A laugh slips out of me, breathy and a little shaky. “That sounds terrifying.”
His mouth curves into a crooked smile. “Yeah. But terrifying can be good.”
He slides into me more forcefully, thrusting in at a punishing pace, and I know another earth-shattering orgasm is about to rip through me.
“Javi, I’m so close, baby,” I moan.
His hand comes up, gripping my chin, his presence suddenly all control and command, and it sends a rush of heat straight through me. I love it. I want him like this. I want to give over tothe way he takes control, the way he makes me feel owned and safe all at once.
His grip tightens on my chin, forcing my eyes to his, and something snaps loose inside me. The room tilts. My breath stutters, lungs burning as the pressure coils tighter and tighter low in my belly, every nerve humming like a live wire. My back bows off the mattress as the first wave crashes through me, sharp and blinding, my walls clenching around him in uncontrollable pulses. A broken cry tears out of my throat, my fingers scrambling for anything solid as heat detonates through my hips and down my thighs, leaving me shaking and open and wrecked.
The way my body locks around him pulls a raw sound from his chest, a deep, helpless groan that turns into a fractured curse as his rhythm falters. His forehead drops to mine, breath ragged, jaw tight, and then his hips jerk hard, once, twice, like his body can’t hold itself together anymore. I feel him shudder against me, his grip bruising on my hips, his breath coming in uneven bursts against my mouth and cheek. The tension in him breaks in a full-body release, muscles going taut and then melting, like he’s been cut loose from something he’s been holding back for way too long.
We cling to each other in the aftermath, slick skin pressed together, both of us breathing like we just ran a mile in a storm. My pulse is still fluttering everywhere at once, little aftershocks rippling through me every time he shifts or exhales against my neck. His arms stay wrapped tight around me, protective and grounding, like he’s making sure I’m real, like we’re both still here.
SEVENTEEN
REV
I don’t lether drift too far into that loose, hazy quiet before I’m nudging her upright, my hand settling at her lower back like it belongs there. “C’mon,” I murmur against her hair. “Shower.”
She blinks up at me, lashes heavy, mouth still soft from smiling. “You always this bossy?”
“…No,” I admit with a smirk, “But I’ll do anything to take care of you.” I say, steering her toward the bathroom.
She bumps into me on purpose as I turn the water on, a quiet laugh slipping out of her, and the steam starts climbing the walls almost instantly, fogging the mirror, shrinking the world down to tile and warmth and the steady drum of water.
I grab the shampoo and work it gently into her hair first, slow circles of my fingers against her scalp. She tilts her head back without me asking, eyes closing, a soft sound leaving her throat like her body recognizes care when it finds it.
“That feels really good,” she murmurs.
I rinse her hair carefully, shielding her face from the spray, then reach for the soap and a loofa. I move slowly, deliberately, washing her shoulders, her arms, her back, every inch of skin I can reach with unhurried care. Not rushing this, just making sure she’s warm, clean, and comfortable.
She relaxes into it more, her weight leaning into me, her breath evening out. At one point she rests her forehead against my chest, trusting me to keep her steady under the water.
“You okay?” I ask quietly, brushing my thumb along her arm.
She nods. “Yeah. I just… I really like being taken care of.”
The words land deep and heavy in the best way. My chest tightens, something protective and steady settling into place. I press a kiss into her hair and keep going, finishing carefully, rinsing the soap away, making sure she’s warm before turning the water off.
When we step out, I wrap her in a towel before she can even reach for one herself.
“I can do that,” she protests half-heartedly, trying to steal it back.
“I know,” I tell her, already drying her hair. “Let me.”
She stills, watching me instead, something soft and open in her expression as I finish drying her off and brush a quick kiss against her temple. I pull one of my shirts over her head, then a pair of shorts, watching her disappear into my clothes like she belongs there. The sight hits straight in the chest.
I tug on gray sweats and reach for her hand. She laces her fingers through mine easily and I lead her into the kitchen. I lifther onto the counter, hands steady at her hips. She smiles at me, slower this time.
Coffee starts brewing, the kitchen filling with that rich, familiar smell. I move around the space on instinct, cracking eggs into a pan, grabbing plates, settling into a rhythm that feels grounding and real. I steal kisses whenever I pass close enough. Her cheek. Her forehead. The corner of her mouth.
“You’re spoiling me,” she murmurs, fingers catching lightly in my shirt when I lean in again.
“Good,” I say simply.
I slide the plate toward her first and step in between her knees, resting my hands on her thighs, letting myself breathe her in for a second. The quiet hum of the kitchen wraps around us, comfortable and warm and steady.
