Page 327 of What We Brave
I cry out, hands slipping on the wet tile as my body stretches to accommodate him. He catches me—one arm banded across my stomach, holding me up, holding me still while he sinks all the way in.
"Fuck." His forehead drops to my shoulder, his chest heaving against my back. "Fuck, Laine."
He doesn't move. Just stays there, buried deep, breathing hard. I can feel him pulse inside me, feel the tremor running through his thighs where they press against mine.
"Blake—"
"Give me a second." His voice is strained, almost pained. "Just... give me a second."
I wait. Not patiently—patience stopped being an option three weeks ago—but I wait.
Then he pulls out slowly. Slams back in hard.
I moan, the sound echoing off the tile walls.
"That," he growls against my ear. "That sound. Needed to hear that sound."
He sets a brutal pace after that. Hard and fast, no buildup, no finesse—just raw need driving every thrust. The arm across my stomach keeps me pinned against him, keeps me exactly where he wants me while he takes what he needs.
What I need too. God, what I need.
"Touch yourself," he orders. "Want to feel you come."
I slide my hand down, find my clit. Circle it in time with his thrusts.
"That's it." His teeth graze my shoulder. "That's my girl. So good for me."
The pressure builds fast. Too fast. I'm wound too tight, it's been too long, and Blake knows exactly how to angle his hips to hit that spot that makes my vision blur.
"Come." He bites down on my shoulder. "Now."
I shatter.
My whole body seizes, clenching around him, and he groans like I'm killing him. His hips stutter, rhythm breaking, and then he's coming too—pulsing inside me, his arm crushing me against his chest.
We stay like that for a long moment. Water streaming over us, both of us shaking.
Then Blake laughs. Low and breathless against my neck.
"Twelve minutes," he says. "Guess we showed him."
"That was not twelve minutes."
"No." He kisses my shoulder, right where he bit me. Gentle now. "That was about four. I'll do better next round."
Next round.
Right. Because Blake's still half-hard inside me, and the night is young, and Reid is waiting in the bedroom.
I remember the morning after our first time together. All three of us on the couch, tangled and terrified and pretending we weren't. I'd slipped into this same bathroom at dawn and had a mild panic attack against the door. Everything felt too big. The idea of both of them—wanting both of them, being wanted by both of them—it was overwhelming. Too much. I'd splashed water on my face and stared at myself in the mirror and thought:You can still run. You can still get out before this gets complicated.
But I'd opened the door. And they were both awake, watching me with careful eyes, and Reid had said, "Breakfast?" like it was the most normal thing in the world.
So I'd stayed for breakfast. And then I'd stayed for seven years.
Blake pulls out slowly. Turns me around to face him.
His eyes are softer now. Still dark with want, but there's tenderness there too. The Blake who builds things with his hands and holds all three kids at once and still sometimes looks at me like he can't believe I'm real.
