Steam curled off the surface of the bathhouse pool, thick and mineral-scented, carrying the faint echo of dripping water from the tiled ceiling. Ash let his head fall back against the smooth stone lip, eyes half-closed, the heat sinking into muscles that had been tight for weeks.
Months. That's what it had been, really. May had stayed in Hoenn, her contest circuit pulling her further from his route with every badge, every ribbon. He'd told himself it was fine. He'd told himself the road was the same as it had always been—open, endless, full of new challenges.
He hadn't believed himself.
The water shifted around his chest as he adjusted, the steam clinging to his skin. His body felt strange lately. Restless. Like something under the surface he couldn't quite name, a current that pulled at him when he tried to sleep, when he sat too long in one place, when he watched Dawn's skirt sway as she walked ahead of him down a dirt path.
He pushed that thought away, hard, and sank a little lower into the water.
The bathhouse was quiet this time of evening. A few other travelers had come and gone, their voices muffled through the wooden walls, the slap of wet feet on stone fading as they left. Now it was just him, and the steam, and the soft lapping of water against the pool's tiled edge.
He'd come here to clear his head. That was the plan. A long soak, a good night's sleep, and tomorrow he'd be back on the road with a fresh perspective. That was how these things worked, wasn't it?
The water was warm against his thighs, and he let himself drift a little, the heat loosening something in his spine. His hand found the edge of the pool, fingers trailing along the smooth tile, and he was just starting to relax—really relax, for the first time in weeks—when he heard the door at the far end of the bathhouse slide open.
Footsteps. Light, quick, familiar.
He didn't open his eyes. "Dawn?"
"Who else would it be?" Her voice bounced off the tiled walls, carrying further than it should. "Brock's off doing whatever Brock does, and you were taking forever. I figured you'd fallen asleep in here and drowned."
"Not drowned."
"Good. Then you can stop hogging the pool."
He heard the rustle of fabric, the soft thud of something dropped on a wooden bench. Then the unmistakable sound of a towel being pulled free from its hook.
Ash opened his eyes.
Dawn was at the washing station at the far edge of the pool, her back to him, the small towel she'd brought barely covering anything. She'd already stripped down to it, her pale skin flushed pink from the steam, her navy hair piled loosely on top of her head. She was reaching for a bucket, her movements easy and unhurried, completely at ease in a way that made him look away fast.
He stared at the ceiling instead. Studied the pattern of condensation on the tiles like it was a battle strategy.
"You're quiet," she said, her voice echoing. "That's not like you."
"Just tired."
"Uh-huh." Water splashed. She was pouring the bucket over herself now, the sound loud in the empty room. "You've been weird since we crossed into Sinnoh, you know that?"
"I haven't been weird."
"You've been weird." Another splash. "You barely talk at dinner. You stare off into space when you think no one's looking. And you've been…" She paused, and he could hear the frown in her voice. "I don't know. Twitchy?"
"I'm not twitchy."
"You're twitchy."
He didn't answer. The water rippled around him as he shifted, and he heard her footsteps approach the edge of the pool.
"Are you going to get in, or are you just going to stand there?"
"I'm getting in."
"Then get in."
He heard the towel drop. He kept his eyes fixed on the ceiling, his jaw tight, as the water displaced with a soft splash and she sank into the pool on the opposite side, a good ten feet of steaming water between them.
She sighed, a contented sound that seemed to fill the room. "This is nice. I see why you like it."
"Yeah."
"You should come to the lake with me tomorrow. I want to see if there are any wild Pokémon around. I heard there's a spot near the border where—"
He wasn't listening. He was watching her, he realized—watching the way the water beaded on her shoulders, the way the steam curled around her, the way the towel she'd dropped lay in a crumpled heap at the edge of the pool.
He forced his eyes away. Stared at the ceiling again.
This was exactly the problem. This was why he'd been twitchy. This was why he couldn't sleep, why his body felt like a live wire, why every time she bent over to tie her shoe or reached up to adjust her hair, he had to look somewhere else, anywhere else, before his thoughts went somewhere he couldn't pull them back from.
"Ash."
He blinked. "What?"
"I asked you a question."
"Sorry. I wasn't—what was the question?"
She was looking at him now, her head tilted, her sapphire eyes sharp in a way that made his stomach tighten. "I asked if you wanted to come to the lake with me tomorrow. But you weren't listening."
"I was."
"You weren't." She pushed off from the edge, drifting a little closer, the water rippling around her. "What's going on with you, Ash? Seriously."
"Nothing."
"It's not nothing." She was closer now, close enough that he could see the way the steam had flushed her cheeks, the way a strand of navy hair had come loose and was plastered to her temple. "You've been like this for weeks. Ever since—"
She stopped. Something flickered across her face, a realization, and she looked away.
"Ever since what?" he asked.
"Ever since May left," she said quietly.
The words hung in the air between them, heavy as the steam.
"It's not—" he started.
"Don't. Don't tell me it's nothing." She looked back at him, and there was something in her expression he couldn't read. "I'm not stupid, Ash. I know you two were… close. And I know you've been different since she went back to Hoenn."
He didn't know what to say to that. He didn't know what he could say.
She drifted closer still, the water lapping at her collarbone, and he saw her eyes flick down, just for a second, to where his hand was resting on the edge of the pool.
Then she said, "You left your clothes on the bench."
He blinked. "What?"
"Your clothes. On the bench. You left your wallet in your pants pocket." She was looking at him with that sharp, curious expression again. "I was going to grab you a towel, but I saw it and I thought—"
She reached out of the water, and there it was. His wallet. Black leather, worn at the edges, the one he'd had since he was a kid. She held it up, water dripping from her fingers, and he felt his whole body go cold.
"Dawn—"
"I was looking for a hair tie," she said, her voice too casual, too measured. "I thought maybe you'd have one in here." She flipped it open, her thumb sliding over the compartments. "But you don't have a hair tie."
His heart was hammering. "Dawn, put that away—"
"You have these, though."
She pulled them out. Three condoms, still in their wrappers, bright foil against the worn leather of the wallet. She held them up, her fingers steady, her expression unreadable.
The steam seemed to thicken between them. The only sound was the drip of water from the ceiling, the soft lap of the pool against the tiles.
"Ash," she said, her voice careful. "What are these?"
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
"They're—"
"Don't say they're for emergencies." Her voice was flat. "I've seen you in battle. You don't use these for emergencies."
He swallowed. His throat felt dry, his skin too hot, the water suddenly suffocating.
"It's a long story," he said.
"We have time." She drifted closer, the condoms still in her hand, her eyes fixed on his. "The road's not going anywhere."
