"Let me." I reach for the soap.
He catches my wrist gently. "You don't have to."
"I want to." I meet those storm-gray eyes. "Let me take care of you."
Something in his expression cracks open. Permission and vulnerability both.
I soap my hands and start at his shoulders, working down the broad muscles of his chest. He stands still beneath my touch, eyes closed, breathing carefully controlled. Water sluices over both of us, washing away sweat and tears and the evidence of desperation.
The compass rose on his forearm catches the spray, ink stark against flushed skin.
"You held back." I press a kiss to his chest, then lower. To his abdomen. Lower still. "That's everything."
I sink to my knees on the shower floor.
His eyes fly open. "Elowen?—"
"Let me worship you." My hands slide down to his hips. "Let me show you what restraint means to me."
He's already hardening again, rut driving him toward the next round whether he's ready or not. I take him in my mouth slowly, reverently, showing him with lips and tongue what words can't fully express.
Thank you for choosing me.
Thank you for waiting.
Thank you for being strong enough to be gentle.
His hand finds my hair, grounding himself in the connection. Trembling. The sounds he makes are broken, desperate, beautiful.
"Elowen… I can't… I'm going to…"
I pull back just enough to breathe against him. "Then do."
“God, Elowen, you’re so… perfect.” He comes with his head thrown back against the tiles, every muscle locked tight. I take everything he gives me, swallowing, savoring the trust in his surrender.
When I release him and stand, his hands cup my face with such tenderness I could cry again.
"How are you real?" His voice breaks on the question.
"The same way you are." I kiss him softly, tasting us both. "By choosing this. Every day."
We finish washing in comfortable silence, hands gentle on each other's bodies. He towels me dry with careful attention, pressing kisses to my shoulder, my temple, my lips. Softer now. Present.
"Bed?" I ask quietly.
The need flares in his scent again, not desperate like before, but building steadily. The rut isn't done with him yet.
"Yeah." He takes my hand. "Bed."
The second round is different.
Less frantic. More deliberate. He lays me on the sheets with careful hands and maps every inch of my body with his mouth. My throat where he didn't bite. My breasts. My stomach. Between my thighs, bringing me to the edge and over twice before he finally enters me.
I'm so sensitive from the first round that I nearly come immediately. He moves with aching slowness, letting me adjust, building the pleasure in careful layers.
"I love you," he breathes against my lips. "I love you. I'm sorry I waited so long to say it."
"I know." I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. "I've always known."
