Page 89 of Zorro

It didn’t last long. It didn’t need to.

She came with a cry that was half release, half wonder. He followed with a guttural groan, her name broken across his lips.

For a moment, they didn’t move. Just breathed.

Just held.

“Be careful, or you’ll fall for me,” he said, voice rough and still catching.

She leaned her forehead against his. “Sailor, I’m afraid that ship has sailed.”

They stayed like that for a while, the rhythm of the water softening, slowing. Her cheek rested against his shoulder, their bodies still tangled, the tension melted out of them, replaced with something quieter. Something steadier.

Zorro’s breath brushed her temple, warm and even. His hands moved up and down her back, not with hunger now, but with satisfaction. Eventually, he shifted, kissed the hollow beneath her jaw, then reached back and shut off the water.

Neither of them spoke as he wrapped a towel around her shoulders, tucking it snug like she might disappear if he didn’t hold her in place. She stepped out, dizzy and dazed in the best way, while he grabbed another towel and rubbed a hand over his dripping hair.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, watching her like she might break in the steam.

She nodded, throat thick. “Yeah. Just…” She looked at him, really looked. “You’re a lot, Martinez.”

He smirked. “You didn’t seem to mind a minute ago.”

Her laugh was muffled in the towel. “You’re impossible.”

He dropped the towel to his hips, let the rest of the water slide off his shoulders like it had no right to linger there. “You know,” he said conversationally, “if you're still skeptical about what I wear under my UDTs…”

She groaned. “Don’t.”

“…I could allay your concerns.”

“Zorro.”

“…conduct a live demo.”

She covered her face with both hands. “This is the worst pillow talk I’ve ever heard.”

“Oh, no,” he said solemnly, stepping closer. “This is field-grade investigative research. National security level stuff. I could model the compression shorts. Let you verify fit, integrity, general outline of anatomical assets.”

Everly peeked at him between her fingers. “Anatomical assets?”

He nodded. “Classified. But willing to be declassified…for science.” He leaned in. “Frank and the boys won’t say a word.”

She shook her head, lips twitching. “I should’ve stopped this when you said Ranger panties.”

He grinned, stepping closer, toeing the line between sweet and devastating. “You didn’t stop anything. You climbed me like a jungle gym.”

Her laugh broke free, full and helpless.

He loved that sound. Would’ve gone through Hell Week again to hear it.

“I have to get dressed,” she said, swatting at him with her towel. “I have panels. A tribute. Professional things.”

He looked her over with deliberate slowness. “Is the outfit sexy?”

“It’s…elegant,” she replied, grabbing a comb and smoothing her hair with a little more force than necessary. “It’s from Pippa’s new collection. White and gold. Very understated.”

He stepped in behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist, rested his chin on her shoulder. “So no cleavage?”

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