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“You’re just jealous,” I tease, hopping down from the bathroom vanity to grab a couple of towels from a nearby cabinet. “Let’s hear yours then.”

I turn to face him, crossing my arms over my chest as I arch a brow. His eyes drop to my breasts for a brief second before he rights himself. I push them out on purpose, earning another downward glance. Two can play.

“Hear what?” he asks, stepping into the shower and pulling me inside with him. I gasp, giggling as he tugs me against his chest.

“Your English accent,” I say. “Let’s hear it. Since you’re such an expert.” I stare up at him in waiting, watching as his eyebrows pinch together.

“I-I, um.” He coughs, clearing his throat. Is he actually going to do it? “Do ya fancy a snog on the back of me bike?” he mutters, with all of the confidence in the goddamn world.

I try really hard not to laugh. But I can’t help myself as I double over in a full-on laughing fit. When I stand back up, his cheeks are bright red with embarrassment.

“What the hell was that?” I ask, the laughter threatening to consume me.

His gaze darts over the shower tiles, flustered, like he’s searching for a way to vanish into the wall. It’d be cute if this whole thing between us weren’t a back-and-forth game that I was hell-bent on winning.

“Bloody hell,” he mutters, in that same terrible excuse of an English accent.

The next thing I know, we’re both laughing. The sound of his uncaged laughter echoes around us, sending goose bumps flittering across my skin. It’s the most beautiful sound. It’s so real and so entirely him that it silences my own.

My lips part as I stare up at him in all of his wet-haired glory. Water traces the lines of his jaw while my mind jumps ahead to a future so vast it scares the daylights out of me.

“Come here,” he says, pulling me against him and silencing all of my wayward thoughts.

The warm water falls over us as he cups my jaw in his hand and lowers his mouth to mine. This kiss feels different than any of the rest we’ve shared. This time, unspoken words are woven into the way he glides his tongue over mine. This time, the way he holds me against him feels less like an embrace and more like a desperate promise.

He moans against my mouth as he backs me into the wall of the shower, his hand tightening around my throat just enough to make my breath hitch. Pulling away, his gaze drags over me with a possessive intensity that nearly drives me to my knees. And when his mouth returns to mine, I’m met with a darkness that wasn’t present before—one that seeks to claim. I yield beneath him, allowing him to taste and bite and take as though my mouth exists only for his hunger.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he mutters, breathless as he sits us down on the ledge against the back wall of the shower.

He spins me around in his lap until my back is pressed against his chest. Hooking his hands beneath my thighs, he spreads my legs wide before draping my right leg over his own. Reaching up, he grabs the showerhead and angles the stream of water over my breast.

My head falls back against his shoulder on a low moan as he adjusts the water to a single stream. The pressure builds over my right nipple as he moves the showerhead over, my back arching instinctively.

Chuckling, he tilts his head to whisper against my ear. “Look at you, spread out just for me,” he murmurs, his voice sinfully dark. “The things that I could do to you in this position are endless, love.”

I moan as he moves the stream over to my opposite nipple, the water hitting me at the perfect angle that sets my core on fire. I want that fire to consume me. I want it to burn me alive from the inside out. I’ve never begged for a damn thing before, but I fear I’m about to.

“Callum, please,” I beg.

“Tell me what you want, little siren,” he orders, moving the shower head a little lower, and then a little lower.

I reach my hand up and over to grab his hair, needing something to anchor myself to. I tug hard, and his resounding groan reverberates against my back.

“Is there something you want me to do with this?” he asks, allowing the stream of water to drift a little lower, but not low enough. I clench my jaw, knowing that I’m about to lose this game. But right now, I don’t possess half a mind to care.

“I want you to make me come with it. Make me scream for you, Callum,” I say, grabbing his wrist and guiding the shower head down until the stream of water hits that perfect spot.

“So fucking needy, love.” He chuckles against my ear, biting the lobe into his mouth and tugging lightly.

I writhe in his lap as his grip on my left thigh tightens, and he forces me further open for him. I release his wrist, and he takes full control, holding the shower head and moving it back and forth over my clit. I feel the orgasm clawing its way to the surface, and within seconds, I come crashing into it at full speed.

“Callum,” I moan, my head falling back.

My thighs shake, but he holds me steady as I ride out the extent of the high with the water still hitting me in just the right spot. He doesn’t move it, not even as I grip his hand to force it away. And somehow, I feel that building sensation once more. It climbs quicker this time, and when he senses it, he growls a predatory sound into my ear.

“Again? So greedy. You’re going to be the death of me, little siren.”

His words send me plummeting into the back-to-back orgasm that consumes my mind, body, and soul.