Then not so gently.
A groan tears out of me when he changes the angle. “Fuck—yes—harder—” I don’t even know what I’m saying.
He snaps his hips forward. The force of it makes me brace against the tile.
I don’t stop him. Every thrust hits perfectly. Every time. And the look in his eyes when I glance back… fuck. It’s not just hunger. It’s certainty. Like he never doubted we’d find our way back here.
Soft disappears. This becomes desperate.
He hits my prostate again and my vision flickers. “More,” I breathe. “Rafe.”
He bites my shoulder without warning. I bark out a startled laugh that turns into a broken sound when he fucks me deep.
Fuck.
He drives into me harder. His breathing turns rough. Mine turns wrecked.
I don’t know how I haven’t come already.
Heat coils low and unrelenting…. inevitable. I twist my head and our mouths crash together. It’s messy. Teeth. Breath. No rhythm. Perfect.
He pulls back and looks at me like he’s trying to memorize my face. That look breaks something open. My orgasm hitswithout warning. Hard. Blinding. I spill against the tiles without touching myself once.
He pulls me upright, my back against his chest, his arm locking around me.
Another thrust. Then heat.
I shudder as he comes, pressing his face against my back. I tighten around him instinctively, not wanting him to move. Not wanting this to end.
He groans low when I clamp down. I turn my head, lazy and wrecked, just enough to catch the edge of his profile over my shoulder.
For a few seconds, neither of us says anything.
The water still runs. Steam curls around us. Our breathing is the only sound in the room.
It would be easy to stay here. To pretend this is all there is. Just heat and skin and eight years collapsing into something that feels almost simple.
Rafe presses a slow kiss to my shoulder. “You good?” he asks quietly.
“Yeah.” My voice is rough, but steadier than I expect. “You?”
He hums against my skin. “Better than good.”
I almost smile. But then his hand slides down my hip, fingers brushing the ink there again, and something heavier settles between us. But there’s something else there too. Something thinking.
He eases out of me, and I turn so we’re facing each other.
“You know this isn’t slow, right?” he says.
I let out a breath that might be a laugh. “No. I hadn’t noticed.”
His mouth twitches, but he doesn’t look away. “We said we were going to take it slow. Dinner. Talking. Figuring out who we are now.”
“We did,” I agree.
Instead, we’re here. Naked. Steam curling around us. Eight years of restraint detonated in under an hour.
He drags a hand through his damp hair. “This doesn’t feel like slow.”
