Page 121 of What We Become

“Missed the cleanup glow?” I murmur, keeping my voice light even as my pulse kicks up, water streaming over us both now.

He doesn’t answer with words. Instead, his mouth finds the nape of my neck, teeth grazing the skin there in a bite that’s more claim than tease, and I suck in a breath, bracing one hand against the tile as his body presses flush to mine. He’s already hard, the length of him sliding against my ass, and fuck, the reality of it hits me harder than any fantasy I’ve spun in the quiet hours. We’ve done plenty together by now—hands, mouths, and several things that would get us removed from polite society—but he’s never fucked me. That’s the line we’re yet to cross. I’m finally going to lose my butthole virginity, and I’m not about to pull back.

“Turn around,” he growls, voice low and rough, the kind of command that vibrates through my chest.

I turn slowly. His ice-blue eyes lock on mine while water slicks his hair flat and runs down his chest. I follow one trail with my finger until he catches my wrist and pins it to the wall above my head.

“Been thinking about fucking you,” he admits, his free hand sliding down my side with slow, deliberate intent. “You. Here. Like this.”

“Yeah?” I manage, voice breathier than I intend, because his palm wraps around my shaft, stroking me in slow, deliberate passes that send sparks up my spine. “What took you so long, Detective?”

He doesn’t laugh, doesn’t quip back. Instead, he leans in, mouth crashing against mine in a kiss that’s all hunger and control, his tongue demanding entry while his hand works me over. I groan into it, free hand clutching his shoulder as the heat builds between us. He breaks the kiss to bite along my jaw, down my throat, and when he reaches my collarbone, he sucks hard enough to leave a mark somewhere nobody will miss.

“Turn around and spread your legs,” he orders, and I do without hesitation. He cracks the shower door open just far enough to retrieve a bottle of lube I definitely didn’t leave on the vanity.

Of course the bastard came prepared. Apparently nothing says romance like premeditated anal.

He positions himself behind me again, one hand on my hip while the other slicks me thoroughly, then presses one finger inside me, careful but insistent. I push back against him, biting my lip against the sound trying to escape.

“Easy,” he murmurs, but there’s a tremor in his voice now, the iron control fraying at the edges as he adds another finger, curling them just right. “Tell me if it’s too much.”

“It’s not,” I gasp, forehead against the tile, water pounding my back. “More. Holden—fuck, just⁠—”

He doesn’t make me beg. He lines up, pushes in slow at first, inch by torturous inch, and the burn of it is exquisite, making my knees weaken until his arm bands around my waist, holding me steady.

“Breathe,” he says, voice strained, and I do, inhaling sharply as he seats himself, the fullness overwhelming in the best way. We stay like that for a beat, his chest heaving against my back, before he starts to move—deep, controlled thrusts that build a rhythm I can’t help but match, rocking back to meet him.

“Fuck, Milo,” he groans, picking up speed, one hand braced on the wall beside mine, the other sliding down to stroke me in time with his hips. The friction, the heat, the way he fills me—it’s too much and not enough, pleasure coiling tight in my gut as his breaths turn ragged in my ear. “You feel—goddamn perfect.”

I laugh, breathless and wrecked, twisting just enough to catch his mouth in a messy kiss over my shoulder, the angle awkward but desperate, all teeth and tongue and the kind of raw need that makes everything sharper. He kisses me back like he’s starving for it, his thrusts never faltering, each one driving deeper, harder, until the world narrows to the slick slide of skin, the steam choking the air, and the building pressure that has me gasping his name against his lips.

I break away first, forehead back to the tile, because if I don’t, I’ll come too fast, and I want to drag this out—make him lose that ironclad control he’s always clinging to.

“You fuck so good,” I mutter, half-laughing, half-moaning as his hand speeds up, stroking me with a twist at the end that sends fireworks up my spine. “Fuck, Holden—right there, don’t you dare stop.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” he rasps, and hearing the words with his cock buried inside me sends a fresh bolt of heat through my gut. His rhythm turns punishing, hips snapping forward, and I can feel him unraveling behind me—the way his breaths hitch, the low growl in his throat when I clench around him. It’s intoxicating, knowing I can do this to him, reduce the unflappable detective to something primal and undone.

The pressure snaps, and I come over his hand with his name breaking apart in my mouth, the way I clench pulling him with me. He buries himself deep, shuddering against my back as he comes, one arm locked around my waist beneath the cooling spray.

Finally, he pulls out slow, careful, and turns me around again, cupping my face with both hands under the spray. His eyes move over my face, that post-orgasm haze softening the sharp edges of him, making him look almost vulnerable.

“You okay?” he asks, voice rough but steady, thumb brushing my cheekbone.

I grin, even though my legs feel like they’ve been replaced with jelly. “Better than okay. You should’ve fucked me sooner.”

His mouth tips at one corner, not quite a smile but close enough that I’d frame it.

“Agreed.” He leans in, kisses me softer this time, lingering like he’s memorizing the taste, before reaching past me to shut off the water. The sudden silence is deafening, just the drip-drip from the showerhead and our slowing breaths.

We dry off in comfortable quiet—me sneaking looks at the mark he left on my collarbone, him wrapping a towel around my waist with the same focused care he gives everything. It’s painfully Holden: fuck me into the shower wall, then make sure I don’t slip getting out. Downstairs, the TV murmurs, and it all feels strangely ordinary, like this isn’t a new relationship or a new version of us, just one more thing we were always going to get around to.

Holden dresses first, pulling on sweatpants and a tee, then pauses at the door. “Come downstairs when you’re ready. I’ll make you tea, and we’ll wait for Sage and the others.”

I nod, watching him go, and for the first time in a while, the buzzing in my brain quiets to a hum. It isn’t gone, and I don’t expect it to stay quiet forever, but right now my body is loose, my thoughts have stopped trying to overtake one another, and Holden finally fucked me.

That feels like plenty.

I pull on sweats and pad downstairs to find Holden on the couch next to Micah, a fresh mug of tea already steaming on the coffee table for me. He’s watching TV like a man who absolutely did not just fuck me against the shower tiles ten minutes ago. His hair is still damp. So is mine. We look like two people who showered at the same time, which is exactly what happened, and I’m choosing to believe nobody will notice.