39 - Haven
HAVEN
The hot water helped.
Not enough to wash away all my sins, but certainly some of them.
Steam curled thick around me, clinging to my skin, sliding down in slow rivulets as I stood beneath the spray and let my head fall forward. My muscles were loose. My body still humming faintly from everything that had just happened.
Ares.
Sebastian.
Too much. Not enough. I didn’t even know anymore.
I only knew we’d rutted like animals for more than an hour, before they gathered their clothes and left.
I braced a hand against the tile, closing my eyes. Remembering how it felt to lay there, thoroughly plundered, in a room scented only by sex.
Hot water poured over the back of my neck, running down my body. It felt baptismal. Cleansing. I tried to let it wash away the noise in my head, as well.
It didn’t.
It never did.
The door clicked. I froze, but only for a second.
Footsteps followed. Calm. Unhurried.
Not Ares.
Not Sebastian.
I turned at the waist, already knowing before I even saw him.
Grayson.
He didn’t say anything at first. He just stood there for half a second — watching me through the steam — before reaching for the hem of his shirt and pulling it off like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Like he’d been here the whole time.
“Really?” I asked, because apparently sarcasm was the only defense mechanism I had left.
His ridiculously handsome mouth twitched.
“Funny,” he said.
“What is?”
“You,” he said, stepping closer. “Walking in on me in the shower, every chance you get.”
“This is different.”
“Is it?”
A beat.
Then he reached past me and pulled the curtain back—
And stepped inside.
Just like that. No hesitation. No question.
The space shrank instantly. Steam. Heat. Him.
My pulse picked up as water soaked his hair, ran down his chest, traced the lines of his body in slow, wandering paths. My eyes followed that water without apology. Even to the more daring parts.
He didn’t touch me. Not yet.
Just stood there, close enough that I could feel the heat of him, even under the spray.
“You waited,” I said quietly.
“I did.”
“For what?”
His eyes met mine. They held me.
“To see what you’d do.”
My throat went dry.
“And now?”
A faint smile.
“Now I know.”
Something in my chest constricted.
“You heard,” I said.
It wasn’t a question. His gaze didn’t waver.
“Yeah.”
I swallowed.
“And you’re just… fine with that?”
Grayson shrugged, water dripping from his chiseled jaw.
“I don’t get mad about things I saw coming.”
That shouldn’t have made my stomach flip. For some reason it did.
A moment of silence passed between us. Then another.
“You’re staring,” I said, softer now.
“So are you.”
“Yeah, well—”
He stepped closer. Cutting me off without touching me.
“Relax,” he said, voice low. “I’m not here to argue.”
“No?” I lifted a brow.
“No.”
Another inch closer.
“If anything—”
His gaze dropped briefly to my mouth, and then back up.
“I feel like I’m late.”
Heat coiled, low in my stomach.
“You could’ve come in earlier,” I said, because I couldn’t help myself.
“I could have.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No.”
“Why?”
This time he didn’t answer right away. Instead his hand came up — slow, controlled — brushing a strand of wet hair back from my cheek.
“I don’t interrupt,” he said finally. “I wait.”
A beat. Then—
“And I don’t rush things I plan on doing right.”
My breath caught. Not sudden or sharp, but enough to notice.
“And now?” I asked.
His hand was still at my cheek. Instead of moving away, it lingered.
“Now,” he said quietly, “it’s my turn.”
The words dropped like a heavy weight, settling between us. My heart skipped a beat.
“That how this works?” I asked, trying for light, missing it completely.
Grayson’s thumb traced lightly along my jaw.
“They got there first,” he murmured.
A beat.
“Doesn’t mean they get all of you.”
Something in me slipped loose at that. Not all at once — but enough that I stopped pretending this wasn’t happening.
I didn’t move when he leaned back in. Didn’t protest when his other hand found my waist.
I didn’t do anything except stand there and let it happen.
His mouth brushed mine first. Testing the distance. Measuring it.
