Chapter 20: Dearborn Street

Brinley's POV

We left the pie half eaten and Hank's wife pretended not to see us go.

On Dearborn Street I locked the door behind us and put my keys in the bowl.

For three years I had come home to this apartment tired, and I had never once come home to it wanting something.

"Shower," I said.

Floyd laughed in the dark of the hallway.

"Is that a suggestion?"

"It's the plan."

The bathroom was narrow and tiled in white.

I turned the water on until the mirror fogged, and I undressed him slowly, because I could.

He stood still and let me.

His chest rose and fell under my hands.

I pulled the band out of my hair and stepped under the water with him, and he made a low sound as the heat hit his back.

I kissed him under the spray.

His hands went to my hips and slid lower, and he lifted me against the tile without any effort at all.

The wall was cold on my back and he was hot against my front.

"Look at me," I said.

"I'm looking."

"Don't look away when I come."

"I won't."

I reached between us and took him in my hand, and I guided him in.

I felt every inch.

He groaned into my neck and held still, shaking, while I adjusted around him.

"Brin..."

"Move."

He moved.

He thrust up into me slowly at first, long and deep, and the water ran over both of us.

I held on to his shoulders and wrapped my legs around his waist.

"Harder," I said.

He gave it to me.

The tile squeaked under my shoulder blades, and I cried out and did not care who in the building heard.

He kept his eyes on mine.

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