Chapter 113: Bathroom Sex II
She pulled back. Looked at him. Her eyes were dark, the green nearly swallowed by black. Her lips were wet and slightly parted.
"I want you inside me."
"Then take what you want."
She reached down. Her fingers wrapped around Sean Dick beneath the water, and he groaned at the contact. She positioned him at her entrance. Teased herself with just the tip.
Then she sank down.
Inch by inch. Tight. Wet. Hot. The bathwater made everything slicker, smoother, but it couldn’t dilute the feeling of her inner walls gripping him, pulling him deeper. Her mouth fell open. Her eyes fluttered shut. Her head dropped forward until her forehead rested against his.
"Oh my god," she breathed. "You’re so deep like this."
"Good?"
"So good. Too good. I can’t—"
"You can."
He gripped her hips. Thrust up into her. She cried out, and her arms tightened around his neck, and suddenly they were moving together in a rhythm that was older than words.
The water sloshed over the sides of the tub. The candles guttered. Neither of them noticed. Neither of them cared.
She rode him with the same absolute presence she brought to every stage she’d ever stood on. Her hips rolled and circled and ground down against him. Her inner muscles fluttered and clenched. Every time he thrust up, she met him halfway, taking him deeper, taking him harder.
"Look at me," he said.
She did.
Her eyes were glassy, half-lidded, utterly undone. Her lips were swollen from his kisses. Her skin was flushed pink from the heat of the water and the heat of their bodies.
"You’re so beautiful like this," he said. "Falling apart on my cock. Taking what you need."
"I need—Sean, I need—"
"What do you need?"
"More. Harder. I need—"
He gave her more.
His grip on her hips tightened. He thrust up into her with a force that made the water slosh and the bubbles scatter. Her breasts bounced with every movement. The necklace bounced with them, catching the candlelight, throwing sparks across the steam-filled room.
She was close. He could feel it in the way her inner walls started to flutter. Could hear it in the high, desperate sounds escaping her throat. Could see it in the way her eyes lost focus, staring at him but not really seeing him, lost in the sensation building inside her.
"Sean." His name was a warning. "Sean, I’m going to—"
"Come for me."
She shattered.
Her orgasm ripped through her, and she screamed—actually screamed—his name to the ceiling. Her body arched backward, her spine curving, her breasts thrust forward. Her inner walls clamped down on him in rhythmic pulses, squeezing and releasing, squeezing and releasing.
He watched her fall apart. Watched every second of it. The way her mouth opened on a silent cry. The way her fingers dug into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks. The way her whole body shuddered and shook and finally, finally went limp against his chest.
She was still pulsing around him. Still gripping him. He was still hard—achingly hard, impossibly hard—and she knew it.
Her lips found his ear. "Don’t stop."
"I’m not—"
"Don’t stop. I want you to come inside me. I want to feel you."
The words—her words, desperate and hungry and utterly shameless—pushed him to the brink.
He thrust up into her once. Twice. Three times. Hard and deep and relentless. And then he was coming too, his release flooding into her in hot, endless pulses, filling her exactly the way she’d asked him to.
Her name was a groan against her shoulder. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her close, holding her tight as the last waves of his orgasm rolled through him.
The water settled. The candles steadied. The steam curled around them, soft and silent.
She stayed in his lap. Stayed on his cock. Stayed wrapped around him like she had no intention of ever letting go.
"Wow," she whispered.
"Yeah."
"That was—"
"I know."
She laughed, breathless and giddy. "We keep saying that."
"Because it keeps being true."
Her head found the hollow of his shoulder. Her breath was warm against his wet skin. Her heart was still hammering—he could feel it against his chest, a rapid rhythm that matched his own.
"Sean?"
"Hm?"
"I think the water’s getting cold."
She tilted her head up. Kissed the underside of his jaw. "Besides. I smell breakfast."
"Priorities."
"I worked up an appetite." Her eyes sparkled. "Multiple times. Thanks to you."
"You’re welcome."
She laughed again. That quick, bright sound that had become his favorite thing in the world.
Olivia and Sean stepped out of the tub and reached for two robes hanging on the wall. One for him. One for her.
—----------------
They returned to the dining area, both dressed in soft hotel robes.
Their hair was still slightly damp, and the warmth from the bath lingered on their skin.
Breakfast was waiting by the floor-to-ceiling windows, exactly as it had been left.
Sean poured the champagne into their flutes.
He had long since decided that arbitrary rules about what time champagne was acceptable weren’t rules worth following.
Olivia smiled as she picked up a warm croissant.
She took a bite.
Then another.
By the time she reached her third croissant, she looked at Sean with complete seriousness.
"This croissant..." Olivia said.
Sean looked up.
"What about it?"
"I think I owe every croissant I’ve ever eaten an apology."
Sean raised an eyebrow.
"That’s a bold statement."
"They never stood a chance," Olivia replied. "None of them were this good."
Sean chuckled.
"I’m sure they’d understand."
Olivia laughed before turning toward the window.
For a while, she simply watched the city below, absentmindedly swirling the champagne in her glass.
The playful expression on her face slowly softened.
"Can I tell you something," she said.
"You can tell me anything," said Sean.
"When I woke up this morning," she said. "First thought, before I even remembered where I was. The thought was just, okay." She looked at him. "Not excited, not nervous, not thinking about Kwon or the label or the formation or any of it. Just okay. Like something had finished settling." She paused. "I don’t know when the last time that happened was. Maybe never."