“So I’ve noticed.” I leaned back into him, letting my head fall against his shoulder. The soap made his skin slick against mine, creating a delicious friction with every slight movement. Steam curled around us, wrapping us in our own private world where nothing existed beyond the shower’s glass walls. His hands glided over my chest, leaving trails of warmth that lingered long after his touch moved on.
The hot water drummed against my collarbone, rivulets finding paths down my torso only to be redirected by his exploring fingers. Each sweep of his hands washed away a little more of my usual restraint. The clay was gone now, but he kept touching, kept exploring.
When his hand drifted lower across my stomach, my muscles jumped under his touch. The gentle scrape of his calloused palm against sensitive skin sent lightning racing up my spine. A sound escaped me—needy, desperate—echoing off the bathroom tiles before I could swallow it back.
His breath was hot against my ear, a stark contrast to the cooling water. “I’ve been thinking about touching you like this for weeks,” he murmured, his voice a physical thing that vibrated through me where we pressed together. “Ever since you invited me over.”
My thoughts scattered like water droplets, impossible to gather as his fingers traced teasing patterns along my hip bones. Every nerve ending sparked to life, my body arching into his touch without conscious permission. I couldn’t remember why I’d ever hesitated to let him into this part of my life, couldn’t recall a single reason this wasn’t the best idea I’d ever had.
“Is this okay?” he asked, lips brushing my ear. That was new—him asking instead of taking.
“God, yes,” I breathed, turning in his arms to capture his mouth with mine.
The kiss was desperate, savage, my tongue sliding against his as I tasted soap and something darker, something primal that belonged only to him. My hands found purchase on his slick chest, tracing every ridge and valley of muscle before sliding up to tangle in his wet hair. I tugged hard, and the growl that vibrated through his chest wasn’t human—it was pure predator, and it sent a violent shudder straight to my core.
He slammed me against the shower wall, the cold tile a brutal shock against my overheated skin. The contrast tore a gasp from my throat, my back arching away from the chill and into the scorching heat of him. His body pinned mine, hard everywhere—chest, thighs, cock—as water cascaded over both of us, turning the soap into a slick barrier that made every slide of his body against mine feel like torture.
“Kronos,” I barely recognized my voice as his mouth left mine to trace a burning path down my neck. My fingers dug into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks, desperate for an anchor as he bit down on that spot below my ear that always made me collapse.
His hands were everywhere at once, possessive and demanding, claiming every inch of me with bruising intensity. When his fingers wrapped around my cock, slick with soap and water, I nearly lost it right there. My head slammed back against the tile, vision going white at the edges.
“Let me hear you,” he demanded, his voice rough with barely contained savagery. “I want to hear what I do to you.”
I couldn’t have held back if my life depended on it. Every merciless stroke of his hand ripped sounds from my throat I’d never heard myself make—broken, animal noises that bounced off the tile walls and came back to mock me. His silver eyes burned into mine, watching every twitch, every gasp, adjusting his pace and pressure until I was a trembling, incoherent mess.
Just when I thought I couldn’t take any more, when I was right on the razor’s edge, he dropped to his knees with predatory grace, water streaming over his shoulders as he looked up at me with eyes that glowed like molten metal. “Hold on,” was all the warning I got before his mouth replaced his hand.
The wet, searing heat of him engulfed me. My vision blacked out for a second, and I grabbed blindly for support, knocking bottles and soap everywhere as my legs threatened to give out. The sight of him on his knees, water sluicing down that perfect body while he took me apart like it was his divine fucking purpose in life, was too much to process.
“Fuck—Kronos—I can’t.” Words failed me as his tongue did something that should be illegal in all fifty states. His strong hands gripped my hips with bruising force, holding me in place as he worked me with ruthless precision.
It was the combination that destroyed me—his mouth, his hands digging into my hips, and those inhuman silver eyes locked on mine, refusing to let me hide as he watched me fall apart. The orgasm hit like a freight train. My entire body convulsed, pleasure so intense it bordered on pain consuming me until there was nothing left but sensation.
By the time I clawed my way back to consciousness, the water had gone ice cold, but I couldn’t feel anything beyond the aftershocks still rippling through me. My legs had given out, and Kronos was holding me up against the tile, his expression almost reverent as he watched me struggle to remember how breathing worked.
“Perfect,” he murmured, pushing wet hair from my face with surprising gentleness. The contrast between the savage hunger of moments before and this tender touch made my throat tight with emotions I wasn’t ready to name.
I felt hollowed out, rebuilt, and marked in ways that went far deeper than physical. Whatever this was between us had just crossed into territory I’d never navigated before, and some distant part of me recognized I should be terrified. Instead, I just let my head fall against his shoulder, surrendering to the strange peace that came after being so thoroughly claimed.
Later, he sat on my bed wrapped in a towel. He lounged in my sweatpants that barely reached his ankles, his chest still damp from our shower.
“What are you thinking?” he asked, catching me staring.
“That I didn’t expect tonight to end like this,” I admitted. “But I’m not complaining.”
His smile was slow. “Good, because I’m not finished with you yet.” He sat beside me, the mattress dipping under his weight. “In fact, I was thinking we might go shopping soon.”
“Shopping?” The change of subject threw me. “For what?”
His fingers traced the edge of my towel. “Something special. For us.” His eyes held mine, heat and promise in their silverdepths. “There’s a store I know that carries items I think you’d enjoy. Things I’d very much like to use on you.”
The implication sent heat flooding through me all over again. “Oh.”
“But only if you’re interested,” he added, and there was that newness again—the careful attention to my comfort, my consent.
I thought about the texts we’d exchanged over the past few weeks, about the things he’d described in explicit detail, about how completely undone I’d been in the shower just moments ago.
“Show me,” I said, leaning in to brush my lips against his. “I want to see.”
