Match Made in Scandal

The water cascaded down my body in hot, heavy streams, curling around me like a lover's touch. My skin hummed from the aftershocks of what we'd done. I was standing there, utterly naked, flushed from head to toe, fat with love and pride, wearing nothing but a smug, satisfied smirk.

I felt light. Weightless.

And then I felt it.

The heat.

A searing warmth pressed to my back — the kind that made my nerves dance, the kind that had branded itself into my bones long ago. It was comforting, yes, but also dizzyingly sharp. Electric. A warning and a promise all at once.

I didn't need to turn around. My body already knew.

I breathed in, slow and deep, as his scent wrapped around me: lilies, sweat, and something darker. Something sinful and sweet — like a forbidden fruit left half-bitten.

The air shifted as he stepped closer.

Then his arms slid around my waist — warm, strong, so maddeningly sure — and he pulled me flush against him.

Skin to skin.

The impact was soft, devastating, a jolt of white-hot pleasure that shot through my veins and lodged behind my ribs. I melted against him like I belonged there, like we were always meant to be pressed together under falling water and goddamned stars.

He didn't say anything. He didn't have to.

He dipped his head and kissed my shoulder, slow and reverent, like he was savoring the taste of me. His lips moved to the curve of my neck, his breath scorching against my skin, making my knees nearly give out.

"Couldn't stay away," he murmured, his voice was rough, thick with need, a dangerous kind of tenderness that made my breath catch.

My lips parted in a half-smile. "Didn't want you to."

His mouth was at my shoulder then, dropping open-mouthed kisses, his tongue flicking against my slick, damp skin. His breath was hot, the scrape of his stubble igniting every nerve ending I had.

I let my head fall back against him, my hand covering his on my waist.

"Mmm," he hummed, his lips moving up my neck, his teeth grazing the curve of my ear before he sucked my earlobe into his mouth. A needy, filthy sound escaped me.

"God, you're addictive," he groaned. "Do you know what you do to me?"

"Show me," I whispered, my voice breathy and laden with want.

And he did.

One hand cupped my breast, his fingers teasing my already sensitive nipple, pinching just enough to make my thighs clench. The other hand slipped lower, gliding over my stomach, down between my legs, his touch bold, claiming.

When his fingers roughly brushed over my clit, I whimpered.

"You're so soaked for me," he murmured, his voice like velvet and dangerously deep. "Fucking beautiful."

His fingers slid through my folds, circling, teasing, before pressing inside with slow, deliberate precision.

I gasped louder, arching against him.

"Shh," he whispered against my throat. "Let me take care of you."

His hand moved expertly, every stroke making me tremble, making my legs feel like liquid. The water pounded down around us, a hazy mist cocooning us in this forbidden, sacred space.

"You're my sweet obsession" he growled, his fingers working me faster, deeper, while his other hand tugged at my nipple, his teeth biting down gently on my neck.

I panted, my hips grinding shamelessly against his hand. "I've always been yours."

"Say it again."

"Yours," I moaned, my body splintering, pleasure building like a violent storm.

"You gonna come for me, my beautiful wife?" he whispered, voice low like oceanic waves.

"Fuck, y...yes," I gasped.

And when his thumb circled my clit, his name fell from my lips like a prayer.

My body shattered, pleasure crashing over me in waves as he held me tight, one arm banded around my waist, while his mouth swallowed my cries.

He didn't stop.

He kept touching me, teasing me, wrecking me with every featherlight stroke and firm, claiming press of his fingers. His mouth was everywhere — at my ear, along my jaw, trailing kisses down the slope of my throat — and with every word he whispered, I shattered a little more.

"Look at you," He rasped, his breath hot against my ear. "Falling apart for me. So goddamn perfect like this."

I clung to him like he was the only thing tethering me to this earth, the only anchor I had left as the storm of sensation threatened to swallow me whole. My nails dug deep into his skin, carving half-moon crescents into his shoulders, but he didn't flinch.

If anything, he groaned — a low, broken sound that vibrated against my throat as his hips snapped harder, faster, more desperate, driving his cock deep into me in a way that had nebulas exploding behind my eyes.

"Fuck," he growled, his voice rough and ragged, like he was barely holding on. "You feel… so goddamn good. So tight. So fucking perfect."

Every thrust was a filthy promise, a demand, a claim he didn't have to say out loud because my body already knew it. Already belonged to him.

I was aching. Hypersensitive. Every inch of my skin burning, my nerves alive and screaming, my body on the verge of something cataclysmic.

The sound of--our bodies colliding, wet and wild and unrestrained, mixed with the rush of the shower and my ragged, broken moans--echoed as he worked me mercilessly.

And just when I thought I couldn't take anymore — when my vision blurred, when the water cascading over us sounded a thousand miles away — I saw them.

Galaxies.

Endless, infinite stars blooming behind my eyes as he pushed me higher and higher, until I wasn't sure if I was moaning or sobbing his name.

That's when it hit me.

Somewhere between the gasps and his sly, beautiful promises whispered against my skin, I was thrown back. Back through time. Through every stolen glance. Every snarky argument. Every night I spent cursing his name and every morning I woke up craving him anyway.

And I realized…

This was always going to happen.

Maybe it was fate.

Maybe it was a cosmic mishap. Some cruel joke played by the universe, stringing us together with invisible red thread, pulling us closer every time we tried to rip away.

The red string theory.

Or, maybe it was just me. Stupid, stubborn, impossible me… falling so hard, so deep into the abyss of love that it felt like drowning and breathing at the same time.

Falling for a man who shouldn't have meant anything.

Falling for my fake husband.