His hands were everywhere, gripping her thighs, her ass, all of her, like he was claiming what had been his all along.
The only sound between them was the rush of water, the quickening of breath, the unspoken promise crackling like a live wire in the space between their mouths—a moment balanced on the edge of collision.
He needed more.
He spun her effortlessly, pinning her to the cold tile, his heat crashing into her—all rough, unrelenting contrast that sent a shiver rippling through her.
His mouth found her throat, his tongue tracing fire over the flutter of her pulse before dragging down, nipping the skin above her collarbone.
Her knees buckled.
“Gideon—”
He caught her. Pressed her back against the cool tile, his thigh sliding between hers.
“No turning back now,” he rasped, voice a low growl in her ear. “Not after that invitation. Not when I’ve imagined the sounds you make in my head.”
His voice was rough, ragged. Not a boast. A confession.
Her breath caught, sharp and unguarded, as his hands traced a path from her ribs to her hips—slow, certain, claiming.
She arched into him, needy and fearless, offering everything without a word.
“Then stop imagining.”
Her nails dug into his shoulders.
“Show me.”
And with a low, broken sound—he did.
He didn’t wait.
Didn’t ask.
Just took.
Gideon surged forward, hands gripping Arden’s thighs as he lifted her against the cool tile. Her legs wrapped around his waist like instinct. The heat of her seared through him—through every last shred of control he had left.
Water spilled over them, hot and relentless, but he barely felt it.
All he felt was her.
Her mouth parted on a gasp, and he caught it with his own. Brutal. Breathless. His tongue claimed hers, deep and hungry, but not close to enough.
She was fire in his arms—arching, gasping, grinding against the thick press of him like she wanted to burn the world down.
And fuck, he’d let her.
His mouth tore from hers, dragging down her throat, his teeth grazing that sensitive spot beneath her ear, the one that made her shiver.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” he ground out, voice shredded with restraint. His mouth trailed lower, nipping at her collarbone as his hips pressed into hers, deliberate and heavy.
She let out a breathy sigh, hot and unsteady—gone as fast when he rolled his hips again, grinding her against the slick wall, making sure she felt every hard inch of what she was doing to him.
“Then stop talking,” she whispered, voice trembling, daring. “Do something.”
His answer was physical.
