Chapter 2: The water cascades over them as Nathan's thick shaft parts Anna's swollen lips, his hands gripping her hips tight enough to bruise while he fucks into her with deep, possessive strokes that make the glass walls rattle.
The water was scalding, just shy of painful, and Anna stood perfectly still under the torrent, letting it pound against her back. She scrubbed at her skin with a loofah until it turned pink, as if she could erase the memory of his weight, his heat, the feeling of him pulsing deep inside her. The steam filled her lungs, thick and suffocating. She heard the glass door slide open behind her, a cool draft cutting through the fog.
She didn’t turn. She just braced her hands against the wet tiles, her head bowed.
His body was a solid, warm presence at her back. She felt his hardness press against the cleft of her ass, undeniable. His hands slid around her waist, pulling her flush against him. He was still half-drunk, his movements less coordinated, more primal.
“Anna,” he murmured into her wet hair, his voice rough with sleep and desire.
She didn’t answer. She just pushed her hips back against him, a silent, damning consent. Her breath hitched as one of his hands slid down her stomach, through the slickness of soap and water, his fingers delving into the dark curls between her legs.
“Fuck, you’re still so wet for me,” he growled, his fingers finding her clit, circling it with a rough, knowing pressure that made her knees buckle.
She gasped, her head falling back against his shoulder. “Nathan…”
He turned her around, his mouth crashing down on hers. This kiss was different from the one on the couch. It was less desperate, more possessive. He backed her against the cool tiles, the contrast of cold on her back and his heat on her front making her shudder. He broke the kiss, his blue eyes dark and focused, all traces of drunken haze gone, replaced by a raw, single-minded intensity.
“I need to be inside you again,” he breathed, his voice low and guttual. “Now.”
He lifted her leg, hooking it over his hip, opening her to him. The head of his cock brushed against her entrance, slick with water and her own arousal. He pushed, just an inch, a slow, torturous invasion that made her cry out.
“Tell me you want it,” he demanded, his forehead pressed against hers, water streaming down both their faces.
“Yes,” she choked out, the word torn from her. “God, yes.”
He drove into her in one brutal, perfect thrust, filling her completely. She screamed, a short, sharp sound swallowed by the roar of the shower. He didn’t wait for her to adjust. He set a punishing rhythm, his hips slamming against hers, the wet sound of their bodies meeting echoing off the tiles. His hands gripped her ass, holding her open for him, controlling every movement.
“You feel that?” he grunted, his breath hot against her ear. “You feel how deep I am? This is mine now.”
His words were a violation, a claim, and they sent a fresh wave of dizzying pleasure through her. She clawed at his back, her nails leaving red trails on his skin. This was raw, filthy, and utterly consuming. There was no friendship here, no history, just this animal need.
“Harder,” she begged, her voice a broken whisper.
He obliged, pounding into her with a force that shook her entire body. Her climax built faster this time, a tight, coiling inferno in her belly. She came with a shattered cry, her inner muscles clenching around him in violent, rhythmic spasms. The intensity of it ripped through her, leaving her boneless and gasping.
Feeling her convulse around him was his undoing. With a final, deep thrust, he buried himself to the hilt and groaned, a long, low sound of pure release as he emptied himself inside her again, his own body shuddering against hers.
They stood there for a long moment, leaning against the tiles, panting, the water slowly cooling around them. The reality of what they had just done, twice in the span of an hour, began to seep in through the haze of endorphins and steam.
He softened inside her and slowly pulled out. The silence was heavier than before, loaded and uncomfortable. He reached past her and turned off the water.
The sudden quiet was deafening.
He handed her a towel without meeting her eyes. She wrapped it around herself, the plush cotton feeling alien against her oversensitive skin. They walked out of the bathroom, leaving wet footprints on the dark hardwood floor.
The penthouse was still dark, the city lights casting long, skeletal shadows. He found a pair of boxers and pulled them on. She pulled on one of his discarded t-shirts. It smelled like him. It was everywhere.
He went to the kitchen and came back with two glasses of water. He handed one to her. Their fingers brushed. Neither of them flinched.
They sat on opposite ends of the massive leather sofa, the same one where it had started. The silence stretched, taut and brittle.
“So,” he finally said, his voice hoarse.
“So,” she echoed.
He took a long drink of water. “That was…”
“Don’t,” she cut him off, her voice sharper than she intended. “Just don’t, Nathan.”
He nodded, staring into his glass. “Right.”
Another silence. This one was worse.
“I should go,” she said, not moving.
“It’s 3 a.m.,” he replied, not looking at her. “Stay. The guest room is made up.”
The offer was practical, hollow. A way to delay the inevitable conversation.
“Okay,” she whispered.
They sat there for another ten minutes, two strangers in the dark, the ghost of what they’d done hanging between them. Finally, he stood up.
“I’m… I’m going to bed,” he said, gesturing vaguely towards his room.
“Yeah. Me too.”
He paused, as if he wanted to say something else. She saw the conflict in his eyes, the same confusion that was churning in her own gut. Then he turned and walked away.
Anna stayed on the couch, listening to his door click shut. She brought the collar of his t-shirt to her nose and inhaled. It was a mistake. The scent of him, now mixed with the clean smell of soap from the shower, was a brand on her senses.
She stood and walked to the guest room, her body aching in places she’d forgotten existed. She slid between the cold, expensive sheets and stared at the ceiling.
Tomorrow, they would have to face it. Tomorrow, the world would right itself, and they would have to find a way back to what they were. But for tonight, lying in the dark silence of his home, wrapped in the smell of him, Anna made a silent, desperate pact with herself.
Tomorrow, they would forget.