"Shower first?" I manage between kisses. "We're covered in sand and salt."
"Don't care." He pulls my shirt over my head and tosses it somewhere behind him. "Want you now. Need you now. Shower later."
I can't argue with that logic.
We undress each other slowly this time, savoring every moment. No urgency. We have days. We have the rest of our lives. There's no need to rush.
Jay lies back on the bed, and I take a long moment just to look at him. The bright moonlight coming through the window paints silver stripes across his body—the planes of his chest, the definition in his arms, the trail of dark hair leading down from his navel. He's always been beautiful, but now there's a solidity to him, a presence, that wasn't there before.
"What?" he asks, self-conscious under my gaze. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Can't I admire my new husband?"
"Say it again."
"My husband." I lower myself over him, pressing kisses to his jaw, his neck, the hollow of his throat. "Mine."
"Yours," he breathes. "Always yours."
I take my time with him, kissing every inch of skin I can reach, learning him all over again even though I've memorized him. His responses are familiar—the hitch in his breath when I find that spot below his ear, the way his hips lift when my hand trails down his stomach, the soft sounds he makes when I wrap my fingers around him and stroke slowly.
"Ivan. Please."
"Please what?"
"You know what." He pulls me up for a kiss, biting at my lower lip. "I want to feel you. I want you inside me. I want—"
He doesn't have to finish. I reach for the nightstand, where I stashed the supplies earlier, and he watches me with dark, hungry eyes.
I open him up slowly, carefully, one finger at a time, watching his face, watching the pleasure chase away everything else. His body welcomes me easily now—we've done this enough times that we know each other's rhythms, each other's needs, what makes each other fall apart.
"Ready?" I ask when I can't wait anymore.
"I've been ready since the beach." He wraps his legs around me, pulling me closer with his heels. "Come here. I need you."
I push inside him slowly, and we both groan at the sensation. This never gets old. No matter how many times we do this, it always feels like coming home, like finding something I didn't know I'd lost.
I move slowly at first, savoring the feel of him around me, the way his hands grip my shoulders, the way he whispers my name like a prayer, like a promise. Then his heels dig into my back, urging me faster, and I give him what he wants.
"Yes," he gasps. "God, yes, just like that—don't stop—"
We move together, finding a rhythm that builds and builds, the headboard knocking gently against the wall, our breathing ragged in the quiet room. I angle my hips to hit that spot inside him, and Jay cries out, his back arching sharply off the bed.
"Close," he manages. "Ivan, I'm so close—"
I wrap my hand around him and stroke in time with my thrusts, and that's all it takes. He comes with a shout, spilling hot over my fist,clenching around me so tight I have no choice but to follow. I bury myself deep and let go, pleasure crashing through me in overwhelming waves.
Afterward, we lie tangled together, sweaty and satisfied, too wrung out to move for a long time.
"Okay," Jay says eventually. "Now we should probably shower."
I laugh and drag myself out of bed, pulling him with me.
The shower is small and the water pressure is questionable, but neither of us cares. We wash each other slowly, trading lazy kisses under the spray, and by the time we're done, I'm half-hard again.
"Seriously?" Jay grins, glancing down. "Already?"
"What can I say? You have that effect on me."
