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"Depends," I said warily, my eyes fixed on the pattern of raindrops that raced down the glass. "Is it going to kill the mood?"
"Maybe," he admitted, and I turned to look at him—really look—at the sincerity that painted his handsome features. "I want to do good in this world, Averill. Help people, help the planet... leave something behind that's more than just a legacy of wealth."
"Sounds... noble." I couldn't keep the skepticism from creeping into my tone, but Ansel didn't flinch.
"Everything I do, I do to counteract the damage my father has caused. He was a bad man, did terrible things..." There was a shadow there, in the set of his jaw, the furrow of his brow. "I need to make it right."
"Undo the sins of the father?" I raised an eyebrow, the cynic inside me laughing at the idea. "Seems to me like you're doing okay." I let my gaze wander over his broad shoulders, down the planes of his chest. "For a saint."
"I never said I was one of those."
"Good," I smirked."Because saints don't get to do what we're about to do next."
Waterlogged fingertips traced the skyline of Ansel's back, muscles shifting like tectonic plates under smooth skin. I still reeled from his confessions, from the heat of his gaze when he spoke of redemption. It was intoxicating, the blend of naked ambition and bare skin.
"Ever think your halo might be a little crooked?" My voice was playful, but there was truth at its core. We were two halves of the same tarnished coin—both marked by our fathers' sins, both desperately clawing for something purer than the bloodlines we'd been dealt.
Ansel's laugh rumbled through the bathwater. "I'm no angel, Averill. But I'd say we're doing a damn good job of polishing each other's halos tonight."
I leaned back as we rose from our liquid cocoon.
"Let's take this somewhere... more dry,” Ansel suggested and I couldn't help but agree. There's only so much aquatic acrobatics one can perform before dreaming of the solid ground—or in this case, a king-sized bed that promised a different kind of dance.
The bedroom was a haze of soft shadows and silk sheets, the city's pulse dimmed by thick curtains. I watched Ansel, the way his eyes darkened with desire.
"Come here," he murmured, and it wasn't a request. It was an anchor thrown into the stormy sea between us, pulling me inexorably toward him.
Our bodies collided with a hunger that was nearly violent in its need, a symphony of sighs and gasps. His hands were everywhere.
"You are fucking breathtaking,” he breathed against my ear.
I panted and arched into him as we moved in sync, a passionate dance that spoke of things neither of us dared to say aloud. His mouth found mine, and I tasted the remnants of wine promises. It was dizzying, the way he made me feel seen, known in ways I had never allowed before. Every thrust, every caress shattered another piece of the armor I had built around my heart.
"Tell me what you want," Ansel growled, a dare more than a question.
In that moment, with him, I wanted everything. "Everything," I admitted.
"Then take it."
So I did. I took his body, his whispered praises, his unspoken dreams. We both clung to the dangerous flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, we could wash away the stains left by our fathers.
I whispered his name, a desperate plea, as our bodies moved together in perfect harmony. "Say it again," he demanded, and I did, over and over until our names were the only words we knew. Our passion ebbed and flowed, leaving us spent and tangled in the safety of his bed.
"You're such a beautiful sight, taking my cock like that." Ansel murmured, his words threatening to pull me down into yet another wave of pleasure. "Who would I be to keep such a sight to myself?"
In one smooth move Ansel pulled me to my feet and beckoned me to the other side of the room. The next thing I knew the city was sprawled beneath us like a kingdom of electric veins, pulsing with life and secrets. The cool glass of Ansel's floor-to-ceiling windows pressed against the bare skin of my nipples as he claimed me, the heat of his body a stark contrast to the chill of the surface. His hands were on my hips, guiding, taking, praising. My tits pressed against the glass harder and harder with every thrust.
"Fuck, Averill. You're incredible," his voice was low, breath hot on my ear.
"Comes with practice," My sarcasm was swallowed whole by a moan.
"Good job." he whispered and punctuated each word with a deep thrust that made my knees weak and made me clutch at him for support.
"Gold star for effort," I managed to say with a reckless grin stretched across my face. It was a lie; he deserved a goddamn constellation for the way his cock stretched me.
I watched our reflection—a tangle of limbs and lust, painted in shadows and neon.
"Ansel," I gasped, as the tension wound tighter, spiraling toward oblivion.
