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I was already completely captivated by Jenna.

That captivation would become a fucking obsession once I’d taken her.

I leaned my head against the shower stall and closed my eyes as I gripped my cock.

Who was I kidding?

I was already obsessed.

But it would be a thousand times worse if I actually claimed her.

And I knew it would be unbearable if she left and we just had a let’s-see-what-happens, casual kind of arrangement.

That definitely wasn’t going to work for me.

My eyes popped open again as I heard the shower curtain open.

I blinked a few times, feeling like the nude woman standing in front of me was part of the sexual fantasy I’d been about to start.

Jenna.

It took every bit of control I could muster not to reach out and touch her.

She was stunning.

Her breasts were a perfect, firm handful topped off by pretty pink nipples that I was dying to get into my mouth.

Her body was beautifully curvy, and her pussy was neatly groomed but not entirely shaved.

She’d been my every erotic fantasy almost since we’d met, so it took a while for my gaze to land on her face.

She was gripping the shower curtain and sending me a nervous look.

Okay, that look on her face wasn’t part of my sexual fantasy.

She had more scars in places that no one could see, and it made me irate that her foster parents had tortured her so damn badly, but they didn’t make her less beautiful.

Honestly, the scars on her body were faded and barely visible, but I know that Jenna didn’t see them that way. For her, they were big and ugly.

I wished she could see herself like I saw her.

Those damn scars were warrior marks that she’d gotten while she’d been fighting to survive.

They reminded me just how brave and courageous she’d had to be her entire life.

My gut twisted because I knew just how hard it was for her to be vulnerable like this. She was self-conscious about her scars, and baring herself completely had probably taken a huge leap of faith for her.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” I asked as my eyes locked with hers.

She shook herself a little and stepped into the stall without breaking our eye contact.

“I’m not very good at this,” she told me in a tremulous voice. “I don’t want you to touch me, Brock. I want you to let me touch you. I’ve never been the sexual aggressor before, but I can’t control the urge to try. I want to touch you so badly that it’s killing me.”

I closed my eyes again. It was taking everything I had not to reach out and take her in my arms.

This was something huge for her, and I knew it.

I wasn’t going to screw this up, but doing this her way might end up killing me.