Chapter 8: The Shower and the Second Round
The bathroom door clicked shut behind them, and Nova's hands were already on him.
Not gentle. Not teasing. Just hungry.
Her fingers found the waistband of his boxers and yanked them down. He stepped out of them, kicked them aside, and then she was turning away from him—reaching into the shower, twisting the knob hard.
Water exploded from the showerhead. Steam billowed up immediately, fogging the mirror, curling around the small room like smoke.
She shrugged off her robe.
It pooled at her feet. Silk on tile. And then she stepped into the tub, under the spray, and didn't look back.
Zay stood there for a beat. Two.
Water ran over her shoulders. Down her back. Between the cheeks of her ass. She tilted her head back, letting it soak her hair, and the curve of her throat caught the light like something sacred.
His mouth went dry.
He stepped into the tub.
The water was hot. Almost too hot. It hit his chest, his shoulders, and for a second he just stood there, letting it wash away the sleep, the tension, the leftover embarrassment from the kitchen.
Then Nova turned around.
Her eyes found his. Dark. Steady. Water dripped from her lashes, her chin, the tips of her breasts.
She didn't say a word.
Just dropped to her knees.
The tub floor was slick beneath her. She braced one hand against the wall, the other finding his thigh. Steadying herself. And then she looked up at him—those deep brown eyes, that unreadable expression—and took his cock in her mouth.
Zay's head hit the tile behind him.
"Fuck—"
She didn't start slow.
Didn't tease.
Just swallowed him whole. Her lips stretched around his shaft, her tongue flat against the underside, and she took him deep—deeper than he expected—until he felt the back of her throat.
His hand flew to her head. Fingers twisting in wet curls.
"Nova—"
She hummed. The vibration shot through him like electricity.
He looked down. Watched himself disappear between her lips. Watched her cheeks hollow. Watched the water run down her face and mix with the spit dripping from her chin.
"God damn," he breathed.
She pulled back. Just enough to breathe. Then went down again.
Slower this time. Deeper. Her throat working around him, her hand cupping his balls, her eyes never leaving his.
He was going to lose his mind.
"That's it," he groaned. "Take it. Take all of it."
She did.
Every inch. Her nose pressed against his stomach. Her throat constricting around the head of his cock. Tears streaming from the corners of her eyes—from the water or from him, he couldn't tell.
He didn't care.
His hips bucked. Just once. Involuntary. She gagged—just a little—and pulled back, gasping.
"Sorry—" he started.
"Don't."
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Looked up at him.
"Do it again."
He stared at her.
"What?"
"Fuck my throat," she said. "I want you to."
His brain short-circuited.
"You sure?"
She nodded. Opened her mouth. Waited.
He didn't need to be told twice.
His hand fisted in her hair. Not rough—not yet—but firm. He pulled her forward, and she took him. All the way. And then he started to move.
Slow at first. Testing. Her throat relaxed around him, and he pushed deeper. Her hands gripped his thighs. Her nails dug in.
He fucked her mouth.
Steady. Rhythmic. The water pounded against his back. Steam filled his lungs. And Nova just took it—every thrust, every inch—her eyes watering, her jaw slack, her throat working to swallow him down.
"Fuck," he groaned. "You look so good like this. On your knees. Taking my cock."
She moaned around him. The vibration made his knees weak.
"Look at me."
She did.
Those eyes. Goddamn those eyes. Looking up at him like he was something worth worshipping. Like she wanted to drown in him.
He thrust harder.
Her hands flew to his hips. Not pushing him away—pulling him closer. And he fucked her throat until his balls drew up tight and his vision started to blur.
"I'm close—"
She didn't pull back.
He pulled her off.
She gasped. Coughed. Water and spit running down her chin.
"Why'd you—"
"Not yet," he said. "Not like this."
He hauled her to her feet.
She wobbled. He caught her. Pressed her against the tile wall—cold against her back, hot water against her front—and kissed her.
Hard. Bruising. Tasting himself on her tongue.
"You," he said against her mouth. "I want to be inside you."
She nodded. Wrapped her arms around his neck.
"Do it."
He spun her around.
Her palms hit the wall. Her cheek pressed against the tile. The water pounded against her back, her ass, the backs of her thighs.
He lined himself up.
Pushed inside.
Slow. One long, deep thrust. She was tight and wet—hotter than the water, hotter than anything he'd ever felt.
"Fuck," he breathed.
"Move."
