“Your bossy witch.”
“Mine.”
One of his hands slid down between her thighs, and she gasped. Soapy fingers, slick and clumsy with the lather, finding her, working her with the same determined patience he brought to everything. Not the careful precision of last night. Something rougher, made of want and the steam fogging the air and the fact that his other hand was still wrapped tight around her ribs like he couldn’t bear to let go even a little.
She braced one hand against the tile wall. The ceramic was cold. Everything else was burning.
“Marcus, ”
“I’ve got you.” His voice in her ear, ragged. “I’ve got you, just, ”
She turned in his arms before she could fall apart standing up. Wet skin sliding against wet skin. She kissed him, hard, and her hand found him between them, soapy and hot and harder than she’d expected.
Marcus made a sound she’d never heard him make before. Like something cracking open.
“Hazel.”
“I want you,” she said against his mouth. “Right here. Standing up. I don’t want a bed and I don’t want patience and I don’t, ”
“Yes.” Just that. He spun them, fast enough that she squeaked, and pressed her back against the tile wall. The ceramic shocked her overheated skin. “Yes. Yes.”
“Wrap your legs around me,” he said, his voice gone rough.
Hazel obeyed, and Marcus lifted her like she weighed nothing, five hundred years of demon strength making it effortless. He positioned himself at her entrance, and the head of him pressed against her, but he didn’t push in yet.
“Last chance to back out,” he said, though his arms were shaking with the effort of holding back.
“Marcus Hawthorne, if you don’t, ”
He pushed inside in one smooth thrust that had them both groaning. Deep and overwhelming and exactly what Hazel needed. She could feel every inch of him, stretching her, filling her, making her feel complete in a way that terrified her.
“God, you feel perfect,” Marcus breathed, his forehead pressed to hers, both of them shaking with the effort of holding still. “Like every case I ever won was just practice for arguing my way into your life.”
“Then move,” Hazel demanded, rolling her hips. “Please, Marcus, ”
He started a rhythm that had her gasping. Each thrust drove deeper, the water making everything slippery, his hands gripping her ass to hold her steady against the wall. Every time he pulled almost all the way out and slammed back in, Hazel saw stars.
“Harder,” she begged, nails digging into his shoulders. “I won’t break, ”
“I know you won’t.” His thrusts became more forceful. “You’re the strongest person I know.”
She tried to say something back. The words wouldn’t come. Just his name, broken in half against his throat.
He shifted his weight, pinning her higher against the tile, and the new angle hit something inside her that made her whole body jerk. He felt it; she felt him feel it. He didn’t ask. Didn’t saythere?the way he had last night. He just chased it, working the same angle over and over, his breathing harsh against her ear.
“Stay with me,” he said against her temple. Not commanding. Pleading. “Stay with me, Hazel, please, ”
“I’m here.” Her hands fisted in his wet hair. “I’m here, I’m here, ”
The water beat down on them. Steam thickened the air. She wasn’t going to last. She could feel it rising, the way her magic rose to meet his, purple and gold light flickering at the edges of her vision, and she didn’t try to time it or hold it back or wait for him.
She came against the tile wall with his name catching in her throat, and the sound she made was small and surprised, like she hadn’t quite believed it would happen.
Marcus held her through it. Didn’t let her slide down. Didn’t pull out. Just braced both hands against the wall and watched her face like he was memorising it.
“Look at you,” he whispered. Notcome for me.Not commanding. Awed. “Look at you.”
His own release came a few thrusts later, and it broke him open differently than last time. Quieter. He buried his face in the crook of her neck and shook, and she held his head against her, and the only sound was water and his ragged breathing.
