It’s Extremely Romantic, and I Won’t Hear Otherwise #4
I had her against the wall before she'd finished laughing, my hands at her hips, her sundress bunching in my fingers, and she made the sound I'd been cataloging for five weeks—the small helpless one, the one that meant she'd stopped thinking—and I pressed closer and felt her melt into me.
"Hi," she managed.
"Hi yourself." I kissed her throat. "You were incredible today."
"I just asked questions—"
"You asked Miller about his grandmother." I found the spot below her ear. "He doesn't talk about his grandmother."
She inhaled sharply as I moved lower. "I think he wanted to. He just needed someone to—" Her train of thought departed. "Oh."
"You do that," I said against her skin. "You make people want to be known."
She pulled back and looked at me, and whatever was in my face made something in hers go soft and open and entirely unguarded.
"Petra," she said.
"I know." I kissed her. "Come on. Shower."
I got the water running while she finished undressing, and she stepped in behind me, and the hot water came down over us both, and for a moment we just stood there with our foreheads together and the steam rising around us and the day dissolving.
Then she tilted her face up. "I want you to dominate me right now."
Something settled low in my belly. "Yeah?"
"Yes." Clear. Sure. The way she'd suggested parachute the first time—no hesitation anywhere.
I reached up and tucked a wet strand of hair behind her ear. "Then turn around," I said. "Hands on the tile."
She turned. Pressed her palms flat against the wall, the water cascading over her shoulders, and looked back at me over one shoulder with dark eyes.
"Keep them there," I said.
She nodded.
"Out loud," I said.
"I'll keep them there," she said, voice already lower than usual.
I started at her shoulders. Kissing down her spine, taking my time, feeling her breathe in shorter increments with every inch. When she shifted her hips I pressed them still with one hand, flat against the curve of her lower back.
"Hold still," I said.
"I'm trying—"
"Try harder."
A sound of genuine effort. Her palms stayed on the tile. I kept moving down.
When I reached the curve of her ass and bit down gently, she yelped, spine straightening.
"Okay?" I asked.
"More than okay." Her voice had gone breathless. "Keep going."
I kissed lower, spreading her slightly, letting my breath ghost over sensitive skin, and felt her tense—not pulling away, just bracing. Feeling what was coming.
"Have you ever been touched here?" I asked softly.
"No. Never."
"Do you want me to?"
A pause. Then, "Yes. God, yes."
I started slowly. Just lips, first, letting her learn the sensation. She was trembling already, her breath coming in short pulls, her hands pressing hard into the tile.
When I finally let my tongue trace that tight ring of muscle, she cried out, hands slapping flat against the wall.
"Oh my god, Petra."
I pulled back slightly. "Too much?"
"No. No. Don't stop. Please don't stop. Please—"
I continued, unhurried, using my tongue to work her open while she came apart above me, her legs beginning to shake, her sounds echoing off the tile. One hand slid around to her front, finding her clit, and she nearly sobbed at the dual sensation.
"Petra—I'm going to—"
"Not yet," I said, pulling back. I straightened, pressing my front against her back, one hand cupping her breast and the other moving between her legs. "I want to try something. But you tell me if it's too much. The second it's too much."
"Anything," she said, and she meant it. "I trust you."
I slid two fingers inside her—wet and ready, clenching immediately around me—and worked her slowly, building her up, watching her hips rock back against my hand with small involuntary movements she wasn't quite controlling.
When I felt her approaching the edge, I eased back, let my thumb slip through her arousal and circle that tight ring of muscle.
She tensed immediately. "Petra—"
"Relax, baby. I've got you." Light pressure, just circling, while my fingers kept working inside her. "Tell me if you want me to stop."
A beat passed. Two.
"Don't stop," she breathed. "Just—slow."
"Slow," I confirmed. "You're doing so well. You feel that? That's exactly right."
"Oh god, it feels—it feels—"
I pressed gently, just the tip of my thumb, feeling her begin to open. "Strange?"
"Yes, but—good—really fucking good—"
"Good," I said against her ear. "That's good. Stay still for me."
She was panting now, hips rocking between my hands with helpless urgency, chasing both sensations at once. I pressed deeper, slow and careful, my thumb sliding in to the first knuckle, and she cried out.
"More," she gasped. "Please—more—"
"Ask me properly."
"Please, Petra. Please."
I pressed deeper. Felt her clench around both my fingers and my thumb simultaneously, felt the flutter of her inner muscles building toward something enormous.
"That's it," I murmured against her neck. "Let go, baby. I've got you. Come for me."
She shattered. A scream that rang off every tile in the shower, her whole body convulsing, her hands slapping hard against the wall as the orgasm tore through her.
I felt everything—her ass clamped tight on my thumb, her pussy pulsing against my fingers—and I fucked her through all of it, gentling my touch in careful increments as the waves began to subside.
When she finally stilled, I withdrew slowly and turned her in my arms. She was barely standing, eyes glazed, weight soft against me.
"Holy shit," she breathed.
"Yeah?" I pushed wet hair back from her face.
"I've never—I didn't know it could feel like that." She looked up at me with something wondering in her eyes. "How did you know?"
"I pay attention," I said. "You're easy to learn."
"You're corrupting me."
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
"It's definitely not a bad thing." Her hands, still slightly unsteady, slid between my legs, finding me soaked. Her eyes darkened. "Your turn." She looked up at me. "Tell me how you want it."
That was new. The asking. The waiting for instructions rather than deciding herself.
I looked at her for a moment, flushed, dripping, entirely spent and entirely willing.
"On your knees," I said.
She went down without hesitation, the water still warm around us, and looked up at me with dark eyes and wet lashes, and that image alone nearly finished me before she'd started.
"Hands behind your back," I said.
She put them there.
"Good girl."
Her exhale was audible.
I fisted one hand in her wet hair—not rough, just present, just mine—and she leaned into it, and then her mouth found me, and I stopped thinking about anything at all.
She was learning. Had been learning. Five weeks of cataloging exactly what worked, and she applied it now with the focused precision of someone who'd done their research and was presenting her findings.
Within minutes, I had one hand braced on the shower wall and was actively reconsidering my ability to remain standing.
"Vera."
She hummed against me, which was not a word but communicated yes? effectively.
"Don't stop."
She didn't stop.
When I came, it was with her name and my hand tight in her hair and the hot water still running, and she worked me through every second of it until I had to pull her up by the shoulders before my legs made any regrettable decisions.
She stood, smiling, swollen-lipped, deeply pleased with herself.
"How was that?" she asked.
"You have to ask?"
"I like hearing you say it."
I cupped her face in both hands and kissed her, and she made a sound against my mouth like something satisfied.
We finished the shower properly after that, actually rinsing off, restoring order, and then collapsed into bed, still damp and tangled, the desert dark outside the window and the whole quiet evening ahead of us.
"Petra?" Vera murmured against my shoulder.
"Mm."
"Thank you. For letting me into your world today. The crew. The helicopter. All of it. For trusting me with you."
I pulled her closer. Pressed a kiss to her hair. "Thank you for wanting in. For not flinching." I thought about the crew chief's seat and her white knuckles releasing the doorframe. "For learning it instead."
"Yours?" she said softly.
The word settled into the room like it belonged there.
"Yeah," I said. "Mine."
She smiled against my collarbone, and the desert extended enormous and dark and full of stars outside, the way it always did, and I lay there with my hand in her hair and thought: I am in so, so deep.
And it didn't even scare me.