I break the kiss just long enough to gasp when my hand wraps around both our shafts, and I stroke them together. Pre-cum slicks my fingers as I work us. Our cocks slide against each other, the heads bump, and the veins throb. Caiden groans into my mouth, and his hips jerk upward, fucking into my grip. The water pounds down on us, running in rivulets down my back, my ass, and my thighs. His hand slides down my back, his fingers digging into my flesh hard enough to leave bruises, and I love it. Fuck, I crave it. “Goddamn,” I growl against his lips. “Look at you. Already so hard for me.”
He smirks, even as his cock jerks in my grip. “You like that, don’t you? Knowing I can’t fucking resist you.” My answer is a sharp bite to his lower lip. My teeth sink in just enough to sting before I soothe it with my tongue.
Then I’m spinning him again, pressing him face-first against the tiles. My body cages him in, and I press my thick and heavy cock against him, dragging it against his ass, and I know his hole will be clenching, empty and aching for me, needing me deep inside him.
My hand slides down his back, my fingers tracing the dip of his spine before gripping his hip, and pulling him back against me. “Spread your legs,” I command. He obeys without hesitation, widening his stance and bracing his hands against the wall.
My cock nestles between his cheeks, teasing his entrance. I brush my lips against his skin, making him shiver as I lean in, grabbing the coconut oil from the shelf — good enough. “You want this?” I ask, my oiled fingers sliding lower, tracing his crack and circling his hole with just enough pressure to make him groan. “Want me to fuck this tight ass of yours until you can’t even remember your own name?” I rasp, dripping oil on my cock.
“Fuck yes,” he hisses, pushing back against my touch. “Stop teasing and fuck me.” I chuckle against his neck, and then my fingers are gone, replaced by the thick, blunt head of my cock. He bites his lip, and his body tenses as I press forward, breaching him with one slow, relentless thrust. The burn is instant, stretching him open as I sink deeper, my cock filling him slowly, inch by inch, until my hips are flush against his ass.
“Fuck,” he groans, his forehead dropping against the tiles, and his fingers curling into fists. “Just like that,” he moans. I give him a minute to adjust, then I pull back and slam into him.
My cock pistons in and out with deep, punishing strokes. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes in the steam-filled air. My hands grip his hips, and my fingers dig in as I fuck him with an unrelenting rhythm.
“Touch yourself,” I growl, “I want to feel you come while I’m buried inside you.” He doesn’t need to be told twice. He wraps one arm around the back of my neck and the other around his cock, stroking frantically, arching his back into me.
Pleasure coils tight in my gut, my balls draw up, my cock throbs in the tight grip of him. Caiden’s pace on his cock quickens, my chest presses against his back, my cock hits that spot inside him that makes him whimper, and his vision blur over and over again.
“That’s it,” I growl, my hips snap forward, my cock burying to the hilt. “Fucking take it, detka.”
He gasps, his strokes become frantic, his cock leaks, and his body trembles violently. “Fuck, I’m—I’m—”
“Come for me,” I snarl, my fingers dig into his flesh hard, leaving more marks. His cock erupts, cum splatters against the shower wall, mixing with the water streaming down. His body locks up, his ass clenches around my cock as pleasure tears through him. I groan, my cock pulses inside him as I bury myself deep and come, filling him up as I grunt his name.
We collapse against each other, both of our bodies trembling, our breaths ragged. The water continues to pour over us, washing away the cum and sweat, but the heat between us still hangs in the air. I press a kiss to the back of his neck, my lips linger, and my cock is still buried inside him.
I stand there for what feels like an eternity, needing to forget that later exists.
Thirty-One
Caiden
The first thing that I realise after the shower is my legs; they are, in fact, a betrayal. It sounds as dramatic as it feels. When people have said they were fucked until they couldn't walk straight — honestly, now I get it. In the practical sense, my thighs protest when I walk, my lower back sends a polite but firm complaint, and I have to pretend I’m not walking as if I’ve been in a bar fight with gravity.
Ari’s acting as if nothing happened — which is infuriating, becauseeverythinghappened. It happened with his mouth on my neck like he was marking territory, and his hands grabbing my hips so hard it was like he was clinging on for life. Now he’s in the kitchenette like he didn’t just ruin my ability to function. Joggers, bare feet, one of my shirts hanging off him like it’s his now; his hair is damp, messy and curling slightly at the ends. Just... beautiful.
He’s moving around the little stove with that same menace he has on base, except here it looks softer. Not kinder, exactly. Just less sharpened for war. My menace gremlin is still in there. I can see it in the way he picks up the pan and flips whatever’s in it with unnecessary confidence — show-off bastard. But there’s something else too, something I don’t think I’ve seen before.
Arseny Zakirov, the man.
The one who makes coffee without being asked. The man who’s quietly taken notice of what I like and filed it away in his memory like it matters. The thief who’s wearing my shirtand pretending it’s nothing, while doing something domestic enough to make my brain stall.
I stop just inside the area, the towel still in my hands, and watch him for what most people would call an unhealthy amount of time. His arms flex when he reaches for the mugs. When he turns, the hem of my shirt rides up just enough to show the hard line of muscle in his stomach above the waistband.
The infuriating part is that none of it is on purpose. Everything Ari does on base is purposeful. It has to be — no accidents, always on guard, and keeping everything hidden. But here, everything’s different.
He’sdifferent.
It’s those accidental moments that catch me by the throat and threaten to choke the life out of my sanity.He glances over his shoulder like he can feel me staring. “What?” he says, flat and smug at the same time.
“Nothing,” I answer automatically, which is a lie, and we both know it. His mouth curves — it’s not a full smile. Ari doesn’t hand those out often — but it’s close enough to make my brain trip.
“You look like you’re about to say something intelligent,” he says. “I’m frightened.”
“Fuck off,” I mutter, walking in properly. “I’m just assessing the damage.”
He raises an eyebrow. “To you or to my kitchen?”
