Jack's hand froze on the cracked door, the wood warm and damp under his fingers. Steam curled into the hallway in lazy ribbons, carrying the smell of soap and hot water, and beneath that—something else. A sound. His own name, soft and breathy, almost swallowed by the drum of the shower.
His heart stuttered. He knew that voice. He'd know it anywhere, even twisted into something he'd never heard before—something broken and desperate and wrong.
He pushed the door open.
The bathroom was a fogged-in sauna, the mirror completely white, the air so thick he felt it settle on his skin. And there, on the shower floor, water streaming over her in rivulets, was June.
Her hand was between her legs.
Her eyes went wide—huge, horrified, the brown of them swallowing everything—and she scrambled backward on the wet tile, slipping, one hand flying to cover herself while the other stayed trapped beneath her. Water plastered her dark hair to her shoulders, and her mouth worked, open and closed, before words finally broke out of her.
"Jack—I—you weren't supposed to—oh God." Her voice cracked. "I didn't hear you, I didn't—" She pressed her knees together, trying to fold herself into something small enough to disappear. "Please, just—can you just—"
He should have left. Every rational part of him screamed it. He should have backed out, pulled the door shut, pretended he'd seen nothing, and let them both die of embarrassment in separate rooms.
Instead, his fingers found the hem of his shirt.
His voice came out rough, scraped low by something he didn't want to name. "Do you want company?"
June's stammering died in her throat. She stared at him, water dripping from her chin, her chest rising and falling too fast. Her lips parted. Closed. Parted again.
She bit her lower lip. And nodded.
Jack pulled his shirt over his head.
The fabric caught on his ears for half a second, and he heard her make a sound—half laugh, half sob, pure nerves—before he yanked it free and dropped it on the floor. His jeans went next, kicked off with less grace than he'd have liked, his boxers following until he stood naked in the steam, suddenly aware of every inch of his own body under her gaze.
June's eyes traveled down him, then snapped back up, her cheeks flushing a deep, burning red. But she didn't look away again.
He stepped into the spray.
The water was hot—hotter than he'd expected—and it hit his shoulders like a wall, plastering his dark hair to his forehead in seconds. He blinked through it, reaching for her, and his hands found her wet shoulders, the skin slick and warm beneath his palms.
She flinched at the contact. Then leaned into it.
"Hey," he said, softer now. The water drummed around them, filling the silence. "Hey. It's okay."
"It's not okay." Her voice was muffled against her own embarrassment. "You heard me—you saw me—" She squeezed her eyes shut. "I'm so mortified I could die. Right here. On this shower floor. Just let the drain take me."
A laugh bubbled out of him before he could stop it. "You're not dying on the shower floor."
"That's exactly what someone who wants me to die on the shower floor would say."
He grinned, and something in her face eased—just a fraction, just enough. His hands slid from her shoulders down her arms, leaving trails of goosebumps in their wake. "I don't want you to die. I want you to stay right here."
Her breath caught. "Jack—"
"I mean it." His voice dropped, the joke gone. "June. I've been—" He stopped, swallowed. The water ran between them, and he could feel her shivering under his hands, or maybe that was him. "I think about you. All the time. And I didn't know—I didn't let myself think you might—"
"Might what?" Her voice was barely audible.
"Might think about me too."
She looked at him for a long moment, water streaming over her face, her brown eyes searching his. Then, very slowly, she reached up and pushed the wet hair off his forehead. Her fingers lingered on his temple, feather-light.
"I say your name," she whispered. "When I'm alone. I didn't mean for you to hear it."
His heart was pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat. "I'm glad I did."
She bit her lip again, and this time he watched her do it, watched the way her teeth sank into the full curve of her lower lip, and something in his chest went tight and hot all at once.
"Can I kiss you?" The words came out before he could think about them, raw and honest. "I've wanted to for—God, June, I've wanted to for so long."
She didn't answer with words. She rose up on her toes, her wet hands finding the back of his neck, and pulled him down until her mouth met his.
