Rachel's breath hitched. She let her legs fall open, giving him access, and felt him smile against her throat.
He dragged his fingers through her folds, slowly, teasingly, until her hips lifted seeking more pressure.
"Is this what you need, baby?" His voice was low and dark, full of promise.
She nodded, not trusting her voice.
Sliding one finger inside her, then another, curling them deep and hitting a spot that made her knees buckle. His thumb found her clit, circling with just enough pressure to make her gasp and grab his shoulders for support.
"Logan—"
His free hand braced against the tile beside her head, caging her in. His fingers worked inside her, building a rhythm that had her panting, the heel of his palm grinding against her clit with every thrust of his hand.
Just when she thought she might come apart completely, his hands moved to her thighs.
He gripped beneath her legs and lifted, hooking them around his waist in one smooth motion. She locked her arms around his shoulders, suddenly aware of how much bigger he was, how easily he could maneuver her.
"Hold on to me," he said, voice low.
She barely managed a nod before she felt him line himself up, he filled her in one deep stroke.
Rachel cried out, the sound echoing off the tile. The stretch was immediate and intense, her body struggling to adjust to him from this angle. He was so deep like this, hitting places she didn't even know existed.
"Fuck," Ghost groaned, his forehead dropping to hers. Water streamed down between them. "You feel—God, you feel perfect."
He withdrew and drove deeper this time, and she whimpered against his neck. The angle was almost too much, the fullness overwhelming.
"Too much?" he asked, stilling.
"No. Don't stop. Please don't stop."
He didn't. He set a rhythm, slow and deep at first, each stroke deliberate, letting her feel every inch of him. But she felt the restraint in his body, the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers dug into her thighs.
"Harder," she breathed against his ear.
Something in him snapped. His grip on her tightened and he began to move faster, harder, the sound of wet skin slapping together echoing through the shower. Every time he drove into her, she hit the tile, the cold ceramic contrasting sharply with the heat of him inside her, the hot water pounding down on them both.
"Say my name," he demanded, his mouth against her ear.
Her head fell back against the tile. "Logan," she gasped, her whole body starting to tighten around him.
"Again."
"Logan—" His name broke on a moan as he changed the angle slightly and hit something inside her that made electricity shoot up her spine.
"That's it, baby. That's my girl."
He lowered his head to her throat and bit down, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to send a sharp spike of pleasure-pain straight through her. That was all it took. Her orgasm hit like a wave, sudden and overwhelming, her muscles clenching tight around him as her body locked up. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think, could only feel as it rolled through her in pulsing waves.
"Fuck—Rachel—" His rhythm faltered, became erratic, then he slammed into her one final time and she felt him pulse inside her, his whole body shuddering as he came. His groan was raw and broken, muffled against her shoulder.
They stayed there, pinned between the tile and him, both of them trembling and gasping for air. The water continued to pound down, now starting to cool. Rachel's legs felt like jelly. If he let go, she'd probably collapse.
Ghost pulled back just enough to look at her, still breathing hard. His eyes were soft, unguarded in a way she'd never seen before. Vulnerable.
"We're officially late," he said.
Rachel laughed, breathless and dizzy. "Worth it."
