Chapter 29
The private shower stall was small, barely enough room for two grown men and the steam already thickening the air. Water pounded the tiles in a steady, masking roar, loud enough to drown out anything short of a shout.
Andrew followed a beat later, the door clicking shut behind him.
My pulse kicked up as he started stripping, shirt yanked over his head, jeans shoved down and kicked off in a wet heap.
It had been too long since I’d seen him like this.
There had been too many days of careful distance and stolen glances and trying not to think about his body, his hands, the way he looked at me when we were alone.
And now he was here. Naked. Water streaming over his shoulders as he stepped in behind me.
God, I’d missed this.
Missed him.
He was hard already; I could feel it when he pressed close, his cock heavy and hot against the small of my back, his chest flush against my shoulder blades. The contact sent a jolt of heat straight through me, and I had to bite down on a sound that wanted to escape.
We didn’t have time for words. Barely had time for this.
But I didn’t care.
His hands found my hips first—firm, possessive—then slid up my sides, thumbs tracing the dip of my waist before one palm flattened over my stomach, pulling me back against him.
I braced my forearms against the slick tile wall, head bowed under the spray, my breath coming fast and uneven. Water streamed into my eyes; I didn’t care. All I could focus on was the feel of him, solid and real and here, and the ache low in my gut that I’d been ignoring for too long.
Andrew shifted, thighs bracketing mine. His cock slid between them, hot, slick from the water and the pre-cum already leaking from him. Just the thick length of him rubbing slow and deliberate along the sensitive skin there, catching against my balls on every forward glide.
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep quiet.
He exhaled against the nape of my neck. “Fuck, Matthew.”
The sound of his voice, low and wrecked, made my own cock twitch. I was leaking steadily now, aching, but I didn’t touch myself. Not yet. I wanted to feel him lose it first.
His hips rolled again, slower this time, dragging the head of his cock up the crease of my thighs, nudging the underside of my balls.
The friction was maddening: wet skin sliding on wet skin, the heat of him everywhere.
One of his hands stayed splayed on my stomach, holding me steady; the other slid down, wrapped around my length, stroking once, twice—loose, teasing—then let go again.
“Quiet,” he murmured, lips brushing my ear. “Chappell’s still out there.”
The reminder should have been embarrassing, should have made me want to pull away. Instead, it just made me trust him more. He was thinking clearly even now, keeping us safe.
I nodded once, teeth clenched. The reminder only made it hotter, the risk of footsteps in the hall, the faint echo of the other shower running in the communal area just beyond the wall. Close enough that if either of us got too loud, we’d be fucked in a very different way.
Andrew’s rhythm picked up. Short, shallow thrusts between my thighs, cock gliding slick and insistent.
His breathing turned ragged against my shoulder.
I could feel the tremor in his arms, the way his fingers dug into my hip like he was anchoring himself, but even losing control, he was careful. Never too rough, never careless.
I pushed back, just enough to meet him. The pressure made him groan, soft and broken, the sound swallowed by the water.
“Goddamn,” he breathed. “You feel—”
He didn’t finish. Just rocked harder, faster. His cock slid against me in short, filthy strokes, the head catching every time. My own dick throbbed untouched, heavy between my legs, dripping.
I reached back, found his hip, pulled him closer. “Come on,” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the spray. “Let go.”
That did it.
His grip on my hip turned bruising. One last hard thrust, cock pulsing between my thighs, and he came with a choked sound he muffled against my neck—hot spurts of cum painting the inside of my legs, mixing with the water and running down my skin.
His whole body shuddered against mine, chest heaving, forehead pressed to my shoulder like he needed the contact to stay upright.
The sight, the feel, of him coming undone pushed me over.
I shoved a fist against my mouth, bit down on my knuckles, and came hard—cock untouched, spilling over his hand where he’d wrapped it around me at the last second. My knees nearly buckled; he held me up, arm banded across my chest, keeping me pinned against him while I shook through it.
For a long moment, we just stood there, panting, water pounding, hearts slamming in tandem.
Then reality crept back in.
Andrew pulled away first and turned me under the spray so the water rinsed us both clean. His hands were gentler now, soaping my back, my thighs, like he was erasing evidence.
But there was something else in the touch too. Something tender. He washed me like it mattered, like I mattered, his palms sliding over my skin with a care that made my throat tight.
We stepped out, dripping, and grabbed towels from the stack. I wrapped one around my waist; he did the same, low on his hips. The black explosion tattoo on his ribs caught the fluorescent light—sharp, vivid against wet skin.
He reached for his jeans first, shaking them out. “Agent’s flying in tomorrow to be here for the hearing,” he said, voice still rough. “He’s got the docs you prepped, the timeline, the affidavits. All of it.”
I paused, towel halfway to my hair. “Good.”
He looked at me then, really looked. “Thank you. For that. For. . . all of it.”
I stepped closer, close enough to feel the lingering heat off his skin. Tipped my head up and kissed him, slow this time, my lips pressing, lingering, saying what words couldn’t quite manage.
When I pulled back, his blue eyes were steady on mine.
“You’re going to kick this hearing’s ass.”
A small, crooked smile tugged at his mouth, the real one, not the sharp-edged smirk he wore for everyone else. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He exhaled, nodded once. Reached out and brushed a wet strand of hair off my forehead with his thumb, the gesture so gentle it made something in my chest crack open.
We finished dressing in silence, him in jeans and sweatshirt, me pulling on my pants and shirt from earlier.
As we headed for the door, he bumped my shoulder lightly with his.
“See you out there?”
I smiled. “See you out there.”
And for the first time in weeks, the knot in my chest loosened just enough to breathe.