He looked at her. At the water beading on her shoulders, the loose strand of navy hair, the sharp intelligence in her sapphire eyes. She wasn't going to let this go. He could see that. She was going to sit in this pool with him until he gave her an answer, and he didn't know if he could give her one that wouldn't change everything.
But he also knew, with a certainty that settled in his chest like a stone, that he was tired of carrying this alone.
"It's called a special arrangement," he said.
She raised an eyebrow. "A special arrangement."
"Yeah." He ran a hand through his wet hair, the water sluicing off his arm. "It started with Misty. Back in Kanto. There was this hot spring, and she—" He stopped. Started again. "We made a deal. Once a month. To take the edge off."
Dawn's expression didn't change, but he saw her fingers tighten around the condoms. "Once a month."
"And then May." He couldn't meet her eyes. "In Hoenn. It just kind of happened, and Misty was okay with it, and we—" He trailed off, his jaw tight. "It was supposed to help. With the restlessness."
"The restlessness."
"Yeah. The—" He gestured vaguely at himself. "The pressure. The wanting. It builds up, and if you don't let it out somewhere, it just sits there and makes everything worse. So we made arrangements. So it wouldn't get in the way of everything else."
Silence. The water rippled between them.
Dawn looked down at the condoms in her hand, then back up at him. Her expression was still unreadable, but there was something in her eyes now—a flicker, a calculation, a curiosity that made his stomach clench.
"You're pent up," she said.
"What?"
"That's what you're saying, right? You're pent up. And you've been walking around with me for weeks, and you're so pent up you can't even look at me."
He opened his mouth to deny it. Closed it.
She was right. He knew she was right. He'd been avoiding her—not because he didn't like her, but because he liked her too much, because every time she laughed or stretched or bent over, his body had a reaction he couldn't control and didn't know how to explain.
"Dawn, it's not—"
"How long has it been?" she asked. "Since May."
He swallowed. "A few months."
"A few months." She repeated the words slowly, tasting them. "And you've just been walking around with that the whole time?"
"I didn't want to—I didn't know how to—" He broke off, frustrated. "It's not something you just bring up, Dawn."
"Because it's a special arrangement?"
"Because it's private."
She was quiet for a long moment. The steam curled around them, thick and warm, and the water lapped gently at the edges of the pool. He could hear his own heartbeat in his ears, loud and uneven.
Then she said, "So it helps."
"What?"
"The arrangement. It helps. With the—" She gestured at him the way he'd gestured at himself. "The pressure."
He didn't know how to answer that. "I guess."
"And you haven't had it in months."
"Dawn—"
"So you're really pent up."
He stared at her. The water was still between them, but it felt like the distance was shrinking, the space between them filling with something he couldn't name.
"Dawn, what are you doing?"
She looked down at the condoms in her hand, then back up at him. And slowly, deliberately, she tore one of the wrappers open with her teeth.
The sound was loud in the quiet room. The crinkle of foil, the wet click of her tongue against the wrapper, the soft hiss of her breath as she pulled the condom free.
She held it up between them, the rubber glistening with water droplets.
"I'm saying," she said slowly, "that I get it. The pressure. The wanting." Her eyes met his, and for the first time, he saw something there—a hunger, a curiosity, a need he hadn't expected. "And I'm saying that you don't have to be pent up anymore."
His heart stopped.
"Dawn—"
"You told me about the arrangement." She drifted closer, the water rippling around her small frame. "You told me about Misty, and May, and the hot spring, and the Pokémon Center. You told me because you trust me."
"I do trust you."
"Then trust me with this." She stopped a few feet away, the water lapping at her collarbone, the condom still held between her fingers. "I'm not Misty. I'm not May. I'm me. And I'm telling you that I want to know what it feels like."
The words hit him like a wave. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. All he could do was stare at her, at the water beading on her skin, at the small towel that had slipped down to float on the surface, at the curve of her A-cup breasts just visible beneath the steam.
"Dawn, you're—" He stopped. Swallowed. "You're twelve."
"So are you."
"That's not—"
"It's not what?" She drifted closer, close enough that he could see the way her pulse beat in her throat. "It's not what you want?"
He couldn't answer. Because the truth was, it was exactly what he wanted. It had been what he wanted for weeks, months, every time she laughed or stretched or leaned over him to point at a map. He'd wanted her in a way that shamed him, that kept him up at night, that made him avoid her gaze at dinner because he was afraid she'd see it.
And now she was here, in the water, holding a condom she'd torn open with her own teeth, looking at him with those sharp sapphire eyes like she could see straight through him.
"You said it was once a month," she said. "With Misty. And with May, it was just—" She shrugged, water slipping off her shoulders. "It was different. It was what you needed."
"Dawn—"
"I'm saying that I need it too." Her voice was steady, but he saw her fingers tremble slightly around the condom. "I'm saying that I've been walking with you for weeks, and watching you stare off into space, and wondering what was going on in your head. And now I know." She took a breath. "And I want to be part of it."
The steam was thick around them, and he could barely see her face, but he could feel her presence, warm and close, a few feet away in the water.
"What about the one day a month?" he asked, his voice rough. "What about the arrangement?"
"We can make a new one." She moved closer, and her hand found his under the water. Her fingers were small and warm, and she pressed the condom into his palm. "One day a week. That's what I'm offering."
He looked down at the condom in his hand. Then up at her.
"Dawn, are you sure?"
"I've never been more sure of anything." She stepped closer, her body brushing against his in the water. "And if you say no, I'll understand. But I'm hoping you don't."
He looked at her. At the water on her skin, the hope in her eyes, the trust she was offering him like a gift he didn't deserve.
And he made his choice.
He reached out and pulled her close, his hand sliding behind her neck, and he kissed her.
She made a small sound against his mouth—surprise, pleasure, something in between—and then she was kissing him back, her hands fisting in his wet hair, her body pressing against his in the warm water. She tasted like the mineral water, clean and faintly sweet, and she kissed him like she'd been waiting for this for a long time.
He pulled back just far enough to look at her. Her lips were pink, her eyes bright, her breath coming fast.
"One day a week," he said.
"One day a week," she agreed.
She sank down in the water, her hands finding his hips, her mouth finding his cock. He was already hard—he'd been hard since she'd pulled the condom from her teeth, since she'd pressed it into his palm—and she took him in her mouth with a confidence that made him gasp.
Her lips were warm and wet, her tongue tracing the length of him, and she looked up at him as she worked, her sapphire eyes dark with intent. She was a natural, learning fast, taking him deeper with every pass until she had him almost all the way in, her throat relaxing around him, her hands gripping his hips to steady herself.
"Dawn—" His voice broke. "That's—"
She pulled off just long enough to say, "I want to taste you." Then she took him again, deep and slow, her tongue curling around the head of his cock, her hand pumping the base in rhythm with her mouth.
