Cruxius stepped out of the shower, still carrying her—her thick, glistening body wrapped around his lean, muscle-lined frame like she was made to hang there. His arms gripped just beneath the swell of her ass, fingers digging deep into the soft flesh, lifting her easily like she weighed nothing.
Her wet breasts pressed into his chest, nipples brushing faintly as he moved—slow, steady—the cool air brushing against their sweat-slick, steaming skin. Every time her hips rocked from his steps, she twitched, oversensitive, her inner walls still fluttering from the aftershocks of the orgasm he gave her.
She nuzzled into his neck, heart pounding.
And then—he spoke.
"How can I believe you?"
His voice wasn't cold. It wasn't mocking. It was just quiet. Too quiet. But the kind of quiet that made her stomach twist.
She blinked. "What…?"
