SOAKED
PAT
My house was small, one bedroom, open kitchen, living room that faced the lake, but it was mine, and right now it felt like the only place in the world that mattered.
Elliot followed me inside, closing the door behind him, and we stood there in my entryway dripping lake water onto the hardwood floor.
"I should..." I gestured vaguely toward the bathroom. "Towels. Or a shower. Or..."
He kissed me.
Hard. Consuming. Like he'd been holding back at the lake and didn't want to anymore.
I made a sound against his mouth and pressed into him, feeling the cold water between us, the heat underneath.
His hands found my waist, slid up my ribs, thumbs brushing the underside of my breasts through wet fabric.
I shivered, not from cold.
"Elliot," I breathed.
"Yeah?"
"Shower. Now."
He nodded, and I grabbed his hand, pulling him down the short hallway to the bathroom.
I turned on the water, hot as it would go, and waited for it to warm while he stood behind me, hands on my hips, mouth on my neck.
"You smell like lake water," he murmured against my skin.
"So do you."
His hands slid around to my stomach, then up. "Can I?"
I reached back and unhooked my bra myself, letting it drop to the floor.
His breath caught.
"Pat..."
"Touch me."
He did.
Palms cupping my breasts, thumbs brushing over my nipples, and I arched back into him with a gasp.
"God," he breathed.
"Good?"
"Perfect." His mouth found my shoulder, my neck, the sensitive spot behind my ear. "You're perfect."
"I'm really not."
"You are to me."
The water was hot now, steam filling the small bathroom, and I turned in his arms.
"Get in with me," I said.
We stripped off the last of our wet clothes and stepped under the spray together, and the heat was almost overwhelming after the cold lake.
Almost.
Elliot pressed me back against the tile, water streaming over both of us, and kissed me like he'd been starving for it.
I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him back, feeling his body against mine, solid, warm, real.
His hands were everywhere. My waist. My hips. The curve of my ass. Like he was trying to memorize every inch.
"Elliot," I gasped.
"Tell me what you want."
"You. Inside me. Now."
"We should slow down..."
I bit his lower lip gently. "I'm done being slow."
He groaned, and I felt it vibrate through my chest.
"Condom?" I managed.
"Yes. Back in a flash."
He kissed me once more, hard and possessive, then stepped out of the shower, and I heard him rifling through his pants.
I leaned against the tile, water streaming down my body, pulse racing.
This was happening.
Three weeks of phone calls and hypotheticals and wondering, and now he was here, and I wanted him so badly I could barely think straight.
He stepped back in, condom already on, and the sight of him, wet, hard, looking at me like I was the only thing that mattered, made my knees weak.
"Come here," I said.
He did.
Lifted me like I weighed nothing, pressed me back against the wall, and I wrapped my legs around his waist.
"You sure?" he asked, forehead against mine.
"Very sure."
He pushed in slow, so slow I wanted to scream, and I felt every inch, every bit of stretch and pressure and fullness.
"Oh God," I breathed.
"Okay?"
"Yes. Don't stop."
He didn't.
Moved deeper, steadier, until he was fully seated and we were both gasping.
"Pat," he breathed. "You feel..."
"I know."
"I don't think you do."
He pulled back and thrust again, and I cried out, nails digging into his shoulders.
"Like that?" he asked.
"Exactly like that."
He set a rhythm, slow, deep, deliberate, and I met him thrust for thrust, water streaming over us, steam filling my lungs.
This was better than I'd imagined.
Because Elliot Burns wasn't just good at this.
He was attentive. Present. Focused entirely on me like nothing else existed.
"Tell me," he said against my neck. "Tell me what you need."
"Harder."
He obliged, and I gasped, head falling back against the tile.
"More?"
"Yes."
"Pat..." His voice was strained. "I'm not going to last if you keep..."
"Then don't."
"I want you to come first."
"Then make me."
He shifted the angle, just slightly, and suddenly every thrust hit exactly where I needed it.
"Oh fuck," I gasped.
"There?"
"There. Right there”
He kept that same angle, that same rhythm, one hand braced against the wall, the other gripping my hip hard enough to bruise.
I felt it building, heat and pressure and something bigger than both, and then I was over, gasping his name, nails raking down his back.
He followed seconds later with a low groan that I felt all the way through my chest.
We stayed like that for a moment, breathing hard, water still streaming, hearts pounding against each other.
Then he lowered me carefully, keeping me steady when my legs threatened to give out.
"You okay?" he asked.
"Better than okay."
"Good." He kissed me softly.
I looked up at him, taking in his flushed face, wet hair, eyes that looked almost dazed.
We finished washing, slowly this time, touching more than necessary, learning the geography of each other's bodies.
When we finally turned off the water and stepped out, I wrapped myself in a towel and handed him another.
"Stay," I said.
"Tonight?"
"Yes."
"Pat..."
"I know what you're going to say. You don't want to assume. You don't want to overstep." I moved closer. "But I'm telling you. Stay."
He studied me for a long moment, then nodded. "Okay."
I led him to my bedroom, small, simple, bed facing the window that looked out at the lake, and we climbed in together, still slightly damp, skin warm against cool sheets.
He pulled me against him, and I tucked myself into his side, head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow.
"Elliot?" I said after a while.
"Yeah?"
"This is just summer, right?"
He was quiet for a beat too long. "Is that what you want it to be?"
"I'm asking what you want."
“I want to say yes. That it’s just summer. That we’ll enjoy it and then I’ll go back to Spokane and we’ll both move on.”
He exhaled slowly. “But I don’t think it’s going to stay that simple.”
I lifted my head. “No?”
“No.” His thumb brushed my cheek, hesitant this time. “I think if I let myself want this too much, it’s going to hurt. And I’m not sure I’m ready to look that far ahead.”
My throat tightened. "Elliot..."
"I know. Too much. Too fast." He smiled slightly. "But you asked."
I kissed him instead of answering. Slow and deep and certain.
When I pulled back, I said, "Just summer."
"Just summer," he agreed.
I said it because I didn’t know how to ask him not to leave.
And he said it because he didn’t yet know how to stay.