He was lost. He was completely lost, his hands in her hair, his hips moving in small, helpless thrusts as she deepthroated him in the warm water. She was relentless, taking him all the way to the root, holding him there until his vision swam, then pulling back just far enough to breathe before diving again.
"Dawn—I'm close—"
She didn't stop. She looked up at him, her eyes bright, her mouth full, and she took him deeper, her throat working around him, and he came with a sound that was half-groan, half-her-name, spilling down her throat as she swallowed every drop.
She pulled off slowly, a strand of spit connecting her lips to his cock, and she smiled up at him, her lips slick and satisfied.
"That's a start," she said.
He pulled her up, kissing her hard, tasting himself on her tongue. Then he reached down and took the condom from where she'd left it on the edge of the pool, and he rolled it on with shaking hands.
She watched him, her eyes dark, her small breasts rising and falling with her quick breaths. Then she turned around, bracing her hands on the pool's edge, and looked back at him over her shoulder.
"One day a week," she said. "Starting now."
He moved behind her, his hands finding her hips, the water warm around them. She was slick and ready, her pussy swollen and wet, and he pressed the head of his cock against her entrance, feeling her shudder.
"Dawn," he breathed. "Are you—"
"Yes," she said. "Now."
He pushed inside her.
Her body took him in with a gasp—a sharp, startled sound that she swallowed almost immediately. He felt her walls clamp around him, tight and hot, gripping the condom-covered length of him like a fist. She was so small, so impossibly tight, and he had to stop, had to brace his hands on the tile edge beside hers and just breathe, because if he moved now he'd come in seconds.
"Dawn—" His voice was wrecked. "You're so—"
"Tight?" She laughed, breathless, looking back at him over her shoulder. "You sound surprised. I told you I've never done this."
"I know. I just—" He couldn't finish. He was buried inside her to the hilt, her A-cup breasts pressed against the wet tile, her small body trembling around him, and the feeling was overwhelming.
"Move," she said. "Please. I want to feel it."
He pulled out slowly, dragging against her inner walls, and she made a sound that was half-whimper, half-moan. Then he pushed back in, and her head dropped forward, her knuckles going white on the pool's edge.
"Oh," she breathed. "Oh, that's—"
"Good?"
"Yes." She pushed back against him, meeting his thrust. "More. Ash, more."
He gave her more. He found a rhythm, slow at first, then faster, his hands sliding up from her hips to grip her waist, fingers digging into the soft skin. The water lapped around them, splashing with every thrust, and the sound of his hips meeting her ass echoed off the tiled walls.
She was vocal. That was what undid him. Every thrust pulled a sound from her—a gasp, a moan, a breathless "yes, yes, don't stop"—and she pushed back into him with a hunger that didn't match her size. She was small and tight but she took everything he gave her, her body opening for him like she'd been waiting for this too.
"You feel so good," she gasped, her voice high and strained. "So full—I didn't know it would feel like this—"
"You're so tight." He leaned over her, his chest against her back, his mouth finding her ear. "So wet. You're dripping around me, Dawn."
"I can't help it." She was panting now, her words coming between breaths. "It's you. It's always been—" She cut off with a moan as he hit something deeper, something that made her whole body clench.
"There," she gasped. "Right there. Don't stop."
He didn't stop. He drove into her, the water slapping around them, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise, and she took it, pushed back into it, her voice rising with every thrust until she was nearly sobbing.
"I'm close," she said, her voice cracking. "Ash, I'm so close—"
"Come for me," he said against her neck. "Let go. I've got you."
She came with a cry that echoed off the tiles, her body shuddering around him, her inner walls milking him in waves. He felt it—felt every pulse of her orgasm around his cock—and it pushed him over the edge with her. He buried himself deep and came with a groan, his hands shaking as he emptied into the condom, his forehead pressed between her shoulder blades.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. The water lapped gently around them, the only sound their ragged breathing, the drip of condensation from the ceiling.
Then Dawn laughed, a breathless, disbelieving sound. "That was—"
"Yeah." He pulled out slowly, the condom still on, and she made a small sound at the loss. "That was."
She turned around in the water, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright. She looked down at his cock, still hard, still straining against the condom, and she bit her lip.
"I said I wanted to know what it felt like," she said. "But I think I want to know more."
He looked at her. The steam curled around them, thick and warm, and she was looking at him with that sharp, curious expression, the one that meant she was figuring something out.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"I mean—" She reached out, her fingers wrapping around his cock, still slick and wet. "I want to feel you. Not just inside me." She squeezed gently, and he hissed. "I want to feel you everywhere."
He didn't understand. Not until she pushed him back against the edge of the pool, until she pressed her body against his, her small breasts against his chest, her hands sliding up his arms.
"I've seen how you look at me," she said, her voice low. "When I'm stretching. When I'm reaching for something. You think I don't notice, but I do." She reached down, her fingers tracing the line of his hip. "You look at my chest."
His face went hot. "Dawn—"
"It's okay." She was smiling now, a small, knowing smile. "I don't mind. I just didn't know what to do about it. Until now."
She took his hands and pressed them to her breasts, small and firm beneath his palms, her nipples hard against his skin. He felt her breath catch as his thumbs brushed across them, and she swayed toward him, her eyes fluttering closed.
"Touch me," she whispered. "Please."
He touched her. He cupped her small breasts in his hands, feeling the weight of them, the warmth, the way she shivered under his touch. She was so small, so delicate, and he was careful, his callused thumbs tracing circles around her nipples until she was gasping, pressing into his hands.
"That's good," she breathed. "That's so good."
He leaned down and took one nipple in his mouth, and she cried out, her hands fisting in his wet hair. He sucked gently, laving his tongue across the tight bud, and she bucked against him, her hips grinding against his thigh.
"Ash—" His name was a whimper. "That's—I didn't know it would feel like—"
He switched to the other breast, giving it the same attention, and she was shaking now, her whole body trembling against him. He could feel her arousal, slick and hot against his thigh, and he wanted her again. He wanted to be inside her again.
But she had other plans.
She pushed him back until he was sitting on the edge of the pool, the water lapping at his waist. Then she knelt in front of him, the water up to her chest, and she looked up at him with those sharp sapphire eyes.
"I want to try something," she said.
She took his cock in her hands, still hard, still slick from the condom he'd peeled off and tossed aside. She held it upright, her small fingers barely wrapping around the shaft, and then she pressed her breasts around it, her soft skin sandwiching him between them.
He sucked in a breath. "Dawn—"
"Like this?" She looked up at him, a question in her eyes. "Is this what you want?"
He couldn't answer. He could only watch as she began to move, her breasts sliding up and down his shaft, her skin slick with water and pre-cum. She was small, her A-cup breasts barely enough to surround him, but she made it work, pressing them together with her hands, her tongue darting out to lick the head every time it emerged from between them.