The kiss was clumsy at first—both of them nervous, both of them learning—but then her lips parted against his and something clicked into place. Her mouth was warm and soft and tasted faintly of the mint she'd swiped from the supply stash that morning. He made a sound against her, low and desperate, and her fingers tightened in his wet hair.
He pulled back just far enough to look at her. Water beaded on her lashes, and her lips were pink and swollen, and she was looking at him like he was the only thing in the world that made sense.
"I've never—" she started.
"Me neither." He said it fast, before she could finish, because he needed her to know. "I mean, I've thought about it. A lot. But I've never—with anyone—"
"Me neither." Her voice was small. "I don't know what I'm doing."
"Me neither." He laughed, a little breathless. "So we'll figure it out together."
She smiled at that, a real smile, and it did something to his chest that he didn't have words for. He kissed her again, slower this time, learning the shape of her mouth, and her hands slid from his neck down his chest, fingers tracing the lines of his muscles like she was memorizing him.
The water drummed around them, steady and hollow, and the steam curled thick and white, and Jack felt like the world outside this bathroom had stopped existing entirely.
Her hands found his waist, then his hips, her touch tentative and curious. He sucked in a breath when her fingers brushed the jut of his hipbone, and she pulled back, worried.
"Did I—"
"No. No, that's—" He swallowed. "That's good. That's really good."
She ducked her head, but he caught the smile on her lips. Her hand drifted lower, fingers trailing through the trail of hair below his navel, and he felt his whole body tense in anticipation.
Her fingers brushed his cock, and he jerked like he'd been electrocuted.
June's eyes flew up to his, wide and questioning. "Sorry—"
"Don't be sorry." His voice came out strangled. "I'm not—I'm not sorry. That was—you don't have to—"
She bit her lip, a nervous habit he was starting to love. "Can I...?"
He nodded, not trusting his voice.
Her hand closed around him, slow and careful, and he had to brace one hand against the tile wall as a sound tore out of him—something between a gasp and a groan. Her fingers were warm and wet from the water, and she was looking at him with wide, fascinated eyes, watching his face as she explored the shape of him.
"Is this okay?" she asked, her voice soft.
"Yeah." The word came out rough. "Yeah, that's—God, June."
She smiled, a small, pleased thing, and her grip tightened slightly as she stroked him. His hips bucked into her hand without his permission, and he heard himself make a sound that was almost a whimper.
"You like that?" Her voice had dropped, gone husky in a way that made his knees weak.
"You have no idea."
Her strokes grew bolder, more confident, and Jack's head fell back against the tile, water streaming down his face. He could feel himself throbbing in her grip, could feel the heat pooling low in his belly, and it was too much and not enough all at once.
He reached for her, his hands finding her waist, and she let out a small gasp as he pulled her closer. Her body pressed against his—soft curves against lean muscle—and the feeling of her skin against his was almost too much to bear.
"June." His voice was rough. "I want to touch you too. Is that—can I—"
She nodded, biting her lip, and his hand slid down her stomach, past her navel, through the triangle of dark hair below. She was already slick—he could feel it even through the water—and when his fingers found her, she gasped and gripped his shoulder.
"Jack—"
"Is this okay?"
She nodded again, wordless, and he explored her the way she'd explored him—slow, careful, learning. She was soft and hot and wet, and when his fingers found the small bundle of nerves at the top of her folds, she made a sound that went straight to his cock.
"There," she breathed. "Right there—"
He circled it with his thumb, watching her face, watching the way her eyes fluttered closed and her lips parted. Her hand was still wrapped around him, but her strokes had gone distracted, her body arching into his touch.
"You're so beautiful," he said, and her eyes flew open, searching his face for the lie. He meant it. Every word. "You're so beautiful, June."
Her grip on him tightened, and she pulled him closer, kissing him hard and desperate. His fingers kept working between her legs, and she whimpered against his mouth, her hips rocking into his hand.
"Jack," she gasped against his lips. "Jack, I'm—I'm close—"
"Let go," he whispered. "I've got you."
She came apart in his arms, her body shuddering against his, and he watched her face—the way her brow furrowed, the way her mouth fell open, the way she gasped his name like a prayer. It was the hottest thing he'd ever seen, and he felt himself throb in her hand, achingly hard.
