Oh, fuck, I know that smirk. He’s drunk and wants to play.
He shifts closer to me, our knees knocking under the hot water. “Tell me the truth. First time we met—you wanted me.”
I laugh, startled. “I hated you.”
“Bullshit.”
“Wanted to punch you.”
“You wanted to fuck me.”
I choke on my drink, sputtering. He grins wider.
“You couldn’t stop looking, rookie. You think I didn’t notice? Every drill, every shift—you were burning holes in me.”
“You were staring first!”
“Yeah. ‘Cause I wanted you. From day one.”
The air thickens between us. My chest is too tight, my skin too hot. His hand finds my jaw, thumb dragging over my lip, and suddenly I can’t breathe.
“Admit it,” he murmurs.
I don’t. I can’t. But my body betrays me when I surge forward and kiss him.
It’s filthy from the start: the wine, the steam, the hours of playful tension. Everything combusts.
Our mouths crash together, teeth clashing, tongues desperate. He tastes like red wine, salt, and him. My hands claw at his shoulders, nails digging into muscle as if I can anchor myself.
“Fuck,” he growls into my mouth, hauling me into his lap. The water splashes up, sloshing over the sides, but neither of uscares. His cock is hard against my thighs, trapped in his briefs, grinding into mine until I gasp into the kiss.
His tongue claims my mouth like it has something to hide. He pulls down my briefs so he can palm my dick, making me groan.
“I need to ruin you,” he says, biting my lip.
“Do it.”
Something snaps in him. He flips me, pressing my chest to the slick ledge of the tub, water lapping around my waist. His mouth crashes down on the back of my neck, sucking, biting, marking. His hands grip my ass, spreading me apart until the cold air stings.
And then—fuck.
His tongue.
I jerk forward, almost cracking my teeth on the ledge. “Phoenix—shit?—”
He groans into me, eating me out like he’s starved. Obsessive. Aggressive. His tongue pushes deep, fucking me open, while his hands squeeze bruises into my thighs. I can’t stop the sounds tearing out of me, high and shameless.
“God—you’re—fuck?—”
He doesn’t stop. Not even when I’m clawing the wood, when I’m sobbing his name into the night air. He eats like a man possessed, sloppy and raw, teeth grazing, tongue relentless. His callused hand wraps around my shaft, making me gasp in the freezing air. The wine has me dizzy, the heat of the water and the cold on my back overwhelming until I feel like I’m coming apart.
“Phoenix—I can’t?—”
He pulls back just long enough to rasp, “Yes, you can. Take it for me.”
And then he’s back, devouring me, groaning like I’m his last meal. I feel myself tighten, spasm, almost lose it from his mouth alone.
When he finally pulls away, I’m trembling. He shoves his trunks down, grabs my hips, and thrusts in one brutal push.
