My breath stutters so hard it feels like I’ve been punched in the chest.
Oh.
Oh, she knowsexactlywhat she’s doing. The moment she stood, something in her posture shifted from invitation to provocation.
My thoughts scatter, fracture, circle the same truth over and over again.
She’s undoing me on purpose; every line of her body is a temptation I’m failing to ignore. I track the movement of herhand like it’s a lifeline and a threat all at once, my jaw tightening until it aches.
She wants me wrecked, and God help me, I want to be.
The restraint I’ve been clinging to thins to something threadbare, my pulse roaring in my ears as need coils tighter, sharper, more insistent. I’ve never been good at denying her. Not when she’s this confident and unafraid, testing exactly how much control I have left.
“Celeste,” I say quietly.
She looks at me, eyes dark, attentive, already reading the shift in me.
“Come here,” I tell her, my words low. I don’t move, I stay exactly where I am, hands planted at my sides, giving her the space to decide. Giving her the power to stop this before it starts.
For a heartbeat, nothing happens.
And then she steps toward me.
The relief is visceral. The hunger sharpens instantly, flooding hot and fast through my veins, but I keep myself still. I keep myself grounded in the fact that she’s doing this because she wants to, not because I asked louder.
“Turn around,” I say next, voice rough but careful. “Sit down.”
She does, backing toward me until she’s settled again, her thighs sliding to the outside of mine. The position is intimate in a way that makes my pulse spike.
I exhale slowly through my nose.
“Hands,” I murmur, eyes never leaving her. “Put them behind you, against my stomach.”
She places her palms there without hesitation, shoulders rolling back slightly as she settles into the posture. Completely aware of what I’m asking for and what she’s giving to me.
I lean in close, my mouth near her ear. “You could’ve said no,” I murmur. “If at any time this is too much or you want me to stop, just say the word, and I’ll stop. No questions asked.”
Her breath stutters. I feel it through her back, through the way her body responds to my nearness.
My pleasure has always lived in the way she reacts. In the way her body softens when I touch her just right, and in the quiet sounds she makes when she forgets to guard herself. I breathe her in, grounding myself in that truth.
My hand slides into her hair as I angle her just right, listening for the hitch in her breath. I lean in close, my teeth grazing that sensitive place beneath her ear until she gasps.
Her hips rock without her meaning to, a soft sound leaving her that tells me I’m exactly where I should be.
“Please,” she moans.
My fingers start a slow, deliberate climb along her thighs, guiding her open with patient certainty as the water streams down, slicking the skin I’ve been holding myself back from.
I grit my teeth as she rocks her hips against mine, every roll of her hips a test of my control. I slide two fingers through her slickness, circling her where she needs me the most, but not yet giving her what she wants.
Celeste lets out a frustrated, needy moan that sends a bolt of satisfaction through me. “You’re the one who was teasing me, you get to earn this one,” I growl as I nip the curve of her neck.
I press two fingers inside her in one firm stroke, feeling her clench around them immediately, and it takes everything in me not to groan at how ready she is.
I set a slow rhythm going as deep as my fingers let me, curling my fingers just right on every withdrawal to drag across the spot that drives her crazy. Her back arches off my chest, as her hands scramble for purchase against my stomach, her nails digging in enough for me to flinch.
“Stay still,” I command, my thumb circling her clit with enough pressure to make her cry out.