"You like that," she said, not a question. She could see it in his face, in the way his hips bucked involuntarily toward her. "I can feel you twitching."
"Dawn—" His voice was rough. "That's—"
"Good?" She moved faster, her breasts sliding slickly around him, her tongue catching the head every time. "I want to make you feel good. I want to make you forget about May, and Misty, and everyone else." She looked up at him, her eyes dark. "I want to be the only one you think about."
He couldn't argue. He couldn't think. All he could do was watch her, watch her small hands pressing her breasts around his cock, watch her tongue sliding across the head, watch her lips parted and wet and hungry.
"I'm close," he warned. "Dawn, I'm going to—"
She didn't pull away. She pressed her breasts tighter, moved faster, her eyes locked on his, and she said, "Come on me."
He came with a groan, his cum spraying across her chest, painting her small breasts and her neck and her chin. She held him through it, her hands still pressing her breasts around his shaft, and when he finally stopped, she looked down at herself, at the mess he'd made.
Then she lifted a finger to her lips and tasted it.
He watched her, transfixed, as she licked his cum from her finger, her eyes fluttering closed. "Salty," she said. "I like it."
He pulled her up, kissing her hard, tasting himself on her tongue. She laughed against his mouth, her hands sliding around his neck, her body pressing against his.
"I want more," she said when they broke apart. Her eyes were bright, her lips slick. "I want to do it again. And again. And again."
"One day a week," he said, his voice hoarse.
"One day a week," she agreed. "But I'm already counting down to next week."
She looked down at his cock, already hardening again, and she smiled. "Good," she said. "Because I'm not done with you yet."
She turned around, bracing her hands on the edge of the pool, and looked back at him over her shoulder. "One more," she said. "I want to feel you come inside me again."
He moved behind her, his hands finding her hips, and she was already slick, already ready. He pushed inside her with a groan, and she sighed, a contented, satisfied sound, her body opening around him like she'd been made for this.
"Yes," she breathed. "That's it. That's exactly it."
He fucked her slowly, savoring the feel of her, the tight heat of her around him. She pushed back against him, matching his rhythm, her voice a steady stream of breathless encouragement.
"Harder," she said. "Please, Ash, harder."
He gave her harder. He gripped her hips and drove into her, the water splashing around them, her cries echoing off the tiles. She was close again, he could feel it, her inner walls fluttering around him, and he reached around to find her clit, rubbing it in tight circles.
She came with a scream, her body convulsing around him, and he followed her over the edge, emptying himself into the condom with a groan that was half her name.
She collapsed against the edge of the pool, breathing hard, and he gathered her in his arms, pulling her against his chest. She was trembling, her small body spent, and he held her, his lips pressed to her hair.
"One day a week," she whispered. "Promise?"
"Promise," he said.
She turned in his arms, looking up at him, her sapphire eyes soft and warm. "Good. Because I think I'm going to need it."
She kissed him, slow and sweet, and he kissed her back, the steam curling around them, the water warm and still.
And somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice whispered that this was different. That Misty had been a release, May had been a comfort, but Dawn—Dawn was something else entirely.
He pushed the thought away. He didn't want to think about what it meant.
He just wanted to hold her.
The steam had grown thick around them, curling in slow spirals off the water's surface, and for a long moment neither of them spoke. Dawn's head rested against his chest, her breath warm and even against his skin, and he could feel the slow, steady beat of her heart through her small body. It was peaceful in a way he hadn't expected, the two of them floating together in the warm water, the tiled walls of the bathhouse muffling the world outside.
But she stirred, finally, lifting her head to look at him. Her sapphire eyes were soft, but there was something else there too, something calculating that he was beginning to recognize. "You know," she said, her voice low, "I'm not actually done with you yet."
He raised an eyebrow. "You just came twice."
"And?" She smiled, slow and wicked. "I told you. I want to know what it feels like everywhere." Her hand drifted down his chest, fingers tracing the line of his stomach, lower, until she found him already half-hard again beneath the water. "And I meant it."
He sucked in a breath as her fingers wrapped around him, stroking him back to full hardness with practiced ease. "Dawn—"
"I've been thinking about this," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "About what it would feel like to have you between my breasts. To feel you slide against me, to taste you at the same time." She squeezed gently, and he groaned. "I want to do it properly."
She pushed him back against the edge of the pool, the same spot as before, and this time she didn't kneel in the water. She climbed out, water streaming down her small body, and stood over him, her A-cup breasts slick and glistening in the steam. She looked down at him, and there was something almost challenging in her gaze.
"I want you to watch," she said. "I want you to see what you do to me."
She knelt on the tiles, spreading her legs slightly, and he could see the evidence of their earlier fucking—her thighs slick, her small cunt still pink and swollen, a trickle of their mingled juices running down her inner thigh. She didn't hide it. She let him look, let him see exactly what he'd done to her, and then she reached for him.
His cock was fully hard now, standing proud against his stomach, and she wrapped her small hands around it, stroking him slowly. Then she leaned forward and pressed her breasts around him, the soft skin of her A-cups sandwiching his shaft, and she began to move.
This time it was different. This time she knew what she was doing. She pressed her breasts together firmly, creating a tight channel of soft, warm flesh, and she slid up and down his length with a rhythm that made his hips buck. Her tongue darted out, catching the head every time it emerged, lapping at the pre-cum beading there.
"You like that," she said, her voice breathless. "I can feel you twitching. I can feel how close you are."
"Dawn—" His voice was wrecked. "That's—"
"Good?" She moved faster, her breasts sliding slickly around him, her tongue swirling around the head. "I want to make you feel so good you forget every other girl you've ever touched. I want to be the only one you think about."
He couldn't answer. He could only watch, transfixed, as she worked him with her small breasts, her hands pressing them together, her tongue catching the head with every stroke. She was getting better at this, learning his body with a speed that was almost frightening, and he could feel the pressure building low in his gut.
"I'm close," he warned. "Dawn, I'm going to—"
"Not yet," she said, and she pulled away, her breasts sliding off him with a wet sound. He groaned at the loss, but she was already moving, shifting her position. "I want to feel you come inside me. One more time."
She reached for the condom he'd discarded, the one from before, still lying on the edge of the pool. She picked it up, examined it for a moment, then looked at him with a question in her eyes. "Do you have another one?"
He nodded, reaching for his wallet on the bench nearby. He pulled out a fresh condom, and she took it from him, tearing the wrapper open with her teeth. She rolled it down his shaft with careful, deliberate movements, her fingers stroking him through the latex, and then she smiled.
"Good," she said. "Because I want you to fuck me properly this time."
