They both stilled for a heartbeat—foreheads pressed together, breathing ragged.
Then he moved.
Long, rolling thrusts at first—pulling almost all the way out, sliding back in deep and deliberate. Each one dragged against every sensitive place inside her, building heat in slow, relentless waves. Water sloshed softly around them with every stroke, rippling outward in silver rings.
But now every sound felt amplified: the wet slap of skin on skin, her soft gasps, his low groans. The risk of someone else walking through that door again. The echo of that embarrassed retreat still hanging in the air.
It made everything more intense.
She rocked with him harder—small circles of her hips, meeting every thrust. Her legs tightened around his waist. His mouth returned to her neck—kissing, sucking, teeth grazing the pulse point until she whimpered.
The pace built faster now.
Deeper. Harder. Her back scraped lightly against the tile with each powerful drive. His hands gripped her thighs hard enough to bruise. She scratched down his back—red lines she knew would show tomorrow.
The near-miss pulsed through her like a second heartbeat—heightening every sensation, making her skin feel too tight, her nerves too live.
“Jax—”
He angled his hips just right—hitting that spot inside her over and over.
The coil inside her snapped—harder, faster, more violently than before.
She came with a choked cry—back arching off the tile, walls clenching rhythmically around him in long, rolling waves. The orgasm tore through her, sharper and deeper than anything she’d ever felt, leaving her shaking uncontrollably, vision whiting out at the edges, thighs locked so tight around him she thought she might never let go.
He rocked her through it—slowing only long enough to draw every last tremor from her body—then picked up again, chasing his own release.
A few more deep, grinding thrusts—his rhythm faltering now, breath harsh and ragged against her ear.
“Fuck, Aria—gonna come—”
He buried himself deep one last time. A low, guttural groan tore from his throat as he pulsed inside her, hips locked tight against hers, face pressed to the crook of her neck.
They stayed like that—panting, trembling, water lapping gently around them.
He lifted his head slowly. Smiled—lazy, satisfied, a little smug.
“Well,” he murmured, brushing wet hair from her cheek, “I guess I have my answer. We’re doing the fake-dating-with-benefits thing.”
She exhaled shakily, still trembling in aftershocks. “Yeah. I guess we are.”
He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.
“Which means you’re coming to meet Nan.”
She blinked, dazed. “What?”
“I’m spending Christmas in Brisbane with my Nan. If we want this to look real—really real—then you’re coming with me.”
She stared at him. Heart pounding for reasons she refused to name.
“Okay,” she whispered.
He kissed her again—soft this time, almost tender.
And for the first time in a while, the guilt didn’t rush in to drown her.
It just… waited.
