I clench around him hard, on purpose, just to hear the sound it pulls from his throat. His body jerks.
“Don’t hold back,” I whisper, then gasp as he trusts up into me and my nails drag down his back, digging in. “I want all of you.”
His body shifts.
He pulls out, just for a second—enough for me to feel the sudden, empty ache before he thrusts back up into me, the thick head of him hitting just right, and I swear I see sparks behind my eyes.
“Grant,” I choke out, barely breathing. “I’m—God, I’m so close.”
His hand moves between us without hesitation, fingers finding my clit and circling in tight, precise rhythm. The second he touches me there, my legs tense around his waist, my whole body arching off the tile.
“I know, baby,” he murmurs, his voice all heat and grit. “I can feel it. Be a good girl for me and let go. Come for me baby.”
I cling to him, forehead pressed to his, mouth falling open around his name as everything inside me coils, tight and frantic, desperate for release.
The pressure builds. Sharp. Hot. Unforgiving.
I cry out, loud and broken, thighs trembling around him as my orgasm slams through me. My body clamps down on him, pulsing hard, my nails biting into his skin, and I’m shaking so badly I can’t hold my legs around him—but I don’t need to.
Grant holds me up.
“Come inside me,” I whisper. “I want to feel all of you.”
That’s all it takes.
“Fuuuuck!” He growls against my throat, thrusts once, twice, then stills. His whole body tenses, muscles flexing under my hands as he spills inside me, filling me with his wet hot heat, deep and coursing, hips grinding into mine while his breath tears out of him in a sound that’s all pleasure and surrender.
We stay there, tangled in each other, water crashing down, steam thick around us, hearts hammering in sync.
He doesn't pull back. Doesn’t loosen his grip.
Just holds me there—full, shaking, quiet.
And I’ve never felt more undone… or more whole.
Chapter 25
Mia
Sunlight filters through unfamiliar curtains as I wake, momentarily disoriented. This isn't the guest room. The sheets beneath me smell like sandalwood and something distinctly male. Grant.
Memories of last night flood my consciousness in vivid detail—his hands on my skin, his mouth against mine, the way he'd looked at me like I was something precious. Something worth keeping.
It’s him carrying me from the bathroom, his arms strong and steady as he laid me down on his bed like I was something fragile. Like he couldn’t bear to let me go. Like there was nowhere else he’d rather be than inside me, watching every breath I took. The way his eyes never left mine when he moved over me again, slower this time, as if we had all the time in the world. As if he wanted to memorize how I looked falling apart beneath him over and over again.
We didn’t speak much.
We didn’t have to.
Every kiss, every touch, every stolen breath was a conversation we weren’t brave enough to say out loud.
And now I’m here, blinking at the morning light, wondering how the hell I’m supposed to walk away from someone who made me feel like that.
I lift a hand to my lips, still tender, still tingling from how thoroughly he kissed me—again and again like he couldn't get enough.
What the hell have I done?
How am I supposed to walk away from someone who looked at me like I was the only thing that made sense in his entire world?