She turned around, bracing her hands on the edge of the pool, but she didn't get in. She stood on the tiles, her ass presented to him, her legs spread, and she looked back at him over her shoulder. "I want you to take me from behind," she said. "I want to feel you deep."
He moved behind her, his hands finding her hips, and she was already slick, already ready. He guided himself to her entrance, the head of his cock pressing against her wet folds, and she pushed back against him, taking him inside with a groan.
"Yes," she breathed. "That's it. That's exactly it."
He drove into her with a force that made her cry out, her fingers scrabbling against the wet tiles as she braced herself. She was so tight around him, her small body taking him inch by inch, and he watched himself slide into her, the condom slick and gleaming, her pink flesh stretching to accommodate him.
"Yes," she gasped. "Like that. Just like that."
He pulled back until only the head remained inside her, then slammed home again, and she screamed, a raw, unguarded sound that echoed off the bathhouse walls. Her knees buckled, but he caught her, one hand flat against her belly, the other gripping her hip hard enough to leave marks.
"You feel that?" he asked, his voice low and rough. "You feel how deep I am?"
"I feel it." She was panting, her words coming in ragged bursts. "I feel you everywhere—inside me—I can't—"
He fucked her like that, standing behind her on the tiles, her body bent forward over the pool's edge, and she took every thrust with a hunger that surprised him. She pushed back to meet him, her small ass slapping against his hips, the sound wet and sharp in the steam.
"Harder," she demanded. "Don't be gentle. I don't want gentle."
He gave her harder. He gripped her hips and drove into her with a rhythm that made the water slosh against the sides of the pool, made her voice rise into a keening wail. She was so small beneath him, so fragile-looking, but she took everything he gave her and asked for more.
"Look at me," she said, twisting to look back at him over her shoulder. Her sapphire eyes were dark, pupils blown wide. "I want you to see my face when you make me come."
He leaned over her, his chest against her back, his mouth at her ear. "You're so tight," he breathed. "So fucking tight, Dawn. I can feel every pulse of you."
"That's because you're so big." She moaned as he hit deep, her body shuddering. "I didn't know it could be like this. I didn't know anything could feel like this."
His hand slid down her belly, fingers finding her clit, and she bucked against him, a desperate, involuntary motion. He rubbed her in tight circles as he kept thrusting, and she came apart in his arms, her body convulsing around him, her voice breaking into a sobbing cry.
"Ash—" His name was a prayer, torn from her throat. "Ash, I'm coming—don't stop—please don't stop—"
He didn't stop. He drove her through it, feeling her walls clench and flutter around him, and when she collapsed against the pool's edge, spent and trembling, he was still hard inside her.
"More," she whispered, her voice wrecked. "I want more."
He pulled out, and she whimpered at the loss, but he was already lifting her, turning her around, sitting her on the edge of the pool with the water lapping at her thighs. She looked up at him, dazed and flushed, and he knelt between her legs, spreading them wide.
"I want to taste you," he said. "I want to taste what I just did to you."
Her eyes went wide, but she didn't protest. She leaned back on her hands, her chest rising and falling with quick breaths, and she let him look at her—her small cunt pink and swollen, slick with her arousal and the remnants of the condom's lube, her thighs trembling.
He lowered his mouth to her, and she gasped, her hips jerking. He licked her slowly, savoring the taste of her, salt and heat and something sweet beneath it, and she cried out, her hand fisting in his hair.
"Oh—" Her voice was high and strained. "Oh, Ash—that's—"
He didn't answer. He just kept licking, his tongue finding her clit, circling it with deliberate pressure, and she came again, her body arching off the tiles, her thighs clamping around his head.
When he finally pulled back, her chest was heaving, her eyes glazed. She looked down at him, and there was something new in her expression, something raw and unguarded.
"I want to do it again," she said. "I want to feel you come inside me again. I want to feel it for real."
He reached for his wallet, pulled out a fresh condom, and she took it from him, tearing the wrapper with her teeth. She rolled it down his shaft with trembling fingers, her eyes never leaving his, and then she lay back on the tiles, spreading her legs.
"Come here," she said. "I want to watch you fuck me."
He moved over her, positioning himself at her entrance, and she reached down, guiding him inside her with her own hand. They both groaned as he pushed in, the angle different now, deeper, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer.
"Don't stop," she whispered. "Don't ever stop."
He fucked her there, on the wet tiles beside the pool, her body beneath his, her small breasts pressed against his chest, her legs locked around him. She was vocal, every thrust pulling a sound from her, and he watched her face, watched her eyes roll back, watched her lips part and her breath catch.
"I'm close again," she gasped. "I can't—I've never come this many times—"
"One more," he said against her mouth. "Give me one more."
She came with a scream, her body arching beneath him, her inner walls milking him in long, pulsing waves. He buried himself deep and came with her, his groan swallowed by her mouth as she kissed him, sloppy and desperate, tasting herself on his tongue.
For a long moment, they lay tangled together, breathing hard, the steam curling around them. Then she laughed, a breathless, disbelieving sound.
"One day a week," she said. "That's not nearly enough."
He laughed too, pulling her closer, kissing her forehead. "It's a start."
She looked up at him, her sapphire eyes soft and warm. "I meant what I said, Ash. I want to be the only one you think about."
He didn't answer. He just held her, the water lapping at their tangled bodies, and let the steam swallow them both.
Unova air, hot and dry, tasted like dust and pine. Ash wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, squinting down the long empty road that curved toward the next town. Somewhere behind them, a Pidove called out once, then went quiet.
"You're wrong," Iris said. "You're just—you're wrong, and you won't admit it because you never admit it."
"I'm not wrong. Dragonite outranks Charizard in raw power, everyone knows that."
"Everyone knows that? Who's everyone? Because everyone I know says Charizard's stronger, and everyone I know is a dragon-type master in training, so—"
"Dragonite's got better stats across the board. It's not even close."
She stopped walking, planted herself in the middle of the road with her hands on her hips. Her bare feet had gone dusty hours ago, and the tribal pattern on her top was dark with sweat at the small of her back. "You're just saying that because you lost to one."
"I didn't lose."
"You absolutely lost. I saw it. You sent out Pikachu against a Dragonite and Pikachu got flattened."
"Pikachu had type disadvantage—"
"Oh, so now type matters? That's not what you said five minutes ago when you were talking about—"
"I never said type doesn't matter—"
"You literally said—"
"I didn't—"
"You did—"
"Iris!"
She stopped, jaw set, amber eyes blazing. They stood maybe three feet apart, both breathing hard, neither willing to look away first. This was how it always went with them. One stupid argument about something neither of them actually cared about, and then it spiraled until one of them stormed off or burst out laughing or—
Iris stepped backward, still holding his gaze, and her bare heel came down on a loose stone. She went over hard, arms flailing, and landed flat on her back in the road with a sharp *oof* that knocked the breath out of her.
