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“Looks like you left the door open.” Grayson’s voice floats in, barely above a whisper but somehow filling the entire room.
I freeze, then force a laugh, feigning nonchalance. “Is that a problem?” My heart thuds, betraying my casual tone.
“Problem? No.” There’s a pause, and when he speaks again, his voice is thick with desire. “Actually, it’s quite the opposite. Seeing your silhouette through the fogged-up mirror is doing things to me, Brielle.”
“Bad things?” I call out, playful yet breathless, the sound of the water a veil for the mounting tension.
“Depends on your definition of bad,” he teases back, his tone suggesting he’s anything but distressed.
A shiver races down my spine, not from the warm water, but from the anticipation of what’s to come. The air grows thick with steam, enveloping me.
I hear the rustle of clothing, the soft thud of fabric hitting the floor. My pulse skitters, a mix of nerves and heat flooding through me. Grayson’s gaze locks with Conrad’s, a silent conversation passing between them—a decision made without words.
Grayson moves first, his steps deliberate as he approaches the bathroom. The air shifts, anticipation crackling like static. Conrad doesn’t hesitate, peeling off his shirt, revealing a canvas of taut muscle and smooth skin.
My heart hammers against my ribs, waiting, wanting. The shower curtain whispers aside, and Conrad steps in. Water slicks his hair, darkening it, droplets running down his chiseled chest.
“Hi,” he murmurs, his eyes dark pools of intent.
“Hi,” I reply, my voice barely there, drowned out by the roar of blood in my ears.
He reaches for me, his hand tangling in my wet hair, pulling me closer. His lips find mine, insistent, demanding. I melt into him, the kiss igniting a fire that races through my veins. His taste, like rain and desire, is intoxicating.
“Tell me what you want, Brielle,” he breathes against my mouth.
“You,” I gasp. “Both of you.”
Conrad groans, deep and guttural, as his mouth claims mine once more. This kiss is all heat and promise, branding me, claiming me. His hands roam, mapping the curves of my body, stoking the flames higher.
Outside the shower, I’m vaguely aware of Grayson watching, the intensity of his desire palpable even through the steam and water. But right now, it’s just Conrad and me, the world narrowing to the space where our bodies meet, to the relentless drum of the shower and the rhythm of our hearts racing in tandem.
The steam clings to my skin as Grayson steps into the shower. His presence is a new heat, a different kind of fire that makes the small space feel charged with electricity. He slides up behind me, and I can’t help but press back against his hard chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart.
“Room for one more?” His voice is low, a rumble that resonates through my wet skin.
“Always,” I manage, my breath catching in my throat.
They keep me pinned between them, trapped in a cage I never want to leave. One of Grayson’s hands snakes around my waist, between my body and Conrad’s, dipping lower, finding that sweet spot that makes my knees buckle. Conrad doesn’t stop kissing me—his lips on my neck now, soft and hot and insistent.
“Relax,” Grayson murmurs near my ear, his hand moving in slow circles that send shivers down my spine.
Conrad’s mouth trails down to my collarbone, his hands cupping, teasing, squeezing lightly. The sensations are a whirlpool, pulling me under, drowning me in pleasure.
“Is this okay?” Grayson’s breath is hot against my damp hair, his movements deliberate, coaxing.
“More than okay,” I gasp out, leaning into him, craving the fullness of their attention.
Grayson’s fingers are deft, sure, and Conrad’s lips and hands worship my body with equal fervor. Together, they’re a symphony of touch, and I’m the melody, rising and falling with each caress, each kiss, each stroke.
“Beautiful,” Conrad whispers against my skin, his words washing over me as much as the water does.
“Ours,” Grayson adds, his tone possessive yet tender—a promise wrapped in a single word that sends another wave of desire crashing through me.
I tilt my head back, resting it on Grayson’s shoulder, giving myself over to them, to this moment where nothing exists but us and the relentless cascade of water that veils the world.
The steam swirls around us as Grayson’s hand works magic between my thighs, his other arm a steel band around my waist. I writhe against him, grinding my ass against Grayson’s hard length behind me and my breasts against Conrad’s hard chest in front of me. Grayson’s fingers are relentless, stirring a fire that licks every nerve ending into a frenzy.
“Grayson,” I pant, my hands clinging to Conrad’s shoulders for support, “I need?—”
