“Fuck,” he breathes, jaw clenching. “You feel what you do to me? That’s not going away after once. Not even close.”
“Then don’t wait,” I whisper, guiding him closer. My thighs part, eager and open.
He grips my thighs and lifts me like I weigh nothing, his body solid beneath mine, water trailing down our bodies in hot streams. My back hits the shower wall, cool tile meeting my overheated skin. I wrap my legs around his waist, heels locking behind him, my nipples brush against his muscled chest and he groans against my neck.
His hands slide under my thighs, holding me steady as he shifts his hips forward, the head of him pressing right where I need him. He moves slow, controlled—and I feel him begin to push into me. My fingers dig into his shoulders. I gasp. He’s so big, and the stretch is instant.
Grant stills.
His forehead presses against mine. “I have to go slow, okay,” he says, voice rough but tender. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
His words hit something deep inside me. I nod, and my throat tightens around it. Not just from the fullness, or the heat, but from the care in his voice. The reverence. Like this moment means just as much to him as it does to me.
Every second weighted with focus and restraint. He moves again—just an inch—and I feel him stretching me further, my body clenching around him as he sinks deeper. My head tips forward against his shoulder, breath caught in my throat, every nerve lit up and sparking.
“Look at me baby,” he says, voice low and commanding.
I meet his eyes. They’re dark, locked on mine, unflinching.
I’m helpless to do anything but feel—deep, hot, full—held up by nothing but his strength and the need crackling between us.
“You okay?” he murmurs on a ragged breath, one hand splayed against my lower back, holding me steady.
“Yeah,” I whisper, barely audible. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop.”
His grip tightens. He pushes in again, slower this time, his hips working carefully, giving me time to adjust. I feel every inch of him slide inside, the pressure sharp and full and overwhelming in the best way. My jaw slackens as I let out a shaky breath.
“God, Mia,” he groans against my neck. “You’re so tight.”
I whimper when he pushes in all the way, buried deep inside me, holding still as my body tries to adjust around him. I can feel his restraint in every muscle, every breath. He’s trembling too—but waiting for me.
“Look at me, baby,” he says again, softer this time.
I lift my head. Meet his eyes.
They’re blown wide and burning—no cockiness, no rush. Just him, seeingme.
His forehead brushes mine. “Tell me when you’re ready.”
“Move,” I whisper against his lips, my voice shaky, barely a breath. “Please, Grant… move.”
He does.
He starts slow, deep. Pulling out and pushing back in, the first thrust rolls through me like a shockwave, every inch of himdragging against where I’m already throbbing. I moan—helpless and loud—my body stretching around him, still sensitive, still greedy.
The next stroke pulls more sound from my throat. Then the next.
My heels dig into his lower back, urging him closer, deeper, when he’s already buried impossibly deep. He takes the hint, his hips snapping forward harder now, his rhythm picking up. Wet skin slaps on wet skin. Water trickles down our bodies. The wet sound of him moving in and out of me fills the air alongside the sharp, unfiltered gasps I can’t hold in anymore.
His mouth brushes my ear. “You feel so good,” he groans, voice thick, like every word is pulled from deep in his chest. “So fucking good, baby.” The words spill from him, as he trusts up into me all the way.
I barely manage a sound in return. I’m too focused on the way he fills me, the drag, the pressure, the delicious friction. He grips my hips with strong hands, but it doesn’t feel like control—it feels like he needs something to hold onto, like I’m the only thing keeping him grounded.
Then his mouth finds mine again. The kiss is deep. Intense. Like everything in him is pouring into it. His tongue slides against mine, his hips never breaking rhythm, and I melt under it—underhim. I lose track of everything but this. This rhythm. This heat. Thisneedthat’s so far past physical now it feels like something breaking open inside me.
I whimper into his mouth, and he groans into mine.
He breaks the kiss long enough to pant, “So good for me. So goddamn tight and wet—I swear, I’m gonna lose my mind.”