For a second, neither of them moved.
Then Ash's brain caught up to what he'd just seen, and every thought in his head went blank.
Her legs were up, bent at the knees, white shorts hiked high. And where there should have been the pale fabric of underwear, there was nothing. Just smooth dark skin, and the neat dark line of hair between her thighs, and the soft curve of her sex pressed against the seam of the shorts, utterly bare underneath.
She wasn't wearing panties. Iris never wore panties.
He knew he was staring. He couldn't stop. His mouth had gone dry and his heart was hammering and somewhere below that, unmistakable and sudden and completely out of his control, his cock was getting hard.
Iris blinked up at the sky, then propped herself on her elbows. She looked down at herself. Then she looked at him.
His boner was impossible to miss. It strained against his jeans, a thick ridge running down his thigh, and they both knew he couldn't hide it.
Iris's expression didn't change. She just looked at it, flat and unimpressed, like she was inspecting a Pokémon she wasn't sure was worth catching.
"Seriously?" she said.
"I—" Ash's voice cracked. "You—you weren't—"
"I wasn't what?" She sat up slowly, dust streaking her back. "Wearing underwear? You knew that."
"I didn't know that!"
"You've seen me in these shorts a hundred times."
"That doesn't mean—I don't—I'm not looking at your—"
"You were just looking at it." She said it flat, matter-of-fact, no heat in it. "For like, five seconds. You were staring at my pussy."
Ash's face went red. His whole body felt like it was on fire. "I wasn't—I mean, I saw—but I didn't mean to—"
Iris got to her feet, brushing dirt off her shorts. She didn't fix them. The fabric was still bunched up, still showing the dark line of her sex, and she didn't seem to care. She just stood there, looking at him with that same flat expression, and then her eyes dropped to his crotch again.
"You're really hard," she said.
"Iris—"
"Like, really hard. That's not going away by itself."
"I know that. I just—you fell, and I saw—"
"And you got hard." She said it like she was confirming a fact. "Because you saw my pussy."
Ash opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Nothing came out.
Iris sighed, long and put-upon, and reached into the pocket of her shorts. Her fingers closed around something, and when she pulled her hand out, there was a small square foil packet pinched between her thumb and forefinger.
Ash stared at it.
"What is that?" he asked, though he knew exactly what it was.
"A condom," Iris said, like it was obvious. "You're not putting that thing anywhere near me without one."
"Why do you have a condom?"
Iris's mouth twitched. "That's a really good question." She didn't answer it. Instead she stepped forward, closing the distance between them, and held the packet out to him. "Take it."
"Iris—"
"Take it, Ash."
His hand moved before his brain caught up. The foil packet was warm from her pocket, crinkling against his palm. He looked down at it, then up at her, and she was watching him with something new in her eyes. Not flat anymore. Not unimpressed.
Interested.
"You've done this before," she said. It wasn't a question.
"I—"
"Don't lie to me. I can tell. You're not—" She gestured vaguely at his crotch. "You're not nervous. You're just hard. That's different."
"What do you mean, different?"
"Nervous is shaky. You're not shaky. You're just—" She tilted her head, studying him. "You're waiting."
Ash's throat went tight. She was right. He was waiting. He'd been waiting for something without knowing what it was, and now it was standing in front of him in dusty white shorts with a condom in his hand, and all he could think about was what she'd looked like on the ground, legs up, bare and open.
"You're not scared," Iris said softly. "You're not even surprised. You just—" She stepped closer, close enough that he could smell her, road dust and something sweet underneath. "You've been waiting for an excuse."
"Iris—"
"Don't." She reached down, closed her hand around the foil packet, and pulled it back out of his grip. "Don't say my name like that. Like you're sorry."
"I'm not sorry."
"Good." She tore the packet open with her teeth, spat the foil onto the road, and held the condom up between them. "Because I'm not either."
The road was empty. The sun was high. They were miles from anywhere, and Iris was rolling a condom down his cock with steady, practiced hands, and Ash couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this alive.
Her fingers worked the latex down his shaft, smooth and sure, and when she got to the base she gave him a little squeeze that made his hips jerk forward.
"Easy," she said, smirking. "We haven't even started."
"You—" His voice came out rough. "You've done this before."
Iris's smirk widened. "I told you. Good question." She gave his cock one more stroke, slow and deliberate, and then she let go and stepped back. She pulled her shorts down her hips, kicked them off, and stood naked in the middle of the road with her hands on her hips.
She was beautiful. All dark skin and long limbs, her breasts small and high on her chest, her waist slim, her hips flaring just enough to give her shape. And between her legs, the neat dark line of hair, and beneath it, the soft pink flesh of her sex, already glistening.
"You're staring again," she said.
"You're naked."
"You've seen naked girls before."
"Not—" He swallowed. "Not like this."
Iris laughed, bright and sharp. "You're such a boy." She walked toward him, stopped a foot away, and looked up at him with those amber eyes. "You've got a condom on. I'm naked. We're alone on a road in the middle of Unova. What are you waiting for?"
Ash reached for her. She let him pull her close, let him wrap his arms around her, let him kiss her hard and messy and desperate. She kissed him back, biting his lower lip, and her hands found his shoulders, his chest, his hips. She tugged at his jeans, and he got the message, shoving them down his thighs along with his boxers.
She broke the kiss, looked down at his cock standing stiff and ready, and then she turned around and bent over, hands on her knees.
"Do it," she said. "Right here."
Ash stepped forward, gripped her hips, and pushed inside her.
She was wet. So wet. Her cunt gripped him slick and hot, and she made a sound low in her throat that was half gasp, half growl. He pushed deeper, until he was buried to the hilt, and she pushed back against him, taking him even deeper.
"Fuck," she breathed. "Okay. Okay, that's—"
He pulled out and slammed back in. Iris cried out, bracing herself on her knees, and he did it again, and again, finding a rhythm that made her curse and push back against him with every thrust.
"You're—" She gasped. "You're not bad at this."
"Thanks." He gripped her hips harder, angled his thrusts, and she made a sound that was almost a scream.
"There. Right there, do that again—"
He did. Over and over, pounding into her from behind, the slap of skin loud in the empty air. She was tight and hot and perfect, and he could feel himself getting close already, the pressure building low in his gut.
"Not yet," she said, like she could read his mind. "Don't you dare cum yet. I'm not done with you."
"I'm close—"
"I don't care." She pushed back against him hard, grinding her hips, and the new angle made him see stars. "Hold it. Hold it until I say—"
He couldn't hold it. He pulled out of her, panting, and she turned around with a furious look on her face.
