I wake up to a soft, wet touch on my chest. Lips—warm, insistent—glide across my skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps and a pleasant, tingling sensation. Even without opening my eyes, I smile. Of course, it's her. My girl. My little mischief-maker, who apparently decides the best way to wake me up isn't a kiss on the cheek or a gentle whisper, but touches that burn hotter than the morning sun.
Memories from last night flash in my mind like sparks from a fire—our tangled bodies, her thighs gripping me, her breath hitching into a moan when I touched her exactly the way she wanted, without her even saying a word. My Rebel Girl, desperate and burning, moaned my name like a prayer. I've never felt this kind of need before—to be, to belong, to dissolve into her. As if she doesn't just want my body, but something deeper.
"Didn't you get enough of me last night?" I ask hoarsely, my voice still rough from a night filled with moans and kisses, and finally open my eyes.
Her gaze—deep, dark, warm like a strong cup of coffee on a frosty morning—meets mine. Passion, desire, and a hint of smug satisfaction swirl in her eyes, like a cat who's found the coziest spot. Her lips are slightly swollen, still damp from the kisses she's been pressing to my chest just moments ago.
"Nope," Katrin answers lazily, with almost childlike honesty, and immediately lowers her head again, continuing her teasing as if my words are nothing more than background noise.
I laugh—softly, with a deep, tender affection. My fingers tangle in her silky hair, reveling in the way it spills through them—soft, warm, familiar.
And in this moment, I realize: she's everything I've ever craved—desire, tenderness, audacity, and absolute freedom. She's a storm, but in her arms, I find peace.
"What time is it, baby?" I murmur drowsily, still stroking her hair, feeling its warmth and life between my fingers.
Instead of answering, she suddenly nips lightly at my nipple—not painfully, but playfully, like a teasing goodbye. Without the sharpness she used to have, without defiance—just affection mixed with morning tenderness. Then she lifts herself up, brings her face close to mine, and plants a quick but real kiss on my lips. The sweet aftertaste lingers—her taste, the taste of morning, the taste of love.
"Unfortunately, about ten minutes before the alarm," she sighs with a pout, like a child denied the last moments of a good dream, and drops back onto my chest, nestling her cheek against me. Her fingers idly continue toying with the nipple her lips had just abandoned.
I can't help but smile, staring at the ceiling. I remember how she used to be sharp, even a little prickly—as if shielding herself from the world. I remember her playfully biting my hand when I joked about changing her wardrobe to something more… modest. Back then, it was funny, bold. But now… now there's so much softness in her movements, as if she's turned into water—fluid, tender, real. This side of her exists only with me. With others, she can be anything: defiant, cold, untouchable. But with me… with me, she unravels, opens up like a flower in the sun. And that's her magic. The kind I used to only dream of.
"After class, let's get ice cream at the café, and then go home, where I'll take you as much as you want, okay?" I whisper, knowing how hard it is for her to wake up for those damn lectures, and that motivation in the form of promises works best.
Her eyes light up. But it's not just desire—there's joy, impatience, anticipation. She burns from within.
"Let's buy more ice cream for home… I'll smear it on you and lick it off," her voice drips with sweetness, laced with devilish playfulness that makes me forget all reason. Katrin looks up at me, and that same mischievous spark—the one that's driven me crazy since day one—flares in her eyes.
"Only on one condition," I reply, playing along, smiling as if setting up something serious.
"And what's that?" Rebel Girl raises an eyebrow, not expecting a twist.
I pull her closer, my lips brushing her ear as I whisper hoarsely, sending shivers down her spine:
"We'll buy the ice cream, get naked… and eat it off each other."
Rebel Girl freezes, eyes wide, as if the world has suddenly stopped. The air thickens, the silence grows heavier. Surprise and a flicker of panic flash in her gaze, like I've caught her in something forbidden.
"What? Thought you'd be the only one enjoying the ice cream?" I laugh, watching with undisguised delight as her cheeks flush. That delicate pink holds a dozen emotions at once—embarrassment, unexpected pleasure, feigned indignation, and… a spark of anticipation so bright, it's like she's just heard the most thrilling proposal of her life.
"What have I done to you?" Her voice is barely a whisper, a mix of awe, delight, and… something deeper. As if she can't quite believe this moment is real, as if it's too good to be true.
I still, feeling goosebumps rise on my skin. Her words strike something vulnerable inside me.
"What do you mean, baby?" Now it's my turn to be stunned, intrigued to the point of shivering. My heart pounds wildly.
Her eyes gleam with playful fire, mischief dancing in them. But beneath that surface glow lies genuine curiosity—warm, deep, a desire to know me completely.
"Since when do you suggest such… intimately-sexually-naughty things?"
