Page 76 of What We Become

“Feels good,” he says, easing down onto the bench. “Not too hot.”

Liar.

Everything about this moment has suddenly become too hot. I’m so wet I can feel it touching the inside of my thighs.

My grip tightens on the robe.

For one wild moment, embarrassment flares—hotter than the steam. I’m standing here practically dripping want in front of five men who can probably smell it on me at this point. My face burns. My pulse jumps. I can feel every place my body has already betrayed me.

I had no problem being naked with Holden last night. Or any of the guys in the days before that. But each of those was different. Dark. Enclosed. Under covers and one on one.

Before the wall, being naked with all of them was something I reveled in. Out here, every new mark is visible. Every reaction has an audience. And some part of me still wants to bolt inside and hide under the bed, ashamed of what Stephen left mapped over my skin.

Then I look at them.

At Micah, smiling softly like he’d catch me if I fell. At Knox, all that dark, heavy muscle and brutal patience. At Eli, warm eyes gone a shade deeper. At Milo, openly delighted by the entire concept of me existing. At Holden, watching me with a dark hunger.

I’ve had their hands on me. Their mouths. Their bodies. I’ve bled with them, watched them come apart. Watched them harden. Watched them fuck. Watched hunger move through them like a living thing and never once thought they should be ashamed for letting me see it.

So why the fuck should I be?

What Stephen did to me changed more than my body. But he doesn’t get to take this from me too.

Five men who look at my wreckage and see something worth wanting.

I loosen the knot.

The sash slips free in my hands with a whisper of cotton. I don’t drop the robe right away. Instead, I slide one shoulder loose, then the other, slow enough that even I know I’m performing now. The steaming air kisses my skin. I let the thick white fabric hang open just enough to reveal the line of one breast, then drag it closed again, teasing myself as much as them.

Milo makes a sound low in his throat that is absolutely not subtle.

“There should be music for this. I’ll hum,” he offers.

“Please don’t,” Holden says.

But Milo hums anyway. Something that sounds vaguely like a strip club remix of a classical piece, which is such a specifically Milo choice that I nearly break character laughing.

The humming dies in Milo’s throat when I let the robe fall.

The cotton slides off my shoulders, snags at my hips for one heartbeat, then puddles at my feet. Cold air moves over everything—the yellow-green bruises fading along my ribs, the rope scar at my neck, the pale, shiny patches along my legs—and then the heat of five held breaths replaces it.

I force myself to stand there, naked under fairy lights and steam. My hands want to cross over my stomach. I keep them at my sides like a little act of war.

Nobody moves. Nobody speaks.

I lift my chin. “If any of you look at me like I’m fragile, I will drown you.”

Milo puts a hand to his chest. “Kitten. I’m looking at you like you’re the final boss in a very horny video game.”

Eli laughs, soft and helpless, and it breaks the spell just enough for me to breathe again.

“Come here,” Micah says, holding out his hand from the water.

I take it.

The first step into the tub is almost painful with heat, a sharp sting over cold skin, but then the warmth climbs my calves and knees and thighs and turns into something lush and enveloping. By the time I sink to my hips, I’m already half gone with relief. The heat loosens muscles I didn’t realize I’d been clenching for days. It gets into the deep places. The bruised places. The places still braced for the next brick.

Micah guides me down onto the bench beside him, one hand braced at my waist, the other keeping my balance as the jets push against me.