When she finally stilled, she looked up at him with dazed, embarrassed eyes. "That was—"
"Amazing." He kissed her forehead. "You're amazing."
She laughed, a breathless, disbelieving sound. "I can't believe I just—"
"Shh." He tucked a strand of wet hair behind her ear. "It's okay. It's more than okay. It's—" He struggled for words. "I've never felt anything like that."
Her smile was shy, but real. Her hand was still on him, and he could feel himself straining against her grip, desperate for more. She looked down, then back up at him, and something shifted in her eyes.
"Do you want me to..." She trailed off, biting her lip.
His heart was hammering. "Only if you want to. There's no—we don't have to do anything you're not ready for."
"I want to." Her voice was soft but certain. "I want to make you feel good too."
Her hand closed around him again, and she sank to her knees on the wet tile, water streaming over her shoulders. She looked up at him, her brown eyes wide and trusting, and Jack felt his throat go tight.
"June—"
"Tell me if I do it wrong," she said, and then her mouth was on him.
Jack's head fell back against the tile with a sound he couldn't have stopped if he'd tried. Her lips were warm and wet, and she was tentative at first, unsure, but then she found a rhythm and his hand flew to her hair, gripping the wet strands without meaning to.
"God," he gasped. "June—that's—"
She looked up at him, her eyes dark, and took him deeper. He felt the back of her throat, felt her gag slightly, and he tried to pull back but she grabbed his hips and held him there.
"You don't have to—" he started.
She pulled off just long enough to say, "I want to," and then she took him again, deeper this time, and Jack saw stars.
He was close. He could feel it building, a pressure behind his navel that was almost unbearable. He tried to warn her, tried to pull back, but she held him fast, her hand gripping his hip, and when he came with a strangled cry, she took all of it.
She pulled off, coughing slightly, and looked up at him with watery eyes. "Did I—was that—"
"Perfect." He pulled her to her feet, kissing her hard, tasting himself on her lips. "You were perfect."
She smiled against his mouth, and he felt something shift between them—something that felt a lot like falling.
The water was still running, and June's hand was still on his waistband, her fingers tracing the line of his hip. The next move was hers, and the heat between them had only just begun to build.
June's fingers curled around his hip, and Jack felt the water drumming against his back like a second heartbeat. She was looking at him with that wide, searching gaze, and there was something new in it now—something hungry that hadn't been there before.
"Jack," she said, and his name sounded different in her mouth now, like she was tasting it. "I want—" She stopped, bit her lip, and he watched the uncertainty flicker across her face.
He cupped her jaw, tilting her face up to his. "Tell me."
"I want you to—" Her cheeks flushed darker, and she ducked her head, but he wouldn't let her hide. "I want to feel you. Inside me. I want to know what that's like."
His throat went dry. Every nerve in his body was firing at once, and he had to take a breath before he could speak. "Are you sure? Because we don't—I don't want to hurt you, June. I don't know if I—"
"I trust you." She said it simply, like it was the easiest thing in the world. "I trust you, Jack."
He kissed her then, because he didn't have words for what that did to him. She kissed him back with a fierceness that surprised him, her hands sliding up his chest to grip his shoulders, and he walked her backward until her spine met the tile.
The water cascaded over them both, and he broke the kiss to look at her—really look at her. Water streamed over her shoulders, her breasts, the soft curve of her stomach, and she was watching him with those dark brown eyes, trusting and nervous and so beautiful it made his chest ache.
"Turn around," he said, his voice rougher than he intended. "I want to—I want to see you."
She blinked, then understanding dawned, and she turned slowly, bracing her hands against the tile. The water traced the curve of her spine, the dip of her waist, the swell of her hips, and Jack felt his mouth go dry.
He stepped closer, his chest pressing against her back, and his hands found her waist. She was soft there, warm and slick, and he heard her breath catch as his palms slid up her sides.
"You're so beautiful," he murmured against her ear, and she shivered.
His hands found her breasts, and she gasped. They filled his palms perfectly, soft and heavy, and he could feel her nipples hard against his fingers. He squeezed gently, and she arched back against him, a low moan escaping her lips.
