Chapter 12: Sauna

The pack's sauna sat at the end of a dock on the lake.

It was a cedar box with one small window and a stove that could cook a grown man.

On Thursday night it belonged to us.

He sat on the top bench in a towel, with his head against the wall and sweat running down his chest.

I stood in the door with my own towel, and the steam rolled out around me.

"Shut it," he said. "You're letting the heat out."

"I like the heat."

"I know you do."

I shut the door.

The dark was gold and red from the stove, and the air smelled like hot wood and smoke.

I dropped my towel.

His eyes went over me in the low light, slowly, and I watched the muscle in his throat move.

"Come here," he said.

"Not yet."

I stepped between his knees and pulled the towel off his hips.

He was already hard.

I wrapped my hand around him and stroked, slow, with a slick of sweat easing the way.

He groaned and tipped his head back against the cedar.

"Maja."

"Watch me."

He lifted his head.

I stroked him from root to tip, and back, and thumbed the slit, and he hissed and gripped the bench.

"God. Slower."

"No."

I went faster, then slow again, teasing, until his thighs shook under my free hand.

"You like it when I decide," I said.

"I love it."

He said it simply.

I stopped, and climbed onto his lap, and straddled his hips facing him.

His hands came up to my waist, slick with steam, and I held his face.

"Look at me," I said.

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