Always in control.
Then I kissed him back. Deeply. Soulfully…
And that was it.
The last bit of distance — gone.
His hands — the ones that controlled the hockey stick with such skill and grace — moved, slower than the others had. His movements were intentional. Mapping instead of taking. Learning instead of claiming.
It should’ve been gentler.
It wasn’t.
And that’s because his restraint was edged with an intensity and desire that could no longer be contained.
“You’re not stopping me,” he murmured against my mouth.
“Should I?”
He pulled back enough to stare into my eyes.
“Do you want to?”
I didn’t answer, because my hands had already found him. Because I was already leaning into him. Because whatever lines I’d been trying to hold onto were gone.
Completely.
Grayson huffed a quiet breath — something almost like a laugh.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “That’s what I thought.”
The water kept falling, as the steam thickened around us. Time slipped. The world around us disappeared.
Grayson’s hand slid between my thighs, beyond the soap, the water, the heat. I gasped as his fingers parted my swollen, tender folds. His touch was slow. Gentle. Insistent, but also patient.
Something thick brushed my leg, and I was suddenly very aware of his own arousal. I reached down, without hesitation, and allowed my hand to close over it.
Not just big. Not just thick.
Heavy, too.
Where the hell are they growing these guys?
I wondered absently if there was something in the food, or the water, or—
Grayson pressed me gently into the shower wall, his body molding to mine. He was already rock hard, but somehow he stiffened even more against my palm. Our eyes met again, arms and wrists moving in tandem as we slowly explored each other.
There was no more animosity between us. No sarcasm. No halfhearted words of protest.
All the walls were gone.
Our mouths met in a slow, questing kiss, while our hands worked magic between us. And then suddenly I was being lifted upward by two strong arms. He held me there for a moment, suspended against the wall, before guiding me slowly down.
My mouth opened as he parted me.
My eyes flared, as gravity drove him inside.
Ohhhhhh…
And then I was straddling his hard, athlete’s body, fully impaled. Arms folded over his shoulders. Legs wrapped around his perfect flanks. Grayson kissed me again, harder, this time while buried achingly deep inside me.
All I could do was kiss him back, while grinding against him.
The shower cascaded against his back, splashing us with warmth as we grinded away. Minutes passed. Hours. Days. It could’ve been anything, really. Beyond the curtain of swirling steam, time held no meaning.
I should’ve been sated, but I wasn’t. The pleasant soreness between my legs should’ve reminded me of how many times I’d been taken by his teammates, over and over again. I should’ve felt greedy wanting more of this. It should’ve felt wrong, wanting him.
None of that seemed to matter.
All my body wanted was more.
Grayson held me steady, his arms not even wavering as I squeezed my thighs tighter around him. I wondered how long he’d wanted to do this. Tried to imagine at what point his will would’ve broken, had it not been helped along by the circumstances of tonight.
My breath was coming faster when he finally pulled back. It wasn’t to stop, though.
It was to guide.
“Come on,” he said, lowering me to the tiled floor. His hand took my wrist.
“Where?”
That faint, knowing smile was back again.
“Somewhere I don’t have to share.”
The water stopped, and I didn’t argue. I didn’t hesitate.
I only followed.
We drifted together down the stairs, through the hallway, into the dim silence of his bedroom. We dove into the warm world beneath his down comforter. The softness of pillows that smelled like him.
And for the first time all night, I didn’t feel pulled in three different directions.
Grayson’s hands found my legs, pushing them back. He spread me wide. Hovered over me.
And took me exactly where we’d left off.
Later, wrapped in warmth that had nothing to do with the storm, I lay against him, his arm heavy across my waist. His breathing slow and even behind me.
The house was silent. The storm still clawed at the windows.
But inside that room—
I lay awake longer than I meant to.
Not thinking about what had already happened. Not even thinking about him.
I was thinking about tomorrow.
About the fact that they were all still here.
And this time—
I could no longer pretend I didn’t want it.