I burst into loud, almost relieved laughter. Once again, she catches me off guard—with her bluntness, her reactions, her ability to effortlessly cross boundaries with such grace.
"Since I learn all those things you just say… with you," I whisper, leaning closer, my fingertip tracing the soft curve of her cheek where the blush still lingers. "Since you turn my whole world upside down. And damn, do I love it."
The alarm rings at that moment, sharp and merciless, shattering our idyll like an unwelcome scream of reality. Its trill cuts through the air, as if someone roughly yanks at the edge of a dream.
I frown, reach for the phone, turn it off, and before getting up, lean down to kiss her lovely cheek—warm, flushed, still carrying the heat of the pillow and our touches. She stirs, mumbling something sleepy, unwilling to let go of the morning.
"We have to go, love," I whisper, soft but with a hint of teasing in my voice.
I get up and head to the shower. Water rushes out in hot streams, enveloping my body, washing away the remnants of sleep, waking tired muscles. I close my eyes, savoring this fleeting calm, as if the whole world dissolves into steam and silence. Droplets slide down my skin, leaving warmth behind—almost like her touch.
And then suddenly… The sound of the shower door opening cuts through sharply, like a flash. I turn abruptly, and for a second, my breath catches.
There she stands—my Rebel Girl. The mist from the stall wraps around her figure in a dim haze, while the bathroom light traces the curves of her body, making her look like a mirage born from the depths of my desire. Her hair is slightly tousled, her eyes gleam—that same wild yet tender mix that drives me crazy over and over.
"Decided to join me?" I smirk, feeling my heart skip a beat.
Katrin doesn't say a word. She just steps forward—confident, possessive. Her palms press against my chest, hot and demanding, and then comes a greedy kiss that sears straight into my brain, my blood, every cell. Her tongue invades my mouth with a hunger that makes my head spin. Her fingers dig into my shoulders as if she's afraid to let go for even a second.
Then my girl takes my hand, slow and deliberate, and presses it against her firm ass, as if saying, "Look, this is yours." I don't hesitate—I grip her flesh tightly, with a passion that feels like I want to leave a permanent imprint. In response, a stifled, ragged moan escapes her, as if torn from her against her will. It echoes in my chest and lower, setting everything inside me on fire.
"You teasing me?" I rasp, blood pounding in my temples. My gaze locks onto her face—flushed cheeks, parted lips, unbearably tempting.
"When have I ever not?" Her voice is low, almost purring, and that spark flares in her eyes again—daring, dangerous, intoxicating. It steals my breath. Everything inside me coils in anticipation.
This Rebel…
She knows every weakness of mine and plays them like strings, making my heart stutter with just a look. She's like fire, and I can never get enough of her flames.
No foreplay. Just hunger.
I've held back too long, too much bottled up inside—anger, jealousy, longing, desire. All of it twists into a knot ready to explode.
Now—no pauses. No patience, no restraint.
I spin her around abruptly, gripping her waist like I need her to breathe. A hot wave of impatience twists inside me, leaving no room for thought, only feeling. With one hand, I arch her lower back, pressing her against the wet, slippery shower wall. Her skin prickles instantly, as if sparks race under my touch. Water streams down her body, tracing every curve of her spine, emphasizing every inch.
"Max…" Her voice trembles like a live wire.
Just my name.
Just one sound—and I'm already on the edge.
It holds everything: anticipation, challenge, fear, want. She knows what's coming. And I can't stop.
I enter her sharply, without warning, as if it is inevitable. Not a choice—instinct. Need. Her body tenses, arching as if jolted by electricity from neck to toes. But a second later, she pushes back, taking me deeper, harder, with a muffled moan that cuts through me like a blade on nerves.
I don't hold back. Every thrust is rough, ragged, relentless, as if I'm tearing out everything I keep buried—rage, loneliness, passion too fierce to hide anymore.
Deep. Furious. A mad craving to be inside her to the core—to her heart, her soul, to where we fuse into one.
Water still pours down her back, my chest, our tangled bodies. Moans mix with the rush of droplets, echoing off the tiled walls as if the bathroom itself bears witness to our obsession.
"You're mine… and I'm yours…" I breathe into her ear, feeling her shiver, clench, as if those words mean as much to her as they do to me.
Her knees buckle, her breath falters, her body goes pliant, exhausted. I catch her, holding her up, pressing her close. My palm slides under her stomach—firm, steady, a reminder: I'm here. I've got you.
And then—stillness.
A burning silence that holds everything: the echo of our joining, the weight of our breaths, the heat.
When it's over, Katrin clings to me as if seeking anchor, shelter. Her body trembles in my arms, her chest heaves, lips parted, eyes shining—pure light, a wet glimmer mirroring everything she feels.
As if this moment is eternity.
As if everything that comes before leads us here.