Page 194 of Well That Happened

When I knock lightly on the bathroom door a minute later, steam curls out around the frame.

“Room for one more?” I ask.

She cracks the door open just enough to peek at me, still wrapped in a towel, cheeks pink. “You always bring this much confidence into other people’s showers?”

I shrug, stepping in and pulling the door shut behind me. “Only yours.”

She rolls her eyes, but her smile gives her away. I reach for her towel, and she lets me take it. God, she’s beautiful. All warm skin and soft curves and trust in her eyes.

We step under the water together, and the second it hits my shoulders, I groan. “Okay, maybe this was selfish. I needed this more than I thought.”

She laughs, tilting her head back as water runs down her hair. I take a second just to watch her. Man, she really does have fantastic tits.

I pin her gently to the wall with my body, kissing her jaw, her neck, the space behind her ear that always makes her shiver. She reaches between us, taking my cock in her hands.

A smile lifts on my lips remembering back to that very first night—our failed hookup in her apartment. Who knew it’d end like this?

“I missed your cock,” she breathes against my lips, jacking me slowly.

“He missed you more,” I say on an exhale, bringing one hand between her legs. She’s already wet for me. And I love that so much.

I kiss her—deep and slow—and reach for the small bottle of slick, scentless shower oil we keep in the corner. Not ideal, but slippery enough.

I pull back just enough to meet her eyes, voice low and a little rough now. “I want to fuck your ass, Ri.”

She watches me, chest rising and falling with shallow, anticipating breaths. Her nipples pebbling despite the steamy warmth around us.

She hesitates, swallows. Then nods, slow and certain.

“You’re beautiful,” I say, breathless, as I coat my cock in the oil. I add more to my fingers and then turn her to face the shower wall. She lets out a surprised gasp when I trail one slippery finger over her asshole.

“You tell me the second it’s too much,” I murmur, mouth grazing the back of her neck.

She nods once.

And my fingers begin moving slowly, reverently—preparing her, coaxing soft gasps from her lips that make my whole body tense. I don’t push. I don’t take. Not yet.

Her fingers dig into my thigh, like she’s grasping whatever skin of mine she can reach. Her head tips back against my shoulder.

“Caleb…” she breathes, and it’s everything.

Everything I’ve been holding back since the moment I fell for her.

I press my mouth to the back of her neck, breath ragged. “I’ve got you.”

And then—carefully, slowly—I guide myself in, every muscle taut with restraint, every breath stolen by how good, how right this feels.

Her body clenches around me, hot and trembling. Her hands grip me tighter.

And I stay right there. Still. Letting her feel it. Lettingmefeel it.

She moans and trembles, and when she finally moves her hips—inviting, daring—I nearly lose control.

Her hips push back against me again—tentative at first, then with more confidence. Like she can feel me holding back, feel meneedingher to take it further. And God, I do.

I need to know that she’s into this.

My hands tighten on her waist, guiding her rhythm with slow, reverent care. Every movement feels amplified, overwhelming. She’s so warm, so tight I can barely breathe.

---