She put the necklace back on, knowing what it is. A symbol of surveillance transformed into something else entirely: her consent, her choice.
I can’t hold back. My mouth crashes against hers.
The kiss is frantic, desperate. Water runs down our faces, slicking our lips, salt and heat mixing. Her mouth opens beneath mine with equal fervor, her hands fisting in my shirt, pulling me closer as if we could drown in each other and still not be close enough.
My chest aches, but this time it’s not panic, it’s relief so sharp it burns. I feel her teeth catch mine, her breath ragged against my tongue, and I press harder, angling to take her deeper, greedier, until there’s nothing left between us but skin, water, and need.
She’s real. She’s here. And she’s chosen me.
The rain shower pours steadily above us, a low percussion against the tile, steam curling between us, clinging to our skin as though the room itself conspires to keep us bound. Her clothes are soaked through, plastered to her curves like a second skin. When my hands slide down her back, the fabric drags and clings, maddening in its refusal to yield. I tug at her hem, fingers desperate, half-clawing at the cotton as it sticks stubbornly to her body.
She breaks the kiss long enough to gasp a laugh, breathless and radiant even now. “This is impossible?—”
I huff against her jaw, lips grazing her skin, refusing to let her slip too far away. “Then help me,” I murmur, voice rough with need.
Her fingers find mine, guiding, fumbling with me until the fabric loosens. Together we peel it upward, every movement clumsy with urgency, her damp hair catching, our knuckles slipping. The wet shirt resists until finally it gives, and she lifts her arms, letting me strip it away. It falls to the shower floor with a sodden slap, already forgotten.
The sight of her—skin glistening under the cascade, droplets running down the delicate line of her collarbone—robs me of breath. My throat works, words nearly failing, but she’s already tugging at me in return, small hands insistent at the edge of my shirt.
“Yours too,” she whispers, fierce in her intent, and the sound of it makes something unspool in me.
I raise my arms, surrendering myself to her haste, letting her wrestle the drenched fabric upward. She curses softly under her breath when it sticks, and I can’t help but smile. Even in this frenzy, even as heat coils through me like fire, she’s here with me—laughing, cursing, choosing.
When the shirt finally tears free, it joins hers on the tile, and her hands are on me again, palms flattening against my chest as though she can’t decide between touching and holding, wanting and needing. My own hands are already moving, skimming across her bare shoulders, down her spine, memorizing her as if the water might wash her away if I don’t claim her fast enough.
Her eyes lift to mine, green and bright even through the steam. Neither of us speaks for a long moment. There’s only the rush of water, the sharp cadence of our breaths, and the weight of what this means—what it hasalwaysmeant.
Slowly, almost clumsily, we finish what we began. Damp fabric clings obstinately until it yields, falling in soggy heaps atour feet. Each piece stripped away feels like a barrier dissolved, another layer of pretense surrendered.
And then she is bare before me. Only the diamond at her throat, luminous against the curve of her collarbone, adorns her. She couldn’t look more perfect if she tried…except, perhaps, with my ring on her finger. The thought lances through me, a promise I can’t yet voice, but which roots itself deeper in my chest.
My gaze drags over her, reverent and unhurried despite the urgency pounding through me. Every line of her body is an act of creation I can scarcely believe I’m allowed to witness. She is goddess made flesh, miracle and myth entwined, and somehow—impossibly—mine.
I’m stripped bare as well, the last of my restraint cast aside, and I feel her eyes on me. Hunger flickers in them now, unmistakable, mirroring my own. It undoes me more thoroughly than any word she could say.
The water slicks over us, heat and gravity conspiring, and I can’t keep myself from her. I haul her against me, skin to skin, chest to chest, mouths clashing as though we’re trying to consume the distance that’s tormented us for too long. Her lips are wet and insistent, her body a pliant, demanding echo of my own. My hands roam without thought, possessive, tracing every curve as if mapping holy ground.
But then—before I lose all sense of speech—I pull back, cradling her face in both hands. Her cheeks are flushed, wet with water and breathless heat, and I force the words past the raw edge of my throat.
“I want you so badly, Olivia.” My thumbs sweep across her damp skin, my forehead nearly touching hers. “Please, will you let me have you?”
For a heartbeat too long, she only looks at me, jade eyes wide and searching, and the old anxiety pricks cruelly at the edges of my chest.
Then, her lips curve into the smallest smile, tender and knowing. She leans forward to press a chaste kiss against my mouth, a deliberate contrast to the frenzy of moments before. Then her hand slips downward, slow, deliberate, trailing across my chest and stomach until it reaches lower. The touch steals the air from my lungs.
“Yes,” she whispers, breath tickling my lips. Her fingers wrap around my length, tightening around me, and her voice comes again, velvet and certain. “Because I want you too.”
Something inside me gives way at once, a dam breaking, control snapping like glass beneath the weight of her permission. A groan tears loose from my chest as I seize her hips, turning her sharply. Her palms splay against the slick marble, bracing herself against the wall as I crowd in behind her.
“Arch your back, baby,” I tell her, and she obeys instantly, jutting her ass out. The sight sparks a salacious idea, temptation in its purest form.
The image of me gripping her hips and pounding into her from behind as she screams in ecstasy invades my mind. I know no one’s ever touched her there before, and I wonder if she’d allow me the privilege of being the first…and theonlyone to have her that way.
Unable to help myself, my fingers trail to her forbidden entrance and experiment with light pressure, watching her closely for a reaction. Her lips part with a sound caught between a gasp and a moan.
She isn’t opposed to it.My mind leaps ahead of itself.Maybe she wants it too.But I force myself to see reason.
One day, I will claim every part of this woman. But not today. When she yields that final boundary to me, I want it to be good for her—and right now, I’m too far gone to be careful.
