The heat and the water and the way he touched me—it was too much. I came hard, knees buckling. He held me tight, didn’t let me crumple, just wrapped both arms around my chest while I shook through it. My heart hammered so loud I thought he’d hear it over the spray. If he did, he didn’t say anything.
After, I sagged against him, boneless and wrung out. I was embarrassed at how quick it had been, but he just kept me there, stroking my side, not minding that I was shaking so bad I could barely stand. His cock pressed hot and heavy againstmy ass, but he didn’t do anything about it. Just held me until my breathing slowed.
I turned in his arms, looking up at him, and I saw it—the hunger, the need. He wanted me. Not just to fuck. All of me. The broken, battered mess.
I wanted him, too.
I reached for his cock, wrapped my hand around it the way I wished I knew how he liked, and he groaned, head falling forward until his forehead touched mine. “You sure?” he whispered again. I nodded. Didn’t trust myself to speak.
He kissed me, slow and deep, and this time he didn’t hold back. He pressed me up against the slick tile, his cock sliding between my legs. I hooked one leg around his hip, and he hissed, like he was trying not to lose it right then. He broke off, swearing, and got out of the shower. For one agonizing moment I thought he was going to leave, until he came back with a condom and lube. I nearly laughed at how stupid it had been that it didn’t occur to me, and that I should know better. I wasn't even on PrEP.
Then he swore a second time and threw the things on the counter, grabbing up a huge towel and holding it out for me to step into. "Better in bed," he said, and I agreed despite how hard and aching I was. Shower sex was good in theory, but I was shorter than him, and it had been a long time.
He dried me like I was precious and just dragged a towel absentmindedly over himself. I had to stop him going lower or it would have been all over, and I wanted more. Much more.
When we got into bed, he spent so long on prepping me, kissing me, I was ready to explode. But he didn’t hurt me. Not once. He just made me get on my hands and knees and lined up, careful and gentle, and when he pushed in, he went slow enough that I could breathe through the burn even if it was tremendous. I wasn't an ass-virgin, as I'd nearly lived with a guy, but I’d never had such care. I never felt like I could say stop and he wouldn't listen.
I didn’t want him to stop.
He fucked me slow, rocking into me, praising me quietly, truths spilling from his lips.
“God, you feel good,” he said, voice rough and nothing like the careful, perfect Cole I’d known. This was raw. This was wild.
I wanted more.
He groaned, a sound that vibrated straight through my chest, and thrust into me, slow and deep, and every time he bottomed out I saw stars. The pain was nothing, just a whisper compared to the heat rifling through me. I wanted to tell him but all that came out were broken noises, the kind that would have embarrassed me if it was anyone else. He didn’t laugh. He just pressed his lips to my back, marking a line of heat down my spine, like he needed to brand me.
Every touch was careful, every movement deliberate. He didn’t go faster until I begged, and when I did, he gave me exactly what I needed. The hand braced on my hip threatened to bruise, but I craved it. I wanted to wake up covered in reminders of him. Of this.
He reached around and took my cock again, working me in time with his thrusts. I was so sensitive I swore I’d black out, but he just murmured, “That’s it, love, let me see you,” and stroked me until I came again, shuddering so hard my arms gave out.
He caught me, didn’t let me fall. Not once.
“Good?” His voice was rough, barely more than a rumble against my ear.
I nodded, too strung out to speak. I wanted to say yes, wanted to say you have no idea, but my mind was just static with the lingering burn of being wanted.
He fucked me deeper, faster, his control finally slipping. Every thrust made me feel more alive. I wanted to be wrecked by him, wanted to give him something real, something no one else had ever touched. I expected to be in pain from my ribs. I should have been in agony, but somehow the heat from his body was keeping the pain away. It made zero sense.
When he came, it was sharp and sudden—a curse and a groan and my name, nothing else. He shook with it, arms braced around me, and for a second, we just froze like that, the world narrowed to this single moment where neither of us had to pretend.
He held me until I could breathe again, then kissed my shoulder, soft and almost apologetic.
“Not too much?” His voice was gentle. He was always gentle, even when he lost control.
“Perfect,” I managed, and felt his arms tighten. “I mean it.” He reached over for the towel and cleaned me, and I let him. I thought we’d just sleep, but he curled around me and held me so close I felt like maybe even the broken heart inside me could knit back together. His arm was slung heavy over my stomach, chin tucked against my hair, breath slow and steady as if he could keep the nightmares away by sheer will.
I didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to risk waking up and finding out it had all been a dream. I was warm, for once, my body pressed into his, the heat between us something fierce and protective. I let myself drift, eyes closed, and listened to the way his heartbeat thudded against my back. I matched my breaths to his, slow and even, and for the first time since I could remember, sleep actually came. Not the kind where you wake up every twenty minutes convinced you’re about to get jumped or frozen solid. Just real, deep sleep.
When I woke up, the light was fading, and I knew we’d slept the day away. I was still in his arms. His hand had drifted up, fingers curled under my ribs, thumb tracing lazy circles on my skin like he was soothing a nervous animal. I didn’t dare move. Every part of me ached, but it was a good ache. The kind that said I belonged here, even if it was only for this day.
He shifted behind me, just enough to press a kiss into my hair. “You awake?”
“Mmm.” My throat was dry. “Yeah.”
His voice was rough, sleepy. “How’s the pain?”
I checked. A little bit of everything, but nothing sharp enough to make me want to curl up and hide. “Better. Sore, but…you didn’t break me.”
