“Also,” I add loudly, “this tub is huge.”
More silence.
Then his voice again. “That statement feels like a trap.”
“It’s a bath.”
“With you.”
“Yes.”
“With no clothes.”
“Correct.”
Another pause.
I can almost hear his brain working through the situation, weighing pride against curiosity against the fact that I just spent an entire night making sure he didn’t die.
I dip my fingers into the water and nod approvingly.
Perfect temperature.
I settle into the tub and let out a long breath as the heat sinks into muscles that have been tight for hours.
“Rowan…” I call again, dragging his name out just enough to irritate him.
“Fuck me.” He sighs loudly.
I grin and sink lower in the water.
“Not yet,” I call back. “But maybe later, if you’re a good boy.”
I can just picture him sitting there on the edge of the bed in those dark sleep pants, rubbing his face like the entire situation pisses him off. “You’re aware this is manipulation.”
“And you think I care?”
Seriously, I’m getting what I want. This man said he was my boyfriend, and boyfriends take baths with their girlfriends.
I lean back against the tub and look toward the doorway just as he appears.
He’s still in his pajamas. Loose sleep pants and the thin gray shirt he slept in. His hair is a little messy, and his expression suggests he already regrets every decision that led him to this bathroom.
He braces a shoulder against the doorframe and studies the tub.
“You look very comfortable,” he says.
“I am.”
“Tragic.”
I tilt my head toward the water, letting a lazy ripple lap against my collarbone.
“Get in.”
His mouth flattens.
“You realize I just spent hours trying not to move my head.”
