“Not a lot of people are.”
She tucks a strand behind her ear. “I’m not after anything.”
“I know.”
“I know what this life looks like. I’m not interested.”
“I know that too.” I can tell. She’s nothing like the groupies we usually hook up with. There’s no ambition, other than figuring out her next steps. No asking for money or favors. No bag of drugs that made an appearance.
Just a woman in a bad spot, thanks to our idiot brother.
My mind tries to jam every worry back onto the stage. I let most of them fall through the trapdoor. The big ones can wait until morning. The bigger one is already quieter than it was an hour ago.
I fall asleep thinking about the click of the lock, the yes in her voice, the way the steam softened everything that neededsoftening. Guilt’s still there, but it’s not steering. It can ride in the back.
Sometimes the bad idea is just a good one that came at the wrong time.
I’ll pay for the complications later. For now, I sleep.
