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Water lapped at the edges of the tub, rocking in slow, easy swells around them. Sylvia had gone slack, all supple weight and slow breaths, and every curve of her settled against him like something spilled that wasn't looking to get scooped back up. Back stretched out over his ribs, shins brushing his calves, fingers tracing rippling little paths through the bubbles where her arms floated loose.
Cleanup mode, sure. But cleanup didn't have to go quick. It was a dangerously comfortable arrangement, given where her ass had decided to park. Not exactly a detail he could un-notice, even if he wanted to.
He could go again. Easy.
She looked like something the tide swallowed up and forgot to spit back out.
One arm anchored her against him, snug around her ribs, each inhale pushing on his forearm. His free hand found her shoulder, tracking the faint whine of muscles wound too tight from all the bracing. Not knotted yet, but they would be if he left them alone. He dug his thumb in, and she made a sound—quiet, mildly pained, definitely pleased.
"That's nice," she sighed.
"I'll bet." He watched her flesh dent and rise as he worked. Couldn't help the grin. "You're all soft. Springy as hell. Like dough that hasn't hit the oven yet."
She turned her head just enough to give him a look. "Your pillow talk needs work."
"Ain't a bad thing," he drawled, thumb sinking in until her skin swelled around it. "Makes ya easy to hold onto."
She rolled her eyes, but her only protest was a quiet huff. Too wrung out to mount a proper defense.
His hand slid down her forearm, thumb brushing the fine hairs there. They rose before the rest of her caught up. Goosebumps bloomed under his knuckles, and his smile sharpened into something with teeth.
"Touchy, huh?"
"That's called 'being cold.'"
"Mm-mm. Water's fine." He repeated the stroke, unhurried, eyes on the tremble in the water. When her shoulders drew in a fraction, he nosed into her sweat-damp hair, sly smile buried at the crown of her head. "Well, wouldja look at that."
"Finn…"
Oh, he liked the sound of his name when she couldn't quite decide which way she meant it. Put a slow burn in his chest. His palm flattened over her ribs beneath the water, spanning the narrow cage of stiff bone. So much current, right there where he could pin it.
His knuckles scraped the thin skin on the underside of her arm, and she shuddered. Jackpot. A low rumble of a laugh rolled out of him.
Squirming weakly, she made an indignant noise. "That's not—"
"Not what? Not you flinching? Not you wriggling?" He pressed until her breath skipped and her heart drummed fast and light beneath his hand. "You got no qualms dissecting me from tip to tail, havin' a regular field day, and now you can't handle a little turnabout?"
His hands dropped lower, submerging, and wrapped her thighs. Plush heat under his palms. Pliant, yielding when he squeezed, as if her whole body was designed to give under pressure.
Showed every mark, too. Her skin held onto impressions like a grudge. Dark crescents scattered along her shoulders and ribs where his teeth had closed careful. Every time he finished, the instinct to clamp down surged. He never did, though. Not enough to break skin. Only enough to satisfy the urge without dealing real damage.
Still, he wouldn't mind stealing another nibble when he got the chance.
"Don't even think about it," she warned.
Witchcraft.
"Thinkin' about a lotta things, Minnow," he said in her ear, words oily with suggestion. One of those things stirred against her lower back. "Bite marks just happen to be top of the list."
Eyes closed, she huffed out a laugh. "You've got the subtlety of a hammer."
"Who needs subtle when you've got charm to spare?" He grabbed the sponge from the rim, dunked it under the surface. Let it drink deep and grow heavy in his hand before lifting it over her shoulder. "Now hold still, ya wriggly eel."
Suds cascaded down her arm, and his hand chased them; a natural loofah gliding over her soap-slick skin.
"Trying to drown me in bubbles?" she murmured.
"Only a mini drowning. You really worked up a sweat, y'know. Gotta polish you up to shine."
The sponge went under, came back dripping. He scrubbed it down her sternum, then lifted one breast with his free hand to cleanse beneath. A damn nice weight in his palm. He took care of the sweat that had gathered there, then did the same with the other. Thorough, he commended himself. Her pulse was weak through the sponge, the electrical hum of her dialed way down. Sated. Spent. Thoroughly worked over.
They'd been at it for hours. Lunch had derailed when she'd climbed into his lap on the couch, which turned into the bedroom. Round two. Round three. One more for good measure, until she'd finally tapped out; gasping, boneless, waving the white flag with whatever scrap of energy she had left.
He'd carried her to the bath after, filled it while she propped herself up in the doorframe with that dazed look and satisfied buzz. A pairing he'd gotten hooked on.
