Page 97 of The Fall

“I didn’t want to waste the morning.” I tug him to me, my hands on his hips, and bring us together. There’s his scent: salt, sun, lime, and soap. The tip of my nose skims his throat, tracking toward his jaw, catching on his stubble.

Steam beads on his lashes. His thumb strokes the corner of my mouth. “You come to warm me up or steal the hot water?”

My palms slide down to his ass. “Stealing all of you,” I tell him.

The distance between us disappears. He kisses me deeply, and every swipe of his tongue pulls a moan out of me, a need that started a year ago and still hasn’t—will never—burn itself out. We’re kissing like the world might end if we stop.

Blair’s lips roam my neck, and I tilt my head back, giving him everything. My hands map the planes of his chest, and his breath hitches when I thumb over his nipple.

“What do you want, babe?”

What do I want? I want to pin this morning on my soul, and I want a thousand more mornings exactly like this, memories stacked in a deck I can thumb through whenever I’m lost. I want to stop time, stop whatever’s coming, stop the world from spinning.

Admitting all of that is impossible, so I take his mouth again and pour everything into the kiss.

He pulls me closer until all of him presses against me, his cock hard and hot against my hip.

Our mouths collide. His tongue sweeps past my teeth, and I suck on it, pulling a growl from him. The shower spray beats against his back as he crowds me into the tile, his thigh sliding between mine until I’m riding him.

His hand drops between us, wrapping around both our cocks in one tight fist. His cock is fever-hot against mine, thick and heavy, the head sliding against my shaft.

He starts working us together, his grip firm, twisting on the upstroke. Precome beads at my tip, mixing with the water, the friction growing slicker, filthier. Our cocks slide together, flushed dark, veins standing out. The sight alone could end me.

My nails dig into his ass, pulling him harder against me, needing more friction, more of him. His free hand braces against the wall beside my head, caging me in, and when he rolls his hips forward, grinding into his own fist, into me, I groan like I never have before.

His teeth close on my throat, right where my pulse hammers, and he sucks hard enough to bruise. The sting shoots straight to my cock, and it jumps. His fist keeps that devastating rhythm, long pulls from base to tip, his thumb swiping through the precome gathering at our slits.

I thrust shamelessly into the circle of his hand, my hips snapping forward to fuck his fist. The underside of his shaft is silk-smooth heat.

“Blair—” His name breaks apart in my mouth.

“I’ve got you. Always got you.”

He kisses me, saying with his lips what words never could. Salt and steam, his tongue brushing mine, need melting into hunger. I clutch at his back, greedy for more. His teeth catch my bottom lip, and I open for him like always.

He tightens his grip again, speeds up, and now there’s no rhythm. My whole body locks up, pleasure spiking so sharp it borders on pain. My nails rake his back, leaving marks I’ll trace with my tongue later, and he hisses.

His hand, the relentless slide of his cock against mine—it all crashes, and I’m gone. Release tears through me, violent and endless, my cock pulsing as I spill over us. The sight of my cum striping across his cock, mixing with the water, dripping down?—

Blair’s rhythm falters, turns savage, and then he’s coming too, his release mixing with mine. His forehead drops to my shoulder as he works us through it, milking every last throb until we’re both shaking, oversensitive, thoroughly wrecked.

The world feels impossible to lose, but I cling to him. I am his, body and soul, and I am scared shitless that time is hungry to take him away.

We kiss in the fog, beneath the rain of the shower head.

“You’re supposed to be resting,” he says.

“I am resting. With you.”

His laugh rumbles through me. “So much for concussion protocol.” His lips quirk against my collarbone. “I hope Doc clears you this morning.”

“I’m fine.” It’s true. My head doesn’t hurt anymore. Physically—especially now—I’m great.

Mentally? That’s more complicated.

“Well then, let’s get you checked out and cleared.” He reaches for the shampoo, squirting some into his palm. “We need our Kicks back for this roadie. Gotta seal the deal.”

He works his hands through my hair, washing me with the softest touch I’ve ever known.

My dread lets go, at least for now, as I dissolve into his touch.

Suds slide down my temples, and Blair’s thumbs follow.

He turns me to face him, the water streaming between our bodies.

His eyes search mine, steady, ocean-blue, always deeper than they look.

I let my forehead fall against his chest. His heart thuds beneath wet skin, and the scent of lime and salt clings to him even under hot water. Steam rises between us in lazy curls.

The water cascades around us, creating our own private world. “I can’t wait,” I breathe.

All the words I can’t say right now settle into silence.

Blair drops a kiss to my hair. “Let’s get you rinsed off.”

In his arms is the only place I want to be.