The tub was more than halfway full, and comfortably sized for three or four people. Perfect. With a flick of his wrist, the gush of water ceased, and the night went silent. He stepped inside the tub first and held her hand as she swung one leg over the high lip, then the other. The water was the perfect temperature, warm but not scorching.
As he sank down, he eyed the placement of the jets and grinned.
If he wasn’t mistaken, Wren looked at them too, then glanced away, her color high.
Once they were seated, a gentle tug persuaded her onto his lap, straddling him. And oh, fuck, her pussy slid against his cock, and they both groaned, and he couldn’t fucking breathe.
But if she didn’t come first, he’d never forgive himself.
He clamped his hands on her hips. “Just … just stay still for a minute. Please.”
When she nodded, he slicked his hands up her sides. He wouldn’t rush this, not when he’d never touched her breasts before. Never held them or kissed them or—
He stroked his knuckles along the modest swells. Her nipples furled tighter, and he swept the pad of his thumb lightly over one peak. She shivered, her eyes closed.
He nuzzled against her ear.
“Watch me,” he whispered, then licked her earlobe. “Watch us.”
Her throat bobbed in a hard swallow, but she did it. Her gorgeous, dazed eyes heavy-lidded, she tipped her chin down and watched as he cupped her breasts, flicked and plucked her hard nipples until she was squirming in his lap—a violation of her agreement, which he’d complain about later, much later—and ducked his head to rub his beard against her pale curves.
“Alex,” she breathed, and he took one of those flushed, swollen peaks in his mouth. Sucked until she gave a thin, high cry, pressed down firmly against his dick, and rocked.
“This is another of my favorite tropes, Wren.” He nuzzled her breast. “Fuck or die. Here we are, directly atop the San Andreas Fault, and if you don’t come, an earthquake will end us all.”
He took her nipple carefully between his teeth, and her hips jerked.
“That’s—that’s nonsense,” she managed to get out.
“Just doing my part to save humanity,” he said against her damp skin. “You’re welcome.”
His tongue playing with the hard tip of her nipple, he slid a hand between her thighs and parted her curls. The soft, hot folds of her pussy quivered against his fingers, and her legs shook as he circled her entrance, circled her clit, without ever giving her what she needed to come.
The angle of his neck was painful. Impossible to hold. So he dragged his open mouth over her chest and up her neck, nipping her soft flesh, and her moan vibrated against his tongue.
“I can’t wait to fuck you,” he said, licking the shadowed curve beneath her jaw, then a spot beneath her ear. “But tonight, I want to make you come with my fingers and my tongue, because, Wren—” He finally stroked over her clit with a fingertip, and she whimpered into the still night. “I’m really fucking good with my tongue.”
“You should be.” Somehow, even as her legs tensed and her breath hitched with every brush of his finger over her clit, she was laughing. They both were. “It certainly gets enough use.”
“You have no idea,” he told her.
She clenched around the two fingers he slipped inside her, and he explored until she threw her head back and whimpered again.
There. When he went down on her later, he’d remember that spot.
Back to her swollen little clit. A tight, light circle. Another. Another.
“You’re so responsive.” He sucked at her neck, using his teeth, and flicked her nipple with his free hand. “Christ, you’re going to feel good on my dick, Wren.”
She came crying out, her back arched, her thighs shaking and tight around his hips, her pussy pulsing against his stroking fingers. He slipped his thumb inside to feel it, to feel what he’d done to her, and she squeezed hard with each spasm.
She was still clenching, still coming, when she grasped his cock in one small, strong hand and stroked up and down, and his brain shorted out. He could only see white, only feel her hot breath on his nipple, the wetness of her mouth as she sucked, the tug of her fist in his hair, only fuck into her tight grip until the burgeoning need of weeks and months exploded into orgasm.
He roared, bucking and lost, pouring everything he had, everything he was, into the slickness of her hand and the water and her round belly.
And as soon as he could see again, as soon as he could feel anything other than her hand on his twitching dick, he slapped a palm on the jet controls, and they thundered to life. His chest heaving, his lungs burning for air, he turned Wren in his lap to face those jets and spread her legs with his own.