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We step into the shower together, the warm spray cascading over us as steam fills the small space. The water feels incredible against my skin, but it’s nothing compared to the sensation of his hands roaming over my body. I can’t stop touching him either, my fingers tracing the softness of his skin, sliding down his back, over his hips.

When our mouths meet again, it’s wetter this time, hungrier. My lips move to his neck, trailing kisses down to the hollow of his throat. His skin tastes faintly salty from the day’s heat, and I groan as he tilts his head back, giving me better access.

He wraps his hand around my cock, and the first stroke nearly undoes me. “Fuck,” I gasp, my head falling back against the cool tile. The contrast of the water’s warmth and the chill of the wall is dizzying, but all I can focus on is the way his hand moves, firm and sure.

“You feel so good,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. His thumb brushes over the head, and I shudder, my hips jerking involuntarily. “Better than I imagined.”

I can’t form a coherent response, so instead, I reach between us and wrap my hand around him. He’s hot and hard in my grip, his foreskin sliding easily under my palm. The way his breath hitches, the way his hips thrust forward into my touch—it’s intoxicating.

“Christ, Kiefer,” he rasps, his forehead pressing against mine as his free hand grips my waist. “I’ve thought about this so many times.”

“Yeah?” I twist my wrist on the upstroke, drawing a low groan from him. “Me too.”

His lips find mine again, urgent and insistent, as we move together. Our hands are slick with water and precum, our breathing ragged, the sounds of pleasure mixing with the steady rhythm of the shower spray. It’s overwhelming and perfect, every touch and stroke pushing us closer to the edge.

“I’m close,” I manage to gasp, my body tightening as heat coils low in my belly.

“Me too,” he pants, his voice rough. “Let go for me, Kief.”

His words are my undoing. The orgasm hits me like a tidal wave, my body trembling as I spill over his hand. His name falls from my lips in a broken moan, my vision blurring as pleasure overtakes me.

Moments later, he follows, his release hot and sticky against my skin. His groan is deep and guttural, and I hold him close, both of us shuddering through the aftershocks.

We stay this way for a while, the water washing over us, pressing together as we slow our heavy breathing. The intimacy of the moment, the connection between us, feels almost sacred.

When we finally step out of the shower, Ste’s low chuckle breaks the quiet. I glance at him in expectation.

“I’m not convinced I got all the sand off me.” His grin is wide.

“Maybe we need to step back under the spray,” I tease, more than willing to help wash him down more thoroughly.

“Tempting.” His voice turns to gravel. “But I’d prefer to spend time between those soft-looking sheets of yours.

I’m impressed he took in any of the details of my room since we’d all but stumbled, our moves connected, into my en suite.

“I like your plan better,” I say, passing him a clean towel.

We dry off and head to my room, where the sun’s warm glow pours through the windows. The bed is small, but we don’t need much space. We curl around each other, his head on my chest, and I stroke my fingers through his damp hair.

“This feels….” I trail off, searching for the right words.

“Right,” he says softly, finishing my thought.

I press a kiss to his forehead, a quiet sense of contentment settling over me. “Yeah. It does.”

As the sun dips lower on the horizon, I close my eyes, knowing that whatever comes next, it’s going to be good.