“He’s awake isn’t he? I’m hanging up now. Use protection! Or don’t. I want to be an aunt—”
“Evie!” But she was already laughing, the line going dead.
I set the phone down on the counter, very aware of Crew’s eyes tracking every movement. Very aware that I was wearing only his shirt. Very aware of the way his gaze heated as it traveled over me, lingering on my bare legs, on the way his shirt gaped open to reveal the marks he’d left on my breasts. Very aware of the way his cock was thickening, hardening, his body responding to the sight of me in his clothes.
“Everything okay?” His voice sent shivers down my spine.
“Fine. Just Evie calling because we didn’t show up at the mill this morning.” I gestured vaguely toward the window. “The storm. I should have called.”
He moved into the bathroom, stalking toward me like a predator, his eyes locked on mine with an intensity that made me want to drop to my knees right there. He braced his hands on the counter, caging me in.
“You’re wearing my shirt.”
“I—yeah. Mine was... I couldn’t find it.”
“It looks good on you.” His eyes dropped to where the flannel gaped open, revealing the bite mark on my breast. His bite mark. Proof that I belonged to him now. “Though I prefer you in nothing.”
Before I could respond, he reached past me and turned on the shower. Steam immediately started filling the small space.
“Crew, what are you—”
He grabbed my wrist, not hard, just firm. Possessive. The touch sent heat racing through my veins, making me remember, making me want. “Waiting for the water to warm up. Then I’m getting you in that shower.”
“I’m sore,” I admitted shyly.
“I know.” His thumb traced circles on my inner wrist. “I saw the way you were walking. I see the marks I left.” He bent his head and kissed the top of my breast. “Too sore?”
I bit my lip, torn between my body’s ache and the heat already building low in my belly just from having him this close. How could I want him again so soon? How could my body already be ready when I could barely walk? “I... yes. No. Maybe?”
“We’ll just…” He smiled and stripped his shirt off me in one smooth motion.
He stepped into the shower and pulled me in beside him. I didn’t know why, but this seemed much more intimate than anything we’d done last night.
He reached for the small bottle of hotel shampoo. “Turn around. Let me wash you.”
I obeyed, and his hands were gentle as he worked the shampoo through my hair, his fingers massaging my scalp. This was so different from the rough passion of last night but somehow just as powerful. This tenderness undid me in a completely different way. He rinsed it carefully, making sure no soap got in my eyes, then moved on to the conditioner.
“This okay?” His hands slid down my neck, my shoulders, kneading sore muscles. “Not too rough?”
“Perfect,” I sighed, leaning back against him. Feeling his chest against my back, his arms around me, his cock hard against my lower back. Perfect and safe and exactly where I wanted to be.
He worked his way down my body, his touch both soothing and arousing. When his hands reached my breasts, his touch changed—still gentle but with more purpose. His thumbs brushed over my nipples, making them tighten and ache, the sensitivity heightened from all his attention last night. They were tender from his mouth, from his teeth, and the touch sent sparks of pleasure-pain straight to my core.
“Crew—”
“Just checking,” he murmured against my ear. “Making sure you’re not too sore here.”
His hands moved lower, over my stomach, my hips. Tracing the fingerprint bruises he’d left, a possessive touch that said he was cataloging every mark, every sign of his claim.
And then he touched me between my legs.
I gasped as his fingers found me, already slick. Already wet and ready despite the tenderness, despite everything. My body was his now, responding instantly to even the promise of his touch.
“What about here?” One finger slid inside me, careful, gentle, but still making me gasp at the stretch, at the tender fullness. I had to bite my lip at the sensation. I was tender, sensitive, but God it felt good. “Too sore?”
“No,” I managed. My hips rocking against his hand, seeking more. “Not too sore.”
“Sure?” He added another finger, stretching me gently, working me open with patient thoroughness, and I couldn’t help the moan that escaped. “Because if you need me to stop—”
