But when she looks at me—really looks at me, eyes wide behind fogged glasses, cheeks flushed, mouth parted like she’s trying not to beg—I can’t say no. I wouldn’t, even if I should.
She lifts her hips, just enough to angle herself, and I feel the soft brush of her against the head of my cock. Her breath hitches. My grip tightens.
Slowly, so slowly, she sinks down.
And gods, the heat of her is like nothing I’ve ever felt. The water surrounds us, but she’s fire—soft and wet and tight, her body stretching to take me again. I watch her face, every flicker of sensation. Her lips part around a sigh, and she presses her forehead to mine as she moves.
She takes her time. There’s no rush in it, only reverence. A mutual awe.
My hands roam her back, her hips, guiding and steadying without forcing. She’s in control now, and I let her be. Her rhythm is slow, lazy, teasing—like she wants to savor it as much as I do.
Water sloshes gently with every motion. Her breath is the only other sound, quickening each time she rocks her hips forward, each time I slide deeper into her. She wraps her arms around my shoulders, her fingers sliding into my hair again. My antennae twitch at the sensation.
“You feel…incredible,” I murmur into her neck.
She hums, breathless. “So do you.”
I kiss the curve of her jaw. Her temple. Her lips. She moans softly into my mouth, her hips moving faster now, chasing the friction. My body sings with it, overwhelmed in the best way, every inch of me attuned to her—every sigh, every shift, every flutter of her lashes.
I could live in this moment.
Not just for the pleasure, though gods, that’s exquisite—but for the intimacy of it. The closeness. The way she clings to me like she was always meant to. Like I’ve always been hers.
And maybe I have.
She gasps my name, brow furrowed in concentrated pleasure as her body somehow takes every inch, her pace growing fervored. Water splashes onto the stone floor, her nails pressing half-moons into my back.
“Come for me, honeybee,” I moan, feeling how my hasp latches to her clit. “Come for menow?—”
She shudders and sobs as she clenches tight, and I don’t know how…I don’t know how I haven’t broken her, but she loves it. The idea of her taking all of me like this, over and over…it undoes me.
I come right along with her.
And I’m filling her again, gushing into her, emptying myself into her womb, claiming her.
Iris collapses against me with a whimper, her forehead pressed to mine, arms trembling as she clings to my shoulders. My hands stay on her hips, holding her steady as we ride the aftershocks together—bodies locked, breath tangled, hearts racing in time.
Her breath stutters out in a laugh. “I…reallylove your technicolor dream cock.”
I cough on the shocked laugh I let out in response. “My what?”
“Your…your thingy,” she says. “I forgot what it’s called.”
“The hasp?”
She nods dreamily, resting her head against my shoulder, and she lets out a little whine when my hasp reacts to her praise, vibrating slightly. “Do you like…control it? Or does it have a mind of its own?”
“It isn’t sentient, Iris,” I chuckle. “Well…no more than any other man’s cock.”
She giggles—delighted, exhausted—and I feel her smile against my neck. “Good to know. I was starting to feel like I owed it a thank-you note.”
“Pretty sure you already wrote one with your body,” I mutter, running my hands down her back.
She hums and shifts in my lap, settling deeper, and I hiss through my teeth at the tight squeeze of her sweet cunt.
“Iris…”
“I know,” she says, voice drowsy and content. “Too much. I just wanted to feel you for another second.”
