"Not mine," I protest, but my body is calling me a liar, clenching around him like it never wants to let go.
"No?" He changes angles, hits that spot that makes me see colors that shouldn't exist, and I stop arguing because who cares about ownership when you're about to shatter into a thousand pieces? "Then why are you here?"
I can't answer because answering would require thinking and thinking is the enemy of this feeling building in my spine, spreading outward like wildfire. I'm just sensation now—the stretch of him inside me, the water streaming over us, his hands gripping my hips hard enough to bruise, the sound of skin against skin echoing off expensive tile.
Dylan chooses that moment to knock on the bathroom door.
"Uncle Z? You in there? I brought bagels!"
We freeze. Zane's still inside me, I'm pressed against glass like an anatomy chart, and his seventeen-year-old nephew is ten feet away. My vagina is literally clenching around him in panic, which he definitely notices based on his groan.
"Five minutes!" Zane calls back, his voice impressively steady for someone currently balls-deep in disaster.
"Cool! I'll make coffee! Also, walls are thin, just FYI!"
We wait until footsteps retreat, then Zane starts laughing—actually laughing—his whole body shaking with it, which does interesting things considering our current position and the fact that his penis is still inside me at what I estimate to be a 47-degree angle.
"This isn't funny," I hiss, but I'm laughing too, because what else can you do when you're caught mid-coitus by a teenager bearing breakfast foods?
"This is hilarious," he corrects, thrusting once, making me gasp. "Also probably traumatizing if he figures it out."
"He's nineteen. He knows what shower sex sounds like. He probably has a PowerPoint about it."
"Thank you for that horrifying insight into teenage awareness."
He pulls out—we both wince at the loss—and sets me down carefully. I can immediately feel his cum dripping down my thigh, mixing with the water. "We should probably..."
"Yeah." But he's kissing me again, soft and domestic, and it's more dangerous than the sex. "After breakfast?"
"I have a shift at three."
"Plenty of time."
We clean up quickly, and I'm hyperaware that I'm about to meet his nephew while his cum is literally inside me, probably swimming around looking for eggs that may or may not have already been fertilized. My disaster life has reached new peaks of inappropriate.
I'm wearing one of his t-shirts and my jeans from yesterday, looking like a walk of shame sponsored by bad decisions and fertility anxiety, when Dylan properly introduces himself in the kitchen. He's got Zane's bone structure but softer somehow, hasn't been sharpened by violence yet. His eyes are too knowing for seventeen.
"You're the nurse," he says, and it's not a question. "The one making him smile at his phone like an idiot."
"Dylan," Zane warns.
"What? It's true." Dylan turns back to me. "He's been different since you. Better different. Less likely to punch walls different."
"I don't punch walls," Zane protests.
"You literally punched a wall last month. I have photos. And video. And the repair bill."
I laugh, and something in Dylan's expression shifts—approval, maybe. "I like her," he announces to Zane. "Don't fuck it up."
"Language," Zane says automatically.
"You literally said 'fuck' twelve times in the shower," Dylan points out, then grins at our mortified faces. "Thin walls. Might want to remember that next time you're... discussing medical procedures. Very educational, by the way. I learned a lot about cervical mucus."
I bury my face in my hands. "Please kill me. I'm a medical professional. I can tell you exactly where to aim for quick death. Medulla oblongata. Quick and painless."
"Nah," Dylan says, sliding a bagel toward me. "You're good for him. Even if you are loud. And very thorough about biological processes."
"I'm going to die," I announce. "Right here. In this beautiful kitchen. Of mortification. My autopsy will list cause of death as 'acute embarrassment with complications from reproductive irresponsibility.'"
