My cock is so hard it aches, standing out of the water and leaking against her lower belly as she slides up and down, slow at first, teasing me with her velvety softness. She watches me watch her, her face open in a way I haven’t seen, like she’s letting herself be seen for the first time.
"Kat, you feel so fucking good,” I tell her as she shifts her body. Finding my cock with her hand, she lines herself up, teasing the tip against her entrance. The movement is soft and deliberate. She’s so wet she doesn’t need to guide it.
Kat lets out a tiny, involuntary gasp as she pushes down, taking just the head at first, then a little more … more … then all of me. Her eyes flutter closed, then snap open, pinning me in place. She wants to see what it does to me, how I react to the impossibility of being inside her. Maybe she wants to see if I’ll come apart, or if I’ll hold the line. I don’t. Not yet. But I won’t last long if she keeps this up. It doesn’t matter. I want to give her everything right now.
Her body is a miracle, tight and hot and clenching around me. She rides me slow, then hard, then slow again, like she’s calibrating the speed to the beat of my heart. Every time she sinks down, I feel her shiver, her muscles rippling around my cock. She’s so close, I can see it in the way her pupils dilate and her hands tremble. I brace Kat’s hips in my hands, not to control but to memorize this moment. She is so fucking beautiful—hair wild and cheeks flushed, eyes locked on mine. I haven’t felt this alive in years. Every movement she makes, every shift of muscle and breath, feeds something inside me that’s been starving.
Kat rides me with relentless determination. I push up to meet her each time she drops her hips, the water’s thrust amplifying every sensation, every ripple of pleasure between us. Kat’s hands are everywhere—on my shoulders, in my hair, clawing at my back. She leans forward and bites my lower lip, then gasps as I thrust up harder, rocking her whole body.
The bath is turning to a tempest, water sloshing over the sides, foam dying away to reveal her skin and her need.She puts her hands on either side of my face, kisses me hard, then pulls away just far enough to look me in the eye.
“Don’t let go yet,” she whispers. “Not until I do.”
There’s a pleading urgency in her tone, and it undoes me in a way nothing else has. I clamp down on my own release and just hold her, feeling the way her body flutters with every motion, every breath.
I slow the rhythm, letting her hover on the edge. I want to draw this out until we both break. Kat’s hands are shaking now, nails digging into my skin. With one hand, I reach between us and find her clit, swollen and ready for more stimulation. I circle it slowly, then fast and keep that pattern repeating as I watch her begin to unravel.
She’s whispering something in Russian, rapid and desperate, the meaning lost but the intent universal. I meet her eyes and see the wildness there, the loss of control. That’s when I know she’s never had this before, not on her terms what that feels like, not really. Not with someone who sees her, who wants her, who chose her when he didn’t have an ulterior motive.
Her breath stutters, lips parted, eyes squeezed shut, then opened wide again. I want to tell her how good she feels, how goddamn perfect she is, but I’m not sure words would make sense to her now. She seems like she’s barely holding onto this moment, like it’s burning through every layer of armor she spent years welding shut. She whispers my name, a thread of sound almost lost in the steam.
“Hawk…” she says, the word not even a sound at first but something like a confession. Her nails rake down my arms and I feel her convulse around my cock, her body arching, locking, and then shattering apart. She doesn't scream, but she moans deep and guttural, like she’s fighting an enemy inside her own skin and finally winning. Her eyes squeeze shut, and she buries her face against my neck. The heat of her breath and the tremor in her thighs is almost more than I can survive. I hold her as she comes, every pulse a tremor through her body into mine, her hips don’t slow, don’t stop.
I pump into her, pulse matched to the frantic throb of her wet muscles around me. I don’t want to come yet, but she’s got me so deep, so tight, I’m losing the fight.
Kat’s arms lock around my neck. She pulls me down to her, her lips finding mine in a messy, desperate kiss, tongues hungry. Her hips buck, frantic, and I feel myself losing it as I come inside her.She breaks the kiss, gasping with her forehead pressed to mine. Her whole body is shaking now, and I want to laugh with relief, with disbelief, with something like awe that I get to see her like this. I grip her ass and squeeze. She’s muttering in Russian again and I wish I knew what she was saying.
I hold her like something that isn’t temporary. She chose me … and I’m not walking away. I just consummated protecting her out of duty to wanting to guard her for her love … always.
Kat settles against me like she’s found something she didn’t know she was allowed to keep. The words rise in my throat — too soon, too exposed, too real — and I almost let them slip out. But, I don’t want anything to ruin this moment. Kat may not feel the way I do. She may only see this as release after a high octane situation. But, I love her and I’ll protect her as long as she’ll let me. She’s had others own her. I must be careful to not make her feel that way. Instead, Katerina needs to know that I’m here for her through anything.
I press my mouth to her damp hair and hold her closer, letting the truth live in the space between us. For me, this wasn’t adrenaline. It wasn’t relief. It was a choice I’ve made.
Chapter 14
Katerina
Idon’t realize how tightly I’m holding him until my knuckles ache from the grip. My knees bracket his hips, my chest flush to his, the water stilling in the aftermath as if the bath itself is stunned. I can feel his pulse in the hollow beneath his collarbone, hot and staccato.
I let my face fall into the crook of his shoulder, inhaling the sharp, clean scent of his skin. It’s all I can do not to fall apart entirely. Not from pleasure — though that’s a factor, the aftershock still rolling through my muscles in little tremors. It’s from the weight of being wanted without conditions or agenda. There’s no threat of being turned back into someone else’s property the second I let my guard slip.
I stay pressed to Hawk as long as I can, his hands cradling the back of my skull and the base of my spine, as if he can keep everything inside me from spilling out. My breathing is quick and uneven, and I’m shocked by the wetness on my cheek — not condensation, not water, but the real thing, tears. I feel exposed, raw, but somehow safe in his arms.
Hawk’s cheek is rough with stubble where it drags against my temple. I feel the throb of his cock still inside me, the last pulses of release echoing through our joined bodies. I want to say something, anything, but words are clumsy and heavy in my chest.
He must sense it. Hawk’s hand moves slowly up my back, every touch feels loving. He kisses my jaw, then my cheek, then my eyelid, so gently I almost flinch.
“Kat,” he says, voice thick and close, “I’m still here.”
I nod. My throat is tight. “I know.”
Somewhere in the past, I was taught that need is dangerous. That to want is to make yourself a hostage. I have lived my entire life as a weapon — a tool, an asset, a thing. But right now, I’m not a thing, I’m a woman in a stranger’s arms, and the world outside this bathroom could fall away and I wouldn’t care.
Eventually, the bathwater cools around us. He shifts, and I wince as we separate. It’s not pain, exactly. More like the sense of loss when a favorite song ends and you’re not ready for it. My legs shake as I stand. Hawk rises after me and pulls me into his chest, wrapping both arms around me like he has no intention of letting me go.
He reaches behind me for a towel, unfolds it, and wraps me in it before he dries himself. His hands are casual and almost tender, rubbing the warmth back into my shoulders, my arms, and the edge of my scalp. I could cry again, but I don’t. I let him see me, every ruined inch of me.
When we step into the main room, the air is chilly, the curtains still drawn tight against the world. The bed waits, a ridiculous cloud of white sheets and rose petals and the promise of sleep. I drop the towel and burrow under the covers. Hawk follows, pressing his body against my back, his arm anchoring me by the waist.
