“I want you just like this,” he whispers. “Tattooed and wicked. Enthusiastic as fuck. The girl who haunts all my wet dreams.”
His hand between my legs, and I move them apart, pitch forward slightly.
“Only the wet dreams?” I murmur.
His fingers find my entrance, slide inside me knuckle-deep with no hesitation. As if he knows my body as well as he knows his own.
“You’re in other dreams, too,” he says into my ear, working his fingers inside me, his cock steel against my back. “But I figured you’d rather hear about the ones where I make you shout my name than the ones where we have breakfast together every morning.”
I turn my head, wrap my hand around the back of his neck. Drops slide down my body, and I suck them from his neck, salty and sweet.
“No marks,” he teases, and I laugh. Do it again.
“I know my way around you, Seth,” I tell him. “You think I don’t have every last inch memorized?”
He pulls his fingers out, takes my hips. I arch and bend forward, on my toes. The thick tip of his cock draws a line over my back, between my buttocks, glides between my lips, slippery and swollen.
“Delilah,” he says, a rough whisper. “Still?”
“Still,” I whisper back, and then he’s inside me and pushing deep, deeper, my hipbones crushing against the sink with force. It’s not gentle but I don’t need gentle. I don’t want gentle. I want the full force of him, a wave crashing over me, a howling thunderstorm after months of drought.
I push back, bracing myself against the mirror with one forearm, the other behind me, seeking him out even now. I want more, more, I want skin and muscle and bone, to be taken so thoroughly I have handprint-shaped bruises tomorrow.
I hear myself whisper his name, as if in gratitude: Seth, yes, and like he can read my mind he wraps an arm like a steel band around me again. Fucks me hard, slow, deep.
“Delilah.” His voice in my ear, lips against the shell, and even though he’s bare inside me it sprinkles a shiver down my neck.
“Tell me you’re mine.”
I curl my fingers through his, over my shoulder. Swipe my forearm along the fogged mirror so it clears and I’m looking into those eyes: the sky, the sea, maybe both.
“I’m yours,” I manage. “I’m yours, of course I’m yours. I’m always yours.”
Harder, again. I gasp and he pinches a nipple, nudges my leg with his. Changes the angle and thrusts again and this time I swear I see stars.
“There it is,” he says in my ear. “I live for the moment when I fuck you just right and you go from sex kitten to boneless and wild with my name on your lips.”
“Seth,” I say. “Tell me.”
“I’m yours, Delilah,” he says, instantly, his eyes on mine through the re-fogging mirror. “Of course I’m yours. I’ve always been yours.”
I’m melting, burning, glowing with heat. I brace against the mirror and push myself back into him, the rhythm furious, frantic. He holds onto me, our skin slippery with the steam, fucks me like we can meld. There’s nothing careful, nothing tentative. Nothing but total certainty.
I come in a wave, the orgasm swelling inside me, cresting, teasing. I gasp. I moan. I might beg, because I also come babbling nonsense: yes yes oh god oh fuck Seth yes Seth please Seth.
I come and it crashes over me, washes everything away, and I don’t stop. I don’t slow, even when I’m trembling, not until Seth digs his fingers into my shoulder and pulls me back, down, and I clench as he jerks inside me, his shout echoing off the bathroom walls.
I sag, forearms propped against the mirror, forehead against the cool glass. My whole body is shaking, the combined exertion of sex and skiing, and I’m breathing like I just came up for air from minutes underwater.
He leans against me, forearms against the mirror around mine, face against my hair. Chest against my back. Breathing just as fast and hard as me. I feel like I should say something, but every time I try to think of words, my mind turns to clouds floating across a blue sky.
After a moment, Seth flattens his hands over mine, still on the mirror. Clears his throat against the steam.
“Every single time,” he says, slowly, “I think, that’s it. That’s the best one. It’s all downhill from here.”
I start laughing, still pressed against the mirror, trembling and punchy and lightheaded.
“And somehow, I have yet to be right,” he says. Kisses the back of my neck. “Jesus Christ, Bird.”
I flex my fingers on the mirror so his fall between them, then close my hands, push back from the mirror and wrap our arms around myself. Seth shifts, comes out of me, a slight warm trickle down one thigh.