"I said—"
He dropped to his knees in front of her. She looked down at him, surprised, and then her expression shifted into something dark and pleased.
"Oh," she said. "You want to—"
He grabbed her hips, pulled her forward, and buried his face between her thighs.
Iris gasped, hands flying to his hair, gripping the spiky black strands. He licked her, long and slow, from her entrance to her clit, and she shuddered above him.
"Oh, you—you little—" She couldn't finish the sentence. He'd found her clit and was circling it with his tongue, and her words dissolved into a moan.
He ate her standing up in the middle of the road, her thighs trembling around his head, her fingers twisted in his hair. She tasted like salt and musk, like the road and the sun and her, and he couldn't get enough.
"Ash—" His name broke out of her, ragged. "Ash, I'm gonna—"
He doubled down, licking faster, harder, and she came with a sharp cry, her whole body clenching around nothing, her hips grinding against his face. He kept licking through it, until she pushed his head away, breathing hard.
"Okay," she said. "Okay. That was—" She looked down at him, still on his knees, still hard. "You're good at that."
"You're not so bad yourself."
She laughed, breathless. "Get up."
He stood. She reached down, grabbed his cock, and gave it a stroke that made him hiss. "Still hard," she said. "Good." She turned around, bent over again, and looked back at him over her shoulder. "Round two. And this time, don't pull out."
He pushed into her again, and this time he didn't stop. He fucked her hard and fast, her ass slapping against his hips, her moans getting louder and less coherent until she was just making sounds, wordless and desperate.
"I'm close," he gasped. "Iris, I'm—"
"Do it," she said. "Cum inside me. Fill me up."
He came with a groan, his hips slamming into her as he emptied into the condom, and she clenched around him, riding out her own orgasm on his cock. When he finally pulled out, she straightened up, breathing hard, and turned to face him.
The condom was full, heavy, and she looked at it with a satisfied smirk.
"Not bad," she said. "For a first try."
"That wasn't my first—"
"I know." She stepped forward, wrapped her hand around his cock, and pulled the condom off. "But it was your first with me." She tossed the condom into the bushes, then looked up at him, eyes dark. "And it's not going to be your last."
She reached up, grabbed her ponytails, and pulled them forward, framing her face. Then she dropped to her knees in the road, looked up at him, and opened her mouth.
"Now," she said, "let's see how deep you can go."
He was still hard. He didn't know how, but he was. She wrapped her hand around his cock, slick with her own wetness and the lingering lube from the condom, and guided him to her lips.
She took him in her mouth, slow and deliberate, her tongue flat against the underside of his shaft. She swallowed him down, inch by inch, until her nose was pressed against his stomach and his cock was buried in her throat.
"Fuck—" Ash's head fell back. "Iris—"
She pulled off, gasping, a string of spit connecting her lips to his cock. "I told you," she said. "I want to see how deep." She grabbed her ponytails, wrapped them around her fists, and used them as handles, pulling herself onto his cock with a moan.
He gripped her ponytails with her, helping her, guiding her, and she took him deeper and deeper until she was swallowing him whole, her throat working around him, her eyes watering but determined.
"That's it," he groaned. "That's it, Iris, just like that—"
She moaned around him, the vibration traveling through his cock, and he felt himself getting close again. She knew it too. She looked up at him, amber eyes locked on his, and she didn't stop.
"I'm gonna cum," he warned. "Iris, I'm gonna—"
She didn't pull off. She took him deeper, her nose pressed against his stomach, her throat clenching around him, and he came with a shout, his cum flooding her throat. She swallowed, and swallowed, and when he finally pulled out, she sat back on her heels, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
"Well," she said, voice a little rough. "That's one way to end an argument."
Ash was still panting, still hard, her ponytails still wrapped around his fists. She looked up at him, and there was something in her eyes he hadn't seen before. Not the flat unimpressed look. Not the dark pleased look.
Something hungrier.
"Don't think we're done," she said. "I've been waiting a year for an excuse."
The restaurant sat on a hill above Lumiose City, its terrace strung with warm lights that made the whole skyline look like something from a dream. Ash had spent an hour getting lost on the way here, and Serena had spent that hour pretending not to be amused when he finally showed up, breathless and apologizing.
"You know," she said, twirling the stem of her glass, "when I said 'let's do something nice for our anniversary,' I didn't mean a scavenger hunt across Kalos."
"I got you flowers." He pointed at the small vase between them. "That counts for something."
"You got me flowers that you picked from Professor Sycamore's garden."
"He said I could."
Serena laughed, and Ash felt something loosen in his chest. A year ago, he'd been on a road in Unova with Iris, and now he was here, in Kalos, watching the girl who'd been waiting for him since camp smile like she'd won something. Because she had. He'd told her everything, eventually — not all of it, but enough. The hot springs, the arrangements, the way he'd been running from his own body for years until someone finally caught him. She'd listened without flinching, and when he'd finished, she'd kissed him and said, "I'm not going anywhere."
That had been eleven months ago.
"You're staring," she said.
"You're pretty."
"Flattery." But she was blushing, the pink climbing up her cheeks in that way that still made his heart do something stupid. "Finish your dinner. I have plans for you."
"What kind of plans?"
She just smiled and took a bite of her pasta, and Ash forgot about his own plate for a long moment.
The walk back to the hotel was slow, their fingers intertwined, the city noise fading behind them as they cut through a park that smelled like rain and blooming flowers. Serena's side braid had come loose somewhere between dessert and the walk, honey-blonde strands falling across her face, and she kept tucking them behind her ear with her free hand.
"I've been thinking," she said.
"About?"
"About how long it took you to notice me."
Ash stumbled. "I noticed you."
"You noticed me as a friend." She squeezed his hand. "I'm not complaining. I'm just saying — I had a lot of time to think about what I wanted. And I always knew it was you."
The hotel lobby was quiet, the night clerk barely looking up as they passed. The elevator dinged, and they were alone in the small space, the mirror reflecting them back at each other.
"Serena."
"Mm?"
"I'm glad it's you."
She turned to face him fully, and in the elevator light, her eyes were impossibly blue. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
The doors opened, and she led him down the hall by the hand, and Ash let himself be pulled.
The room was small but nice — a bed with too many pillows, a window overlooking the city, a bathroom with a shower he'd probably use in the morning. Serena kicked off her boots by the door and turned to face him, and there was something in her posture that made his mouth go dry.
"I want to do something for you," she said.
"You already—"
"No, not like that. I mean —" She stepped closer, close enough that he could smell the faint perfume she wore, something floral and sweet. "I want to thank you. For this year. For staying."
Ash's throat tightened. "Serena, you don't have to—"
"I know I don't have to." Her hands came up to his chest, fingers playing with the collar of his jacket. "I want to."