"Mm-hmm." Her lips curved, eyes still closed. "I know this routine. Step one: act all generous with the cleanup. Step two: hands on the merchandise."
"Step three: do it again when you're not expectin'." He snuck in a quick squeeze. "It's a three-step scheme. Mighty sophisticated."
They both chuckled at that, sending wavelets throughout the tub. Her head lolled beneath his jaw, nuzzled into him in a way that made something ancient and possessive stir in his gut. How securely she lodged there.
She was finer, more fragile when she wasn't throwing elbows in the marketplace or angling for every scrap of markup she could get behind her sales counter. Her skin flushed easily. Pink, or scraped red where the inside of her knees had found their grip at his waist. He sponged over the abrasion and her breath hitched, almost silent. Her leg twitched just enough to knock her ankle into his.
"Testing reflexes?" she asked, craning her head back to arch a brow at him—and hell, he could get used to that view. Hair swept over one shoulder, plastered wet and dark along the line of her throat. Her tits and knees breaking the surface, forming islands a man would happily abandon the sea for.
"Just checkin' the damage." He clapped her kneecap, then threw in another pat on top of that. "Looks like you're still in one piece."
"Barely." She let her head relax forward again, exhaling slow. "You're insatiable."
"You kept up."
"Past tense. Notice how I'm not moving anymore?"
"Yeah, I caught that." His hand slid down toward her hip, palm dragging slow. The fine hairs along the outside of her thigh caught on his skin—sparser than on the rest of her leg, but present. He'd clocked them early, of course, as plain as the fact she had ten fingers and a smart mouth, but... "Never really sat down and thought about how much of this stuff you got."
"Hair?" She cracked one eye. "Revolutionary observation."
"All over, though. Arms, legs…" His hand circled around until it curled between her thighs, fingers combing through coarser texture. Thicker here, substantial enough to thread through. Plenty soft in the water, though. Clinging to his fingers, drifting slow before settling again. "I mean, it's everywhere."
"Now you're just fondling me under the guise of scientific inquiry."
"Hey, no guise here. I'm bein' upfront. And thorough." He scrunched the hair, then fluffed it. Totally indulgent. "You spent twenty minutes pokin' my gill slits like you were lookin' for buried treasure. This is justice."
"It wasn't twenty minutes."
"Felt like it."
She snorted, but didn't have a leg to stand on. Shouldn't stand in a full tub, anyway. Instead, she let her weight drop onto him. Stopped even the tiniest effort to support herself and relied on him to hold her up. All that pillowy build relaxed into him, his to manage.
His hand drifted up her side, thumb dragging along her ribs. Warmer now. She'd been clammy when they climbed in. Always running cooler, the contrast sharp and obvious against his skin. But she'd leeched heat from him and the steamy water, soaked it all up until she was as toasty as a thermal thief.
"All that hair don't even keep you warm," he muttered. "You're a damn heat vampire."
"Yep." She sounded smug about it. "And you're a furnace. Works out."
"That so?"
"Sure it does. Thermodynamics." Her words were starting to blur at the edges, vowels going soft. "Vampire rules."
He grinned, hand sliding up to press over her ribs. Her heartbeat pulsed feebly beneath his palm. The kind of tempo that meant her body was packing it in. He could feel it in the current humming under her skin, dialing down with each idle breath.
His thumb traced a slow circle. "You're fadin'."
"'M fine."
"You're half-asleep, Minnow."
"Quarter-asleep. Maybe a third."
He huffed a quiet laugh. Couldn't even let him have this. Had to correct the fraction.
Quarter-asleep. Sure. He could test that theory; she loved testing, after all. His hand drifted lower—not wandering anymore, but moving with intent. Through her cleavage, down her stomach, between her legs where his fingers slid along her folds. Slick—for about a split second before the bathwater washed it away. Damn shame. He shifted his attention higher, buffing the pearl.
Her pulse kicked bright in his senses, nerves firing loud in response before fizzling out. Yeah. She was done.
He retreated to the jut of her hip.
"Finn..."
"Just checkin' if you were still interested." His thumb drew absent patterns on safer ground, and she exhaled—relief or disappointment, hard to say. Maybe both. He planted a quick kiss on her forehead. "Y'know, with you bein' a third-asleep at most."
"I'm too tired to be interested." She yawned, the sound small and helpless and unfairly adorable. "You wore me out."
"Pretty sure that was mutual."
She narrowed her eyes. "You don't look worn out."
"Got more stamina."
"I've got stamina," she protested weakly. "Whole shelves full of it."
"Yeah? Where's it now?"
