Page 72 of Third Strike Smitten

The words hang between us, heavy with implication. Isla shifts slightly, her hands still covering her face.

“I can stop if you want,” I offer, though every cell in my body is screaming at me to keep going. “I can hand you the soap and you can⁠—”

“No,” she says quickly. “I’m...I’m good. Just...be gentle with me, okay?”

“Always.” I reach for the body wash, pouring some into my palm before hesitating. “Where should I...I mean, how do you want me to⁠—”

“Maybe start with my shoulders,” she says, her voice steadier than I expect. “And work your way down.”

“Alright. You tell me if it’s too much.”

She nods silently and I get to work. Lathering the body wash in my palms, I stand behind her, my hands moving slowly, washing, massaging her neck and shoulders, deliberately tracing the contours of her shoulder blades and the dip of her spine. The soap slides between my fingers as I work my way down, trying to ignore the way her skin feels beneath my touch; warm, smooth, alive.

Fuck, it feels good to be touching her.

My cock stirs in my briefs but I do everything I can short of thinking about my grandmother in her nightgown to keep myself from going crazy.

Isla’s breathing changes, becoming slightly shallower and more rapid. The sound of the shower fills the silence between us, but I can hear her heartbeat—or maybe it’s mine—pounding in my ears.

“Are you okay?” I ask, my voice rougher than I intend.

“Yes,” she says, though her voice trembles slightly.

I continue washing her back, my thumbs pressing into the muscles along her spine. She’s tense, wound tight, and I can feel the knots beneath her skin. Without thinking, I apply more pressure, working the tension away with my fingers.

“God, that feels good,” she purrs, her head dropping forward slightly.

Yep. I’m hard.

Fuck.

My hands move to her arms, lathering soap along their length, careful to be gentle but thorough. The steam surrounds us, creating a world that feels separate from everything else. Just us, the water, and the electricity crackling between our bodies.

Tall enough to glance over her shoulder, I move my hands around her waist, trails of soap suds in their wake as I glide over her torso. I drag my fingers achingly slow so that my thumbs smooth just under her breasts and my fingertips just inside the waistband of her panties.

Fuck me.

I could so easily cup her gorgeous mounds in my hands and give them a gentle squeeze. I could pinch her nipples and make her feel good. I could slip my hand between her legs and hear what she sounds like when she comes.

But I can’t be that guy.

Not tonight.

Tonight she needs me to take care of her while she’s hurting.

But after tonight, by God, I hope she’ll give me the chance to beg forgiveness for the pain I’ve caused.

I force myself to pull my hands away from the edge of her panties, focusing instead on her legs. I kneel down, my knees pressing into the cold tile as I soap her legs, her thighs first and then her calves. The water cascades down her body, and I’m acutely aware of how close my face is to the apex of her thighs.

Motherfucker.

“Killian?” Her voice is barely audible over the running water.

“Yeah?” I look up at her, though she can’t see me with her hands still covering her face.

“Is this weird?”

I laugh softly, the sound bouncing off the tile walls. “Depends on your definition of weird.”