"Jack—"
"Yeah?"
"That feels—" She couldn't finish the sentence. He rolled her nipples between his fingers, and she whimpered, her head falling back against his shoulder.
He explored her like that for a long moment, learning the weight of her, the sounds she made when he touched her a certain way. She was responsive under his hands, her hips pressing back against him, and he could feel himself throbbing against the curve of her ass, desperate and aching.
"Tell me if it hurts," he said, his voice rough. "Tell me to stop, and I will."
"I will." She looked back at him over her shoulder, her eyes dark and trusting. "I'm ready. I want this. I want you."
He reached down between her legs, and she was soaking wet—not just from the water. His fingers found her slick and swollen, and she gasped as he circled her clit once, twice, before sliding lower.
"You're so wet," he breathed, and she made a small, embarrassed sound.
"That's—that's because of you."
The admission nearly undid him. He positioned himself at her entrance, the head of his cock pressing against her, and she tensed slightly.
"Okay?" he asked.
She nodded, her fingers gripping the tile. "Okay."
He pushed inside her.
The sensation was overwhelming—hot and tight and so wet, her body gripping him as he entered her inch by inch. June made a sound that was half gasp, half whimper, and he froze.
"Am I hurting you?"
"No." Her voice was strained. "No, it's just—you're so big—"
"Do you want me to stop?"
"No." She pushed back against him, taking him deeper, and they both gasped. "Don't stop. Please don't stop."
He gripped her hips, holding her steady, and began to move. The first thrust was shallow, tentative, but she pushed back to meet him, and he sank deeper. The water sluiced over them both, and the sound of their bodies meeting was wet and rhythmic, filling the small space.
"God," he breathed. "June—you feel—"
"Good?" She looked back at him, her eyes hazy. "Does it feel good?"
"Better than good." He thrust deeper, and she cried out. "You feel incredible."
She was so tight, so hot, and he could feel every inch of her gripping him. He pulled almost all the way out, then pushed back in, and she moaned, her head dropping forward.
"More," she gasped. "Please, Jack—more—"
He gave her more. His thrusts grew harder, faster, and the slap of their bodies echoed off the tile. Her hands were braced against the wall, her back arched, and he watched himself slide into her, watched the way her body took him, and it was the hottest thing he'd ever seen.
His hands found her breasts again, gripping them like handles as he fucked her, and she cried out, her back bowing. Her nipples were hard pebbles against his palms, and he squeezed, tugged, and she whimpered his name.
"Jack—Jack, I'm—"
"I know." He could feel it, the way she was clenching around him, the way her body was trembling. "Let go, June. Let go for me."
She came with a scream, her body convulsing around him, and the feeling of her clenching sent him over the edge. He buried himself deep and came inside her, his own cry lost in the drum of the water.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. His forehead rested against her shoulder, his breath ragged, and she was trembling beneath him, her hands still braced against the tile.
Then she laughed—a breathless, disbelieving sound—and he couldn't help but smile against her skin.
"That was—" she started.
"Yeah." He pulled out slowly, and she made a small sound at the loss. "It was."
He turned her around to face him, and her cheeks were flushed, her lips swollen, her eyes bright. She looked wrecked, and she'd never been more beautiful.
"I love you," he said.
The words came out before he could stop them, raw and honest, and he watched her eyes go wide. He braced himself for panic, for her to pull away, but instead she smiled—a slow, radiant smile that lit up her whole face.
"I love you too," she said.
He kissed her, soft and reverent, and she melted into him. The water was still running, warm and steady, and Jack felt like he could stand here forever, holding her.
But then she pulled back, a mischievous glint in her eye, and her hand slid down his stomach to wrap around his softening cock.
"Again?" she asked.
He laughed, surprised. "June—"
"What?" She was already stroking him, coaxing him back to hardness. "I want to feel you again. I want to—" She bit her lip. "I want to ride you."
His brain short-circuited. "You want to—"
"I want to be on top." Her voice was shy but determined. "I want to look at you while you're inside me."
