The first rays of the Crocus sun filtered through the heavy curtains of the penthouse suite, painting the room in soft, warm light.
In the morning, Blake and Cana were next to each other, naked as the day they were born, their bodies tangled between themselves in the opulent disarray of the king-sized bed.
They were sleeping peacefully after last night's activities, the chaotic, passionate energy finally spent, leaving only a deep, comfortable intimacy.
Blake was the first to wake up. As soon as he opened his eyes, his dark gaze softened. He looked at the face of peacefully sleeping Cana.
Her mid-back length brown hair was a wild, beautiful tangle across the white pillows, and her tanned-skinned face, free from its usual drunken flush or guarded taunts, was completely relaxed. He could feel the soft breath from her full lips against his chest.
He lay there for a long moment, simply memorizing the sight. This was new. This was... good.
Finally, knowing they couldn't stay there forever, he started to move slowly, intending to slip out of bed so as not to disturb her sleep.
It was a futile effort. As soon as he started to move, she also started to stir, a soft, sleepy murmur escaping her. Her arms, which were draped across his torso, tightened, and she woke up.
Then she opened her eyes, blinking, her vision blurred. She looked up, and her brown eyes met his black ones. A slow, lazy, and incredibly happy smile spread across her face.
Blake felt his own lips mirror the expression. "Good morning."
Cana nuzzled her face against his chest, her voice a low, husky purr. "Good morning."
He gently brushed a strand of her brown hair back from her face. "Let's get freshened up, and we will order breakfast after that."
Hearing that, Cana nodded, then let out a long, theatrical groan as she tried to stretch. Her entire body locked up, and she winced, her smile turning into a grimace.
She flopped back onto the pillows, opened her arms wide in a gesture of complete helplessness, and gave him a pout.
"Uh-uh. No. I am sore from last night, Blake," she announced, her voice a playful mix of complaint and pride. "My legs feel like jelly. This is all your fault. It is your responsibility to take care of me now."
Hearing that, Blake chuckled, a deep, warm sound that rumbled in his chest. He didn't argue. He simply stood, his own powerful frame unbothered by the night's exertion, and leaned over the bed.
"Is that so?" he asked, his voice full of amusement.
"Mhm. Take full responsibility for breaking me."
"Fair enough."
In one smooth motion, he lifted her in a princess-carry way, pulling her against his bare chest. Cana let out a surprised yelp, which turned into a happy giggle as she wrapped her arms around his neck.
"This is more like it," she murmured, resting her head on his shoulder.
Blake carried her easily across the suite and took her to the bathroom, a massive chamber of marble and glass. He kicked the door open, ignoring the luxurious bathtub and heading straight for the walk-in shower.
"Together?" she whispered, her voice losing its playful edge and becoming something softer.
"Together," he confirmed, his voice low.
He stepped over the threshold, and they both went under the shower, the hot water washing away the night and starting the first day of their new life.
Steam bloomed thick and warm as Blake turned the shower dial, enveloping them in a cloud that smelled faintly of chlorine from the pipes.
He stepped in first, pulling Cana close against the slick tile wall, water cascading over her shoulders, flattening her rich brown hair against her skin.
His hands traced soap over her collarbones, down her ribs, fingers sinking into the softness of her waist, thumbs brushing the curve of her hips.
A sigh escaped her lips—part relief, part something deeper—as the heat eased her aches. His touch lingered, reverent, tracing the droplets across her tanned skin.
"Blake," she breathed, her voice thick against the drumming water. Her hand snaked back, gripping his thigh hard enough to bruise, pulling him flush against her.
The sudden shift tore a groan from him. He spun her roughly, pinning her palms flat against the wet tile, his mouth crashing onto hers.
Water streamed into their kiss, salty-sweet, as his teeth grazed her lower lip. Her hips arched back, grinding against the hard line of him, the slick friction drawing a ragged gasp from them both.
He lifted her thigh high around his waist, pressing her back into the corner where tile met tile.
The thrust was deep, claiming, driving the air from her lungs in a cry swallowed by steam. Her nails scraped down his slick back as she met each movement with fierce urgency, her cries echoing sharply off the porcelain and glass.
Water sluiced over them, mingling with sweat, the only sound now their harsh breaths and the slap of wet skin. Her head tipped back against the wall, eyes closed tight, lost in the relentless rhythm.
Cana pushed him back suddenly, turning to brace her palms flat against the shower wall. "Harder," she demanded, voice raw and echoing.
He gripped her hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he drove into her, each impact shuddering through both their bodies.
Her moans crescendoed with every thrust—low, guttural sounds torn loose by the angle. She arched deeper, pushing back against him, chasing friction until her knuckles whitened against the tile.
Steam thickened the air, clinging to their lashes, blurring the world to sensation alone.
He spun her again, catching her against his chest. Their mouths crashed together, teeth clacking, tongues tangling desperately as he lifted her effortlessly. She wrapped both legs around him, locking her ankles at his back.
"Don't stop," she gasped against his lips, her voice trembling with need. He braced her weight against the slick wall, pistoning upward with brutal precision.
Her cries fractured into breathless sobs, fingers twisting in his wet hair as her body clenched around him, shuddering violently.
They sank to the shower floor together, water drumming on their bowed heads. Cana traced the curve of his jaw, her breath still ragged. "Again," she whispered, guiding his hand low.
"But slower now." Her thighs parted deliberately, slick with more than water, eyes dark with renewed hunger.
Blake's thumb circled her clit with featherlight pressure, drawing a sharp gasp as she arched into his touch. Steam coiled around them like a second skin as he lowered his mouth to her neck, tasting salt and chlorine and her.
He slid two fingers inside her slowly, curling upward against that hidden ridge. Her cry shattered against the tiles—high, desperate—as her hips jerked. "There," she choked out, nails biting into his shoulder. "Just like that."
Water sluiced over her breasts as she rode his hand, each shallow thrust deliberate. Her climax built like thunder: muscles fluttering around his fingers, breath hitching to whimpers, thighs trembling violently until she seized—a silent scream tearing through her as she convulsed against his palm.
He pulled her onto his lap, straddling him in the pooling water. Cana sank onto him with a groan that vibrated through his bones, her inner muscles still spasming from her peak. "Move with me," she commanded, hands braced on his chest.
They found a rhythm—grinding, deep—her hips circling as she took him to the hilt with every rise and fall. Her head fell back, water streaming down her throat as her cries softened to breathy sighs.
Blake watched her through half-lidded eyes: the flutter of her pulse beneath damp skin, the bliss-slack curve of her mouth.
Exhaustion finally claimed her. She slumped against his chest, limbs liquid and heavy.