She kissed him, soft at first, then deeper, and Ash's hands found her waist, pulling her against him. She made a small sound against his mouth, and he felt her smile.
"I love you," she whispered.
"I love you too."
She pulled back, and her fingers found the zipper of her dress. "Then let me show you."
The dress pooled at her feet, and Ash forgot how to breathe.
She was wearing nothing underneath — just her, all soft curves and pale skin, her B-cup breasts rising and falling with each breath, her nipples already hard in the cool air. She reached for him, tugging at his shirt, and he helped her, shedding clothes until they were both bare, the city lights painting her skin in gold and shadow.
"You're beautiful," he said, and meant it.
She blushed again, but she didn't look away. "Come here."
She pushed him gently onto the edge of the bed, and he went, sitting with his legs spread, his cock already hard and leaking. She knelt between his knees, and the sight of her there — honey-blonde hair loose around her shoulders, blue eyes looking up at him — made him ache.
"I've been thinking about this all day," she admitted, her fingers wrapping around the base of his cock. "About having you in my mouth."
"Serena—"
She leaned in and took him in, and Ash's head fell back.
Her mouth was hot and wet, her tongue tracing the vein on the underside as she sank down, taking him deeper than she had any right to on the first try. She hummed around him, and the vibration made his toes curl.
"Fuck," he breathed.
She pulled off just enough to speak, her lips slick with spit. "Is that good?"
"You're—" He couldn't find the word. "You're incredible."
She smiled, pleased, and went back down.
Ash's hands found her hair, threading through the loose strands, and she moaned around him, the sound traveling straight to his groin. She worked him with a rhythm she'd learned over months of practice, taking him deep until her nose brushed his pelvis, holding there for a moment before pulling back to lap at the head.
"You don't have to—" he started, but she cut him off with a look.
"I want to." She wrapped her hand around the base, pumping him as she sucked the head. "I want to taste you."
His hips bucked involuntarily, and she took him deeper, her throat opening to accept him. He felt the tight heat of her swallowing around him, and his hands tightened in her hair.
"Serena, I'm close."
She didn't pull away. She looked up at him, eyes watering slightly, and nodded as best she could with her mouth full.
Ash came with a groan, his release spilling down her throat, and she swallowed around him, milking him until he was empty. She pulled off slowly, a strand of spit connecting her lips to his cock, and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
"Sorry," he said, still panting. "I didn't mean to—"
"Don't apologize." She kissed the inside of his thigh. "I wanted that."
She climbed onto the bed, straddling him, and he reached for the nightstand, his fingers finding the condom packet he'd stashed there.
He was still fumbling with the wrapper when her hand closed over his wrist.
"Wait," she said.
Ash froze. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong." She took the packet from his fingers and set it on the nightstand, out of reach. "I just — I don't want you to use one."
He stared at her. "Serena, are you sure?"
"I'm sure." She took his hand and pressed it against her chest, over her heart. "I've been thinking about it for a while. I want to feel you. All of you. Nothing between us."
Ash's mouth went dry. "But what if—"
"What if what?" She leaned in, her lips brushing his ear. "I'm on birth control. I've been on it since we started dating. I wanted to be ready."
He pulled back to look at her, and there was something in her eyes — not fear, not hesitation. Certainty.
"You really want this?" he asked.
"I really want this." She shifted her weight, and he felt the heat of her against his cock, slick and ready. "I want you inside me. I want to feel you come inside me. I want to fall asleep with you still inside me." She pressed closer, and he felt her wetness smear against his shaft. "Please, Ash. I want to feel you."
His hands found her hips, and she guided him to her entrance, holding his gaze as she sank down.
She was so tight, so hot, and Ash's eyes rolled back as she took him inch by inch, her inner walls gripping him, pulling him deeper. She gasped when he bottomed out, her fingers digging into his shoulders.
"Fuck," she breathed. "You feel so—"
"Good?" he managed.
"Perfect."
She started to move, a slow roll of her hips that made him see stars, and Ash let his head fall back, letting her set the pace. She rode him like she had all the time in the world, her hands braced on his chest, her breasts bouncing with each movement, and he watched her — the concentration on her face, the way her lips parted with each breath, the flush spreading down her neck.
"You're so beautiful," he said, and she blushed, which made her clench around him, which made him groan.
"Don't say things like that when I'm—" She gasped as he thrust up to meet her. "—when you're doing that."
"Doing what?" He did it again, and she whimpered.
"That." She bit her lip. "Keep doing that."
He did, his hands gripping her hips, guiding her into a rhythm that had her moaning, her head falling back, her hair brushing his thighs. She was soaking, her wetness coating him, and the sound of their bodies coming together filled the room.
"Ash," she gasped. "I'm close."
"Me too." He could feel it building, the pressure coiling at the base of his spine. "Serena, I'm going to—"
"Do it," she said, her eyes finding his. "Come inside me. I want to feel it."
He came with a shout, his release flooding her, and she clenched around him, a shudder running through her body as she came with him, her inner walls milking him, drawing out every last drop. He kept thrusting, shallow and slow, riding out the aftershocks, and she collapsed against his chest, both of them panting.
He was still hard inside her, still twitching, and she made a small sound as he shifted.
"Don't pull out," she whispered.
"I won't."
She lifted her head to look at him, and there was something in her eyes — a question, maybe, or a hope. "Again?"
Ash's heart stuttered. "Serena, I just—"
"I know." She kissed him, soft and slow. "But I want you again. I want to feel you come inside me again. I want to keep feeling you."
He was already hardening again, her words doing something to him that he couldn't explain. She shifted her weight, rolling her hips, and he groaned.
"You're going to be the death of me," he said.
She smiled, that beautiful, knowing smile. "Good."
She rode him again, slower this time, drawing it out, and Ash let himself feel it — the heat of her, the tightness, the way she looked at him like he was the only thing in the world. He came inside her again, and she followed him, her body shuddering around him, and he held her through it, his hands stroking her back.
They lay tangled together, both of them breathing hard, and Ash could feel himself still inside her, softening but still there, still connected.
"Don't move," she murmured, her lips against his neck.
"I'm not going anywhere."
She hummed, content, and closed her eyes. "I love you."
"I love you too."
The city lights flickered outside the window, and Ash watched them, one hand stroking her hair, the other pressed against her back, feeling her heartbeat slow. She was asleep within minutes, her breath evening out, her body warm and soft against his.
He stayed inside her, like she'd asked, and let himself drift.
Tomorrow there would be questions — about what this meant, about where they were going, about a future he'd never let himself imagine. But tonight, there was just this: her, him, the heat of their bodies still joined, and a promise he'd made without words.
He was hers. She was his. And nothing between them.