“Hold on to me,” he growls against my lips.
I do. My arms circle his neck, fingers digging into the wet muscles of his shoulders as he positions himself at my entrance. The anticipation is unbearable — I can feel him there, thick and hard and so close — and I whimper, trying to sink down onto him.
“Breaker, please."
He thrusts.
The stretch is perfect, overwhelming, everything I need. I cry out, the sound bouncing off the tile, mixing with the rush of water and his guttural groan. He fills me completely, buried to the hilt, and for a moment neither of us moves. We just breathe together, foreheads pressed together, adjusting to the feeling of being joined.
“You okay, Riley?” he rasps, and even now, even lost in his own need, he checks on me. My heart swells.
“More than okay.” I roll my hips experimentally, and we both moan. “Now move. Fuck me.”
He doesn't need to be told twice.
His hands grip my thighs, holding me pinned against the wall as he pulls back and fills me again. The angle is deep and perfect — he hits that spot inside me with every thrust, the one that makes stars explode behind my eyes. I cling to him, nails rakingdown his back, leaving marks that the water immediately tries to wash away.
“Yes," I gasp. "Just like that.”
The rhythm he sets is consuming, powerful, perfect. Each thrust drives the breath from my lungs, sends pleasure ricocheting through every nerve ending until I can't tell where I end and he begins. The water pounds down on us, hot and endless, and I'm drowning in sensation — the slap of wet skin, the grip of his fingers bruising my thighs, the way his breath comes in ragged pants against my neck.
“So tight,” he groans, teeth grazing my shoulder. “So fucking perfect, Sparrow.”
I can't form words. Can only feel. Can only hold on as he takes me apart with every powerful thrust. My back slides against the wet tile, and he adjusts his grip, hiking me higher, changing the angle so he goes even deeper. I scream — actually scream — and he swallows the sound with his mouth, kissing me like he's trying to consume me whole.
“That's it," he growls against my lips. "Let me hear you. Want everyone to know you're mine."
The possessiveness in his voice sends a fresh wave of heat crashing through me. I am his. Completely, irrevocably his. And right now, pinned against this shower wall with him buried inside me, I wouldn't have it any other way.
I can’t help myself. I reach between us, my fingers finding my clit, and I rub myself, moaning, while he fucks me senseless. The pressure builds impossibly fast, coiling tighter and tighter at the base of my spine.
“Breaker," I gasp. “I'm close. Oh, fuck, I'm so close.”
“Come for me," he commands, voice wrecked and raw. “Come on my cock, Riley.”
The orgasm rips through me like lightning.
My whole body convulses around him, muscles clenching so tight I see stars. I cry out his name — or maybe just a sound without meaning beyond primal pleasure — as wave after wave of blinding pleasure crashes through me. He doesn't stop, doesn't slow, just keeps driving into me with that relentless rhythm, extending the climax until I'm sobbing against his shoulder.
“Fuck," he groans, his own rhythm faltering. “Feeling you come... I can't hold back..."
“Don't," I manage, still trembling with aftershocks. “Come inside me. I want to feel it.”
His hips stutter, then slam forward one last time. I feel him pulse inside me — hot and deep and claiming — as he buries his face in my neck and groans my name like it's the only word he knows. His whole body shudders against mine, and I hold him through it, fingers gentle now in his hair, pressing kisses to his temple as the water continues to cascade over us.
“I love you,” I murmur.
“I love you, too,” he echoes.
For a while, it’s nothing but us, together, with the only sound our breathing and the water cascading over our combined bodies. I don’t want this moment to end. Don’t want us to separate. I want to stay here, together, with him, forever, with the rest of the world never intruding upon our tile-walled sanctuary.
But I know that’s a fantasy. A tempting one, but a fantasy nonetheless.
“We should dry off,” he says.
And I nod. “We should.”
He slowly sets me down outside the shower, and I grab myself a towel and one for him, too. The towel is soft against my skin as I dry off, watching the last traces of glitter swirl down the drain like tiny fallen stars. My muscles ache in the best waypossible, and there's a warmth spreading through my chest that has nothing to do with the steam still lingering in the air.
