She is on her knees on the marble in front of me.
That’s it.
That’s the entire content of my mind.
She works me harder and I am pulsing against her tongue and her eyes come up and meet mine and I can’t do anything with the way she’s looking at me. I can’t manage it. I can’t put it anywhere except where it lands.
“Nova — I’m gonna —”
She squeezes the base.
Hard.
And keeps going.
I come down her throat with my hand in her wet hair and the water in my eyes and a sound coming out of me that is not a word, has never been a word, will not become a word — just sound, raw, scraped out of somewhere I don’t normally let people see.
She takes all of it.
Doesn’t pull off.
Hand still working the base, mouth still on me, until I am wrung out and shaking and the only thing holding me upright is the bench under me and her hands on my thighs.
She lets me slip out of her mouth.
Sits back on her heels on the marble.
Looks up.
Wipes her mouth with the back of her wrist.
“Hi,” she says.
I can’t speak.
I get my hands under her arms.
Pull her up.
Pull her into my lap on the bench.
She straddles me.
Wet skin against wet skin, the water still running over both of us, her arms going around my neck and my arms going around her back and I kiss her — hard, with her own taste in my mouth, and don’t care, want it, want the proof that what just happened actually happened.
“Jax.”
“Mhm.”
“Are you with me.”
“I’m with you.”
“You sure.”
“I’m sure. I just —”
“Take a second.”