He didn't need to be asked twice. He sank down onto the shower floor, the water cascading over him, and she followed, straddling his hips. She was so wet—from the water, from him, from her own arousal—and when she positioned herself over him, he could feel the heat of her.
"Ready?" she asked.
He nodded, gripping her hips. "Ready."
She sank down onto him, and they both groaned. She was still so tight, so hot, and he watched her face as she took him inch by inch, her eyes fluttering closed, her lips parted.
"Oh," she breathed. "Oh, that's—"
"Good?"
"So good."
She began to move, slow and experimental, finding a rhythm that made her gasp. Her hands were braced on his chest, her hair wet and tangled, and she looked like something out of a dream—water streaming over her curves, her breasts bouncing gently with each movement.
Jack reached up and cupped them, and she moaned, her head falling back. He thumbed her nipples, and she rode him harder, her hips grinding against his.
"Jack," she gasped. "Jack, I'm close—"
"Me too." He thrust up to meet her, and she cried out. "Come with me, June. Come on—"
She shattered above him, her body convulsing, and he followed, spilling inside her with a groan that was half her name. She collapsed onto his chest, breathless and trembling, and he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close.
The water drummed over them, warm and steady, and for a long moment, neither of them spoke. Jack could feel her heart pounding against his chest, could feel the rapid rise and fall of her breath, and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
"We should probably get out," he said finally, his voice rough. "Before we turn into prunes."
She laughed, a weak, breathless sound. "Probably."
But neither of them moved. They stayed there, tangled together on the shower floor, the water washing over them, and Jack felt something settle in his chest—something that felt like certainty.
This was it. This was her. This was them.
He tilted her chin up and kissed her, slow and deep, and she kissed him back like she meant it. When he finally pulled away, her eyes were soft and dazed, and she was smiling.
"So," she said, her voice teasing. "Does this mean we're a thing now?"
He grinned. "I thought we already were."
"I just wanted to make sure." She traced a finger down his chest. "You know. Since we're naked and all."
"Naked and on the shower floor," he agreed. "Pretty sure that makes it official."
She laughed, and the sound was bright and free, and Jack felt like he could listen to it forever. He pulled her closer, burying his face in her wet hair, and breathed her in.
"I'm glad I walked in on you," he murmured.
She snorted. "You're glad you caught me—"
"Yes." He kissed her temple. "I'm glad I caught you. I'm glad it was me. I'm glad it's you."
She was quiet for a moment, and when she spoke, her voice was small. "I was so embarrassed. I thought you'd think I was—I don't know—weird. Or gross."
"June." He cupped her face, making her look at him. "You're the least weird, least gross person I know. And I'm pretty sure I'm the one who should be embarrassed, considering I stripped down and joined you."
She laughed again, and some of the tension left her shoulders. "I guess we're even, then."
"Even." He kissed her nose. "More than even."
The water was starting to run cool, and Jack knew they needed to get out soon, but he couldn't bring himself to move. Not yet. Not when she was looking at him like that, soft and warm and his.
"June," he said, and she hummed in response. "I meant what I said. I love you. I've loved you for—I don't even know how long. Since before the end of the world, maybe."
Her eyes glistened. "I love you too, Jack. I think I've loved you since the first time you made me laugh."
"That was the day we met."
"I know." She smiled. "That's how I knew."
He kissed her again, and this time it was slow and sweet, a promise rather than a plea. When they finally broke apart, the water had gone cold, and they were both shivering.
"Okay," he said, helping her to her feet. "Now we really need to get out."
She laughed, steadying herself against him. "Yeah. Probably."
He turned off the water, and the sudden silence was deafening. Steam curled around them, and Jack grabbed a towel from the rack, wrapping it around her shoulders before grabbing one for himself.
She stood there, towel clutched to her chest, her wet hair dripping onto her shoulders, and she looked at him with those dark brown eyes.
"So," she said. "What happens now?"
Jack toweled his hair dry, then tossed the towel aside and crossed to her, cupping her face in his hands. "Now," he said, "we figure it out together. Like we said."
She smiled, and it was like watching the sun come out. "Together."
"Together." He kissed her forehead. "Always."