He moved.
Hard and fast from the start. No warm-up. No mercy. Just the slap of skin on skin, the grunt of breath, the splash of water against the I’m going on my second date porcelain.
"Zay—Zay—"
He grabbed her hips. Pulled her back to meet every thrust.
"This what you wanted?" he growled. "My cock inside you?"
"Yes—"
"This what you were thinking about when you dragged me in here?"
"Yes—fuck—"
His hand snaked around her waist. Found her clit. Rubbed it in rough, tight circles.
She screamed.
The sound bounced off the tile, the glass, the peeling wallpaper. Loud enough to wake the dead.
"Shh," he said. But he didn't stop.
Didn't slow down.
Just fucked her harder. Rubbed her faster.
Her first orgasm hit fast and violent. Her whole body clenched around him. Her legs shook. She would have collapsed if he hadn't been holding her up.
"Good girl," he said. "Now give me another."
"I can't—"
"You can."
He proved it.
Kept fucking her. Kept rubbing. Kept whispering filthy things in her ear—things about how good she felt, how tight she was, how he was going to come all over her ass.
She came again.
A broken, gasping cry. Her nails scrabbling at the tile. Her pussy milking his cock like she wanted to drain him dry.
He pulled out.
Stroked himself twice. Three times.
And spilled against the tile. Hot, white, dripping down the wall.
He leaned forward. Forehead against her shoulder. Both of them breathing like they'd run a marathon.
The water kept falling. Steam kept rising.
Neither of them moved.
Then Nova turned her head. Her cheek found his. Wet skin on wet skin.
"I've never done anything like this before," she said.
Her voice was small. Barely audible over the shower.
"What?"
"Any of it." She swallowed. "Not like this. Not—not the way you make me feel."
Zay didn't respond. Couldn't.
"I mean, I've been with people. But not—" She stopped. Started again. "I don't do this. I don't just—I need connection. I need to feel something. And with you—"
She exhaled. Long and slow.
"I don't know what this is," she said. "But I feel something."
He should have said something.
Should have told her he felt it too. Should have told her that she was different. That this was different.
But the words stuck in his throat.
So instead, he kissed her shoulder.
Soft. Tender.
"I got you," he murmured.
She laughed. Quiet. Shaky.
"That's not an answer."
"It's the best I got."
She turned in his arms. Looked at him. Water streaming down both their faces.
"You're impossible," she said.
"I know."
She reached up. Touched his jaw. Her thumb traced his bottom lip.
"You're going to hurt me," she said.
It wasn't a question.
He caught her wrist. Kissed her palm.
"Probably."
She didn't pull away.
"I should tell you to leave."
"You should."
"Are you going to?"
"No."
She smiled. Sad. Real.
"Good."
The water started to cool.
He reached past her. Turned off the shower. The sudden silence was loud—just the drip of the faucet, the hum of the bathroom fan, their breath slowly evening out.
He grabbed a towel from the rack. Wrapped it around her shoulders. She pulled it tight against her body.
"What now?" she asked.
He grabbed another towel. Dried his chest. His arms.
"Breakfast," he said.
She blinked.
"That's it?"
"You wanted something else?"
"I don't know." She shook her head. "I don't know what I want."
He stepped closer. Cupped her face in his hands.
"Then let's start with breakfast," he said. "And figure out the rest later."
She looked at him for a long moment.
Then she nodded.
"Okay."
He kissed her forehead.
"Okay."
She opened the bathroom door.
Mei was standing in the hallway.
Arms crossed. Blanket still wrapped around her shoulders. Face unreadable.
"Done?" she asked.
Nova froze.
"I—"
"Save it." Mei held up a hand. "I'm going to my room. I'm going to put on headphones. And I'm going to pretend I didn't just hear what I heard."
She turned. Walked away.
Paused at her door.
"Use a condom next time," she said. "The walls are thin."
The door closed.
Nova buried her face in her hands.
Zay laughed.
"Shut up," she said.
"I didn't say anything."
"You're laughing."
"That's not saying anything."
She shoved him.
He caught her. Pulled her close. Kissed the top of her head.
"Breakfast," he said. "Get dressed."
She sighed. Long. Heavy.
"Fine."
She walked into her room. He watched her go—the towel slipping, the curve of her hips, the way she moved like she didn't know how beautiful she was.
He should have left.
Should have walked out the door and not looked back.
But he was already in too deep.
And he knew it.