He was facing the wall, water cascading over those perfect muscles, and yet all I could focus on was him. His pleasure. The raw, unfiltered way he gave in to the need I’d put in him. His back was arched, muscles taut, hand wrapped tight around his cock. The way his breath caught, the guttural sound he made when he was almost there… I’ll never forget it. I burned it into my memory like a secret I’ll keep forever.
It was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen—and it made my thighs clench with need.
I almost walked in, dropped the towel, and asked him to let me finish what we started. I wanted to touch him, taste him, claim him the way he touched and claimed me. But I froze.
I chickened out.
Instead, I turned on my heel, walked into the bedroom like I wasn’t melting from the inside out, and wore something comfy.
But my mind? Still in that damn shower.
Still imagining what it would feel like to fall apart on his tongue.
Still craving the moment he stops holding back… and finally, finally takes all of me.
I make my way to the kitchen, legs still trembling with the ghost of his touch. My body is buzzing, my mind spinning, but I try to anchor myself in the mundane. Coffee. Mugs. A familiar routine that doesn't feel so overwhelming, unlike the man still burning in my veins.
I focus on the clink of the spoon against the ceramic, the hum of the kettle, anything to keep me from replaying the image of him lost in pleasure in that shower.
Then I feel him behind me.
Quiet. Hesitant.
Like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to step into this part of my world.
Does he regret what happened?
Do I?
“I made coffee,” I murmur without turning around, keeping my voice even. “I found these coffee capsules but we have nothing for breakfast.”
“Izzy?”
Just one word. My name. But the way he says it? Like it’s a vow. Like he’s stitching me back together with every syllable.
I turn, and he’s standing there—barefoot, trousers slung low on his hips, damp curls falling into his eyes. He’s a mess of heat and tenderness, and when he opens his arms, I hesitate for half a second before I melt into him.
His chest is warm and solid, and I bury my face against it, inhaling him—clean soap, faint musk, something entirely Nate. My arms wrap around his waist like they belong there. Like I’ve been waiting for this moment for years without even realizing it.
“We’re not kids anymore,” he says softly, his thumb brushing against my jaw. “But you’ve always belonged here.”
I nod, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. My heart’s racing like it wants to burst free and crash into his.
He leans back just enough to look into my eyes, a smile playing on his lips. “How about we go shopping? We need food, some clothes… and after that, whatever you want.”
I should say something normal. I should joke, or deflect, or pretend like I’m not completely unraveling in his arms.
But instead, my mouth betrays my heart. “Let’s do it”
“Okay, coffee first, then we will call a ride.”
“I didn’t mean the shopping,” I say quietly. “Let’s get married.”
His brows shoot up, and for a moment, he just stares at me, like he’s making sure he heard right.
“Are you sure?”
I nod, a soft smile tugging at my lips. “You already know me. You know all the broken, complicated pieces. At least this way… I won’t feel judged. It’s not perfect, but… what could go wrong?”
