Then he blinks out of existence.
The water rushes into the space where he was, a small whirlpool marking his absence. I have just enough time to laugh before he reappears, rising from the water like some kind of ridiculous sea god.
Naked. Hard. Arms thrown wide in a theatrical presentation.
“Tada!”
I can’t help it. I laugh—really laugh, the sound echoing off the stone walls, my whole body shaking with it. His antics are ridiculous. He’s ridiculous. And I love him for it.
“Silly male.” I push him to sit back on the stairs again, my hands on his shoulders, guiding him down.
Then I straddle his lap and sink down onto his hard length, taking him in one smooth motion.
The feeling of him filling me steals the breath from my lungs. My head falls back, my wings spreading wide, my fingers digging into his shoulders as I adjust to the stretch, the fullness, the perfect way he fits inside me.
For a moment, we’re both still. Both breathing hard. Both caught in that exquisite tension between movement and stillness.
Then Keir’s hands grip my hips, his stormy eyes lock onto mine, and we move together—finding our rhythm, losing ourselves in each other, washing away the horrors of the day in the oldest comfort known to any species.
We take our time worshiping every inch of each other as we move slowly together. Every stroke, every caress, I swear he’s saying I love you. He kisses me softly as he lifts me up and lets the water support my weight as he moves. I feel his knot inflate, that mass hitting my sex drives me nuts. When I least expect it, he drives it home, sinking deep into me. We’re locked together and I cry out as my orgasm washes over me. He follows me over the edge, and I am so very grateful we’re in the water. His knees give out just as he reaches back for the stairs. He pulls me up to sit and just holds me. There're no words needed for moments like this with Keir. Sometimes just being with him is enough to heal my battered soul.
