The water drums against my shoulders, hot and steady, steam curling around my face as I press my palms flat against the cool tile. My hair hangs heavy and wet down my back, and I can hear the shower curtain slide open behind me, the metal rings scraping along the rod.
His hands find my hips first. Warm. Familiar now. His chest presses against my back, skin slick and hot from the steam, and I feel him hard against the curve of my ass, pressing between my thighs from behind, not inside yet, just the heat of him against my slick flesh.
"I can't stop thinking about it." His mouth is at my ear, his voice rough, and his fingers slide down my stomach, finding me still swollen and wet from before. His thumb circles my clit once, twice, and I gasp, my hips tilting back against him. "The way you looked at me when you said my name. The way you felt when I—"
He doesn't finish. His fingers slip lower, parting me, and I feel his cock slide between my thighs, not pushing in, just pressing against my entrance, the heat of him against my clit, teasing.
"Then don't," I say, and my voice is steadier than I expected, almost a dare.
His grip tightens on my hip, his fingers digging into the soft flesh, and he pushes forward, filling me again. The stretch is familiar now, the angle different with me standing, my palms against the tile, and I feel him deep, the water streaming over both of us, running down my chest, his thighs against the back of mine.
"Fuck," he breathes, his forehead pressing against the back of my head, his breath hot against my wet hair. "You feel—" He thrusts, slow, deliberate, and I feel every inch of it, the slide of him inside me, the heat of the water, the pressure of his hand on my hip. "—so good."
I press back against him, taking him deeper, and I feel his hand slide up my stomach, over my ribs, until his fingers find my breast, squeezing gently, his thumb brushing my nipple. The water runs over his hand, over my skin, and I feel the heat building low in my belly, the familiar ache spreading through my thighs.
His other hand stays on my hip, guiding my rhythm, and I hear his breathing change, the pace of his thrusts picking up, the slap of his skin against mine louder than the water. He's close. I can feel it in the way his fingers dig into my hip, in the way his breath catches when I clench around him.
"Liam," I say, and my voice is different now, softer, almost a question.
He stills. His hand on my breast stops moving, and I feel his forehead press harder against the back of my head. "What?" His voice is strained, barely a whisper.
I turn my head, just enough to see his face in the steam, his eyes closed, his jaw tight. "Don't stop," I say. "But don't—" I hesitate, the words catching in my throat. "Don't pretend this isn't real."
He opens his eyes. They find mine in the reflection of the wet tile, pale blue and blurry through the steam, and I see something shift in them, something raw and unguarded. He pulls out slowly, agonizingly slow, and I feel the emptiness immediately, the absence of him inside me like a cold space.
He turns me around. His hands cup my face, the water running over his fingers, down my cheeks, and he kisses me. Not hard. Soft. His lips brush mine, once, twice, and I feel the tenderness in it, the care, the thing he doesn't know how to say with words.
"I'm not pretending," he says against my mouth, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw. "I've never pretended with you." He pulls back, his eyes searching mine, the water streaming between us. "I've been wanting to tell you something. But I don't know how to say it without—" He shakes his head, his hair dripping water onto my shoulder. "Without it sounding like too much. Or not enough."
I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, my chest pressed against his, the water running over both of us, mixing with the heat of our skin. "Just say it," I say, my voice soft against his ear. "Whatever it is. Just say it."
His hands slide down my back, resting on my hips, his fingers pressing into my skin like he's afraid I'll disappear if he lets go. "I think I'm falling for you," he says, and his voice breaks on the last word, like he's admitting something dangerous. "Not just—this. Not just the way you feel. You. The way you bite your lip when you're nervous. The way you say my name. The way you looked at me that first day in math class, like you were seeing something no one else saw."
I feel my chest tighten, my throat closing, and I press my forehead against his, the water running between us, warm and constant. "I see you," I say, and my voice is barely a whisper. "I've always seen you."
He kisses me again, and this time it's different—deeper, slower, his tongue finding mine, his hands pulling me closer, pressing my body against his. I feel him hard against my stomach, and I reach down between us, my fingers wrapping around him, guiding him back to my entrance.
He breaks the kiss, his forehead against mine, his breath ragged. "Are you sure?" he asks, and his voice is raw, almost desperate. "I don't want to—I don't want to push you."
I lift my leg, wrapping it around his hip, opening myself to him, and I feel the head of his cock pressing against me, the heat of him at my entrance. "You're not pushing," I say, and I guide him inside me, slow, feeling every inch of him filling me, the stretch, the fullness, the way his breath catches when I clench around him.
He groans, his head falling forward, his mouth finding my shoulder, kissing the wet skin, biting gently. His hands grip my ass, lifting me slightly, and I wrap both legs around his waist, my back against the cool tile, the water running down my chest, pooling between us.
He thrusts, deep and slow, and I feel him everywhere—inside me, around me, his breath hot against my neck, his hands holding me like I'm something precious. I feel the heat building again, the familiar pressure coiling in my belly, and I dig my nails into his shoulders, pulling him closer, deeper.
"Sofia," he breathes, and the way he says my name—like it means something, like it's the only word that matters—makes me clench around him, a small gasp escaping my lips.
"Don't stop," I whisper, and he doesn't. He thrusts faster, his breathing ragged, his grip on my ass tightening, and I feel myself climbing toward the edge, the heat building, the pressure coiling tighter and tighter until—
I come, my body arching against his, my mouth open against his neck, a sound I don't recognize escaping my throat. I feel him pulse inside me, his own release following, his body shuddering against mine, his forehead pressed against my shoulder, his breath hot and uneven.
The water runs over us, washing away the sweat, the salt, the evidence of what just happened, but I feel it still—the weight of his body against mine, the tenderness in his hands as they slide down my back, the way he kisses my shoulder, soft and gentle, like he's thanking me.
I let my legs slide down, my feet finding the wet tile, and I lean against him, my cheek against his chest, the water running over both of us. His arms wrap around me, holding me close, and I feel his heart beating against my ear, fast and steady, a rhythm I want to remember.
"Hey," he says, his voice soft, almost shy. "I meant what I said. About falling for you."
I look up at him, the steam curling around his face, his hair plastered to his forehead, his pale blue eyes watching me with an openness I haven't seen before. "I know," I say, and I smile, small but real. "I meant what I said too. I see you."
He kisses my forehead, soft and sweet, and the water runs over us, warm and constant, and I feel something settle in my chest, something quiet and still. Not a resolution. Not an ending. Just a moment, held between us, real and fragile and ours.
And somewhere, on the nightstand, my phone buzzes, the screen lighting up with Maya's name. But I don't hear it. I'm too busy feeling his arms around me, his breath in my hair, the water running down my skin, washing away everything that came before.