"Back at the shop. Doing me no good." With a despondent shake of her head, she sighed.
Then she laughed—tiny, exhausted, pleased with her own joke—and the urge hit him sudden and sharp. She was too damn cute. Wrung out and drowsy and still trying to give him shit. Made him want to squeeze her, hold her real tight.
With his teeth.
His mouth found her shoulder, lips dragging along the curve before enamel followed. Not biting, just… scraping. Light pressure, sharp edges.
She made a tired sound, swatted blindly up at his face. "Stop that."
"Stop what?" He did it again, letting her feel every point, and her pulse kicked again despite herself.
"The whole… predator thing. I can't take any more teeth."
"What, these old things?" His jaw hinged. "C'mon, Minnow. Only a little sharper'n yours."
"A little?"
"Okay, a lot. But I'm bein' real gentle." His grin had seeped into his voice. "And besides—you like it."
Both her hands flew up to smack over her heart like that would do a damn thing to muffle the signal. "That doesn't count!" she insisted, schooling her expression into something almost serious. "It's not conscious."
"Got your wires crossed, huh?" He buried his smile against her skin. "Teeth means we're at the finish line."
"That's not how it works."
"Sure it is. I get a bite on ya, and—" he clicked his teeth together "—you light up. Every time." He nosed at her shoulder. "Can't help it now. Body knows what's good."
She huffed. "I swear if you bite me right now, I'm biting you back." Her voice had a playful edge.
He laughed—low and genuinely amused. "Yeah? Go ahead." He offered his forearm, bringing it up in front of her. "Give it your best shot."
She grabbed his wrist and bit down. Hard as she could. Which wasn't much, but heat shot through him at the sudden pinch. His gills flared once, sharp and reflexive.
After a few seconds, she pulled back with a scrunch of a scowl, panting slightly. There was a faint mark, already fading. "Okay, how is that fair? You're basically armored."
"And you're basically a marshmallow." He turned his head, caught her shoulder between his teeth, and bit down. Harder than he'd planned. Hard enough to leave divots. Hard enough that she'd feel it tomorrow.
Needed to.
"Finn!" Startled, breathless, her laughter had an edge of "ow" in it.
He soothed the spot immediately with his tongue, something satisfied settling low in his gut. "There. Now we're even."
"We are not even." Her elbow dug into his ribs, a hard jab from a limp noodle. "You practically mauled me and I barely put a dent in you!"
"Aw, but you tried for a good mauling." One arm banded her waist and pulled her flush to him. "Knew you were hidin' an apex predator in there." He nosed into her hair, knees drawn up on either side of her. "Feel free to chow down whenever. Standing invite."
She went quiet. The kind of quiet that meant she was turning something over in her head. He could practically hear those gears clicking away. Then, without warning, her teeth found his arm again and chomped hard. Testing.
Another jolt, and he was rising to half mast against her spine right on cue. Her smile warped her bite, pulled at his skin before she unclenched her jaw.
"Good to know." Smug as hell little witch. Pleased as punch.
He was sunk.
She tucked his arm snugly against her chest as she leaned back into him, and he reclined to let her settle more comfortably, tail swerving under her feet to stop her sliding toward the drain. Her head tipped to one side, cheek pillowed on the back of his hand where it curved loosely over her shoulder.
"You callin' it for the night?" he asked, voice low.
"I'm calling it for the week. Bet I could sleep for two days." The words melted straight into another yawn. Each exhale grew longer than the last, each inhale quiet and shallow.
Finn could pinpoint the exact moment she went under.
Her heartbeat calmed completely. The faint flicker of awareness she'd been clinging to—the part of her brain still half-listening, half-responding—smoothed into nothing. Calm waters, no ripple. Just sleep. Clean and total.
Arm still held in place like a sash over her chest, he stayed put. Her weight was lax against him, her limp arms wrapped around his like some sort of scaled teddy bear. Her pulse thrummed slow beneath his palm.
She fit. Perfectly. Like she'd been designed to slot right into the space between his arms and never leave.
Finn wasn't tired. Not really. Could probably go another few hours before his eyelids got heavy. Still wanted her. Still half-hard from the feel of her teeth on his skin, from the way she'd tried to claim him back. Little monster.
Tomorrow morning, when she was rested and sharp-tongued and raring to go—that'd be something. Worth the wait.
But he wasn't in any hurry. Didn't want to rush past this: her breathing slow and even, nestled in like he was the safest place she could be. Hadn't known he'd been missing it until she'd gone and shown him what it was supposed to feel like.
So yeah. They were more than even.