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"Tell me what you want, Averill," he growled against my neck, each thrust punctuating his words.
"More," I gasped, because it's all I could think, all I could feel. "Don't you dare fucking stop."
"Wasn't planning on it." His voice was a dark promise that sent a shiver racing down my spine, even in the warmth of the shower.
We moved together, a dance honed on the streets but perfected here, in the most intimate of tangos. Water cascaded over us, but it was his name that was a constant stream from my lips—a spell, a prayer, a curse—as pleasure built, coiling tight in my belly.
"Kylo," I warned, my nails digging into his shoulders marking him with transient trails that mirrored the ink etched into my own skin—temporary but significant. Everything else slipped away—the case files, the badge, the unending rain on the pavement outside. There was just this, just him, just us.
"I've got you," he assured me, and I believed him. Not because he was my partner and had my six on the job, and not because he was the man currently driving me to the brink of insanity. But because when I looked into his eyes, I saw the same storm that’d been brewing inside me, wild and untamed.
"Harder, Kylo," I commanded, my voice barely above a whisper "Make it count."
"Christ, Averill," he breathed into my ear, and there was a worship there that almost made me blush. Almost.
His hands roamed with possessive intent, mapping the planes of my wet skin like he was charting new territory. I taunt, half-moan, half-chuckle, feeling the tell-tale clenching that screams the arrival of something monumental.
"Jesus, you feel so—" The rest of his sentence got lost in a growl as he drove deeper, finding a new rhythm that sent sparks skittering across my vision.
My body sang a different tune—one of pure, unadulterated bliss.
"Oh, fuck!" My hips bucked against his as I spiraled towards climax, each thrust pushing me closer to the edge, where the cityscape blurred and all that existed was sensation, Kylo, and the relentless pursuit of ecstasy.
"Come for me, Averill," Kylo murmured, his lips tracing the shell of my ear.
"Kylo..." His name fell from my lips like a blessing as the wave broke, pleasure crashing over me in an assault that left no room for thought, only feeling—the kind of overwhelming surge that drowned out the chaos of the world beyond the misty confines of the bathroom.
"Fuck yes, Averill," he groaned as he followed suit, his release searing through him, branding me in the most intimate of ways. Whispers of affirmation mingled with moans, our voices entwining like our bodies, stitching together the fragments of ourselves that we’d laid bare to one another.
"Bet you didn't see this in your case predictions," I smirk weakly, the aftershocks still rippling through me.
"Predictable's overrated," Kylo countered, his breath hot against my shoulder.
The transition from the steamy enclosure of the shower to the sprawling expanse of the motel bed was a blur. The air outside was cooler, but Kylo's body against mine was an inferno that scorched any chill straight out of the room. We stumbled, half-drenched, water droplets mingling with sweat as we fell onto the mattress in a tangle of limbs—a mess of desire that couldn't be contained by tiles and shower curtains.
"Fuck Averill," he panted, his breath hitching as I wrapped my legs around him, drawing him closer. "You're insatiable."
I smirked as my body arched up to meet his. "Private investigators—we like our... cases thorough."
"Then let's not leave any stone unturned," he murmured, his voice rough as he shifted, maneuvering between my thighs with a primal grace.
And there he was, Kylo—fucking Quinn—on his knees in front of me, worshiping at the altar of my body with a passion that had nothing to do with purity and everything to do with sin. His tongue painted strokes of fire across my skin, mapping out my clit in a way that would make cartographers jealous. Every flicker and swirl was a revelation, peeling back layers of myself that I didn't even know were there to be discovered.
"Kylo," I gasped and my fingers tangled in his short hair, holding on like he was the only thing tethering me to reality. "You—oh God, you have a goddamn talent for this."
"Tell me what you want, Averill," he coaxed, his eyes locked on mine with an intensity that could melt steel—or at least the walls I'd built around myself.
"More," was all I could manage, and it was truth stripped bare—no dark humor, no sarcasm. Just the raw edge of need, honed sharp by every betrayal, every loss that led me here, to this bed, with this man who seemed hell-bent on proving that trust could be just as exhilarating as vengeance.
"More it is," he vowed, and his mouth descended again, a promise and a curse all rolled into one.
The light peeking through the blinds glinted off of our sweat-covered bodies. Kylo held me tight, like he was protecting his territory. And I finally realized that he wasn't just a temporary escape from my usual crazy life.
"Christ," I panted, my heart thundering like it wanted to break free. "Who knew the good cop routine came with such... fringe benefits."
He laughed, his chest vibrating against mine. "You'll find I'm full of surprises, Winslow." he soothed and ran a hand down the curve of my spine, tracing the path of ink that told stories I rarely shared. "This is different. This is real."
We lay there, the rhythm of our breathing slowly syncing up as we descended from the heights of passion. His fingers traced lazy circles on my back, grounding me in the moment—a rarity for someone who could slip through time as easily as other people slipped through lies.
