I dried off quick, took her hand. “C’mon. Shower below.”
She followed without a word, fingers tight in mine. Like she trusted me completely. Which should’ve terrified me. But it didn’t.
Below deck was small, close, quiet—just the soft creak of the boat against the mooring. I flipped the shower on hot. Steam filled the tiny space fast, fogging the air, softening everything into shadows and warmth.
We stood there for a beat, towels still loose around us, just looking. Heart pounding in my ears. This was the moment a guy could ruin it—push too fast, turn it cheap.
I didn’t want cheap. I wanted her tomorrow. And the day after.
But then she stepped closer, eyes locked on mine, and let the towel slide from her shoulders. Slow. Deliberate. Bare skin gleaming in the steam.
My brain blanked.
I let mine drop too.
We stepped under the spray together—hot water hitting cold skin, both of us gasping, then laughing low and breathless. Hands found each other naturally. Not frantic. Just close. Careful. Exploring.
Her fingers traced my shoulders, my chest, like she was memorizing me. Mine slid along her waist, steadying her as the boat rocked gently.
She leaned in, forehead to my chest. I kissed the top of her head, held her there under the pouring heat. Steam. Water. Heartbeats.
After a while she pulled back just enough to grab the soap. Lathered it between her palms, that soft smile turning wicked.
“My turn,” she murmured.
Her hands started on my chest—slow circles, slick and warm, working the soap into my skin. Down my stomach. Over my hips. Teasing lower. Every touch deliberate, building the ache I’d been carrying since the harbor.
I groaned when her fingers finally wrapped around me—firm, perfect pressure, stroking slow from base to tip. She watched my face the whole time, eyes dark and hungry.
Then she sank to her knees.
Water cascaded over us, streaming down her back, her breasts. She looked up—locked eyes with me—and took me into her mouth.
Fuck.
Hot, wet heat. Tongue swirling around the head, then sliding down, taking me deeper, inch by inch until I hit the back of her throat. She didn’t flinch. Just held there, throat working around me, eyes never leaving mine.
I groaned loud, hand tangling gently in her wet hair. “Damn… baby…”
She pulled back slow, lips tight, then took me deep again—deeper—humming low so the vibration shot straight through me. One hand stroked what her mouth couldn’t reach, the other braced on my thigh.
Water poured over us, steam thick, the boat rocking like it was urging her on.
She set a rhythm—slow, then faster, relentless. Taking me to the edge and holding me there, eyes burning into mine the whole time.
“Come for me, Ethan,” she whispered against me, voice husky, demanding. “The way you made me come for you. I want it. Now.”
That was it.
The command in her voice, the heat of her mouth, the way she took me so deep—everything shattered.
I came hard, groaning her name, hips jerking as pleasure exploded white-hot behind my eyes. Stars. Actual fucking stars. Wave after wave, pulsing into her mouth while she swallowed around me, milking every last shudder.
When it finally eased, she pulled back slow, lips swollen, eyes triumphant and soft all at once. I hauled her up instantly, crushing her to me under the spray, kissing her deep and breathless.
“Best late night ever,” she whispered against my mouth, echoing her earlier words.
I laughed, ragged, forehead pressed to hers. “Yeah,” I said. “And it’s not even over.”
