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“Literally?”
His groan vibrates against my lips, leading me to believe he’d actually like me to. “You have no idea what fucked up things I like to do after a fight, Kaya.” He rocks his hips on me. “The hour after my fights, I’m on fire.”
“Will you burn me?” Just looking at him is like staring into the sun.
I trail my hands up his back, feeling the muscles ripple and awaken further to the long caress. His lips skim down my chin, down the roll of my throat, to my chest. His hands cup both, but then he stops himself.
“Fuck.” He pushes back. “I’m used to just training all day, fighting, and fucking at night, but I don’t want that with you. So…” He collects himself, wiping off that intensity and replacing it with a lopsided grin that lifts the callous on his lower lip, displaying it to me. The portrait of a warrior and a charmer. “Tell me something real. Something no one else knows.”
I look at the Sylvanians. “Can I clean myself up first? I feel weird talking about them while I’m covered in your cum.”
He grins when he follows my line of sight, knowing exactly whothemare. He nods still smiling at my little Sylvanian Families. Jumping to his feet, he says, “Come with me, Woman.” He struts into the tiny bathroom. “Jesus!” He laughs, the noise echoing around the room, reaching me on the mattress. “I can barely fit. But I’ll try.” A splashing sound begins, and I slide to my feet.
I meet him in the bathroom, grinning as he kicks off his shoes and starts to undress, making himself comfortable without invitation.
I sigh, eyeballing this specimen in front of me. The red-blooded woman inside me burns up at the sight unfolding like a damn Christmas present. A slow unwrapping of long pulsing back muscles and then spectacularly thick thighs that lead to defined calves, but it’s the curved arse-cheeks that one can only achieve through squats, lunges, and living the lifestyle of an athlete that causes me to shuffle in place.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m getting in your bath,” he states plainly, stepping into the pink ceramic tub before sliding down, his knees rising. “It’s snug, but you can fit between my legs.” That last bit expels through a cheeky grin, that damn crooked curve, that calloused lower corner exposing itself, and I bite back a swoon. “Come on, Woman.” Leaning back with a sigh, the water filling up around his breathtaking body, he lays his arms along the edges
I go completely quiet, and his smile falls as I pull my shirt over my head. He stares at me while I slowly undress. My frozen expression doesn’t abate the shuddering of my pulse.
Swallowing over a lump in my throat, I slide my jeans down and push them aside. If his darkened eyes could lick me, then they are. I unclip my bra at the back and push my knickers down, acutely aware of his gaze as it has me panting beneath it.
I dip my toe in and then turn to sit between his thighs, lean back, and the water rises to almost the very top. He uses his foot to turn the water off. Behind me, his breaths in and out move my spine, each a rumbling effort of restraint.
“You’re so perfect,” he says into my ear, dropping his hands below the surface to touch me. “These,”—his fingers slide up the outer swell of my thighs to my hips where they dive inward towards my pussy— “This sexy piece.” He plays with my lips, fondling them slowly, separating them with long smooth strokes up and down. It’s the perfect pace, pleasure’s simmering presence forcing my head to drop back to his chest.
The steam rises around us, and I moan, white vapours dancing in the air.
He says, “Tell me aboutthem.”
His fingers leave my pussy and slide upward to my breast, where he massages the pert mounds with water, his hands sliding across my slick skin.
I take a deep breath and exhale a hidden quirk that has forever lived in an anonymous digital space. “I have hundreds of Sylvanian Families. I make little sets with them inspired by major events in my life. Usually they are different, happier or fantastical versions, and just the most important, life-changing,”—I don’t breathe between words now— "events and then, here’s the kicker, I take pictures of them in their little poses and upload them to a private Instagram account called Sylvanian Diaries.”
I inhale air.
Oh. My. God.
I just fucking said that out loud to a boy of all creatures. To a boy I like.Kill. Me.
With his hands still moving around my body, his heart steadier than I’ve ever felt any heart before, his aura calm. I wait for any response to that absolute insanity.
Soon, his silence heightens every noise: the dripping of the spout, the humming from adjacent rooms, his deep, strong breaths—
Then he finally says, “Which one would I be? If you ever deem me important enough, which Sylvanian would I be?”
I smile, my heart swelling.Xander Butcher—acontronym. “I don’t have a panther.” I lift my knee, the water sliding down my skin. “So maybe a wolf or a fox.”
He hums. “What are you?”
“I’m a rabbit.”
“Well,”—his lips meet my shoulder, his words murmuring against it— “then I wanna be a rabbit, too.”
I spin in his lap, his hands sliding over my stomach, never leaving my skin beneath the surface. Until I am straddling him, eye to eye, nothing but us.
