The water was scalding,fog curling around us like smoke. His mouth crushed against mine, all teeth and tongue and urgency. My back hit the slick tile, but I didn’t care—not with his hands gripping my thighs and his cock pressing hard against my stomach.
I gasped when he lifted me, my legs wrapping around his waist on instinct. His piercing rubbed my clit, and a broken curse tore from my throat.
“I need you,” he muttered against my lips. “Right now. Just like this.”
He didn’t wait for permission—he never did, not when I was already dripping for him and the condom was already on before we even stepped foot in the shower. He lined himself up and pushed in with a growl, sinking deep, inch by inch, until I was gasping into the misty air.
Every thrust was brutal, wet and loud, echoing off the tile like a thunderclap.
“You feel that?” he rasped, one hand braced beneath my ass. “How fucking tight you get when you’re soaked like this?”
I nodded, barely able to form words. I was too far gone, my nails scraping down his back, my body needing more, more,more. Then I felt his hand slipping lower, slick fingers skating over the cleft of my ass, spreading me open.
“Callum—”
He didn’t stop.
“Shh,” he rasped. “Just a little more. You can take it. Youwantto take it.”
And then—fuck—his finger pressed inside, through the tight ring of muscle. Just the tip, slow and firm. I gasped, back arching, eyes rolling. My pussy clenched so hard around him he hissed.
“That’s it,” he groaned. “So good like this, you’re so full, baby. You love it, don’t you? All messy and desperate, needing both holes filled.”
The stretch, the pressure, the filth of it all… it was too much and not enough all at once. I shattered on a cry, legs trembling around him as I came hard, pulsing around his cock, his fingertip still buried where no one had ever touched before.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he gritted, fucking me through my orgasm. “You’re going to kill me.”
My body was shaking, slick and spent and stupid with pleasure, but he still hadn’t stopped.
“You’re mine,” he whispered, then bit down on my shoulder, surely leaving another mark that would remind me of this night. “All of you.” I whimpered, still trembling from the aftershocks, too wrecked to answer. My head lolled back against the tile, eyes fluttering, lips parted.
“That. Fucking.Sound.” He was a man coming undone all for me, only for me. “My goddamn favorite.” And he fucking lost it.
Callum slammed into me harder, rougher, his rhythm unrelenting as I moaned and pulsed around him. His cock was so thick and hard I could practically feel him in my ribs.
“Fuck—fuck, Aurélie—” His voice was hoarse, unhinged. “You squeeze me like this and expect me to last?” I couldn’t think or breathe, onlyfeel. “You ruin me,” he grunted, thrusting up once, twice, and then he growled something filthy in French I didn’t fully catch before he came, hips jerking, forehead pressed to mine. His breath stuttered out as he buried himself to the hilt.
He stayed there for a moment, panting, arms locked around me as if I’d vanish if he let go.
The water pounded down, relentless and hot enough sting, but steady enough to soothe. Much like him.
His finger slipped free slowly, gently, and I whimpered at the loss before everything softened. He kissed my shoulder, my neck, my cheeks. Then he shifted his hold, easing me down, careful like I was breakable.
“You okay?” he asked, voice rough and quiet, like it cost him to speak.
I nodded, though my knees buckled as I touched the floor. He caught me instantly, holding me upright like I weighed nothing.
“You’re shaking,” he murmured, palm sliding up my spine. “Let me take care of you.”
My muscles were sore—not just from the night itself, but from the way he had cracked something open inside me and didn’t bother stitching it shut. Now, my limbs felt like rubber and I was ready to pass out. A yawn escaped me. I wasn’t used to late nights like this unless we had a night race, and even then I wasn’t awake for eighteen hours straight, much less wrecked like this.
I was ruined and rinsed clean only to be made messy all over again.
Callum’s fingers worked slowly through my hair, his touch reverent in a way that made my throat tighten. Like he was worshiping me, not washing me. It was so different from the passion we’d shared earlier, a reminder that beneath his fiery exterior was a man capable of surprising gentleness.
“Relax,” he murmured, his voice soothing. “I’ve got you.”
A shiver slid down my spine. Maybe from the water. Maybe from his voice curling around the words like he meant them. I let my eyes fall shut. The shower roared softly around us, like the world had faded into steam and skin. In the confines of this moment, the world outside didn’t exist. There was only him, his touch, and the faint scent of his soap–woodsy and masculine.
