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He sets me down on the counter and turns the shower on full-blast.
“You need any items from your bag out there?” he asks.
“Actually, yes. There’s a small, flowered pouch in the top—I can go grab it.”
“It’s fine.” He gestures toward the shower. “Go on.”
I hurry to undress and step under the warm spray, washing off the stress of my afternoon.
There’s a soft click outside the shower. The whir of a fan starts up. The shower door slides open and my pouch appears.
“Thank you.” I pull out a small assortment of little bottles, lining them up on the empty shelf built into the wall.
“Mind if I join you?” Grayson asks.
“No.” I open the door and pass the empty pouch to him. “Mind if I watch?” I wiggle my eyebrows at him while he unbuckles his belt.
“Haven’t had much privacy in the last fifteen years, so watch away.”
His words are more gruff than playful, killing the light, teasing atmosphere.
“Sorry,” I mumble, sticking my head back inside the shower and sliding the door closed.
A few seconds later, the door slides open. Cool air swirls around me, quickly replaced by Grayson’s warm body. He curls his arm around my waist. “Nothing to be sorry about, buttercup. I like your eyes on me.”
“Sometimes, I forget…I didn’t mean to…”
“Shh.” He turns me around to face him, his hands settling at my waist. “Some days, I feel like I got a neon sign over my head blinking ‘ex-con.’ So, I’m glad you’re able to forget.” He flashes a pained smile. “Means I’m doing a good job assimilating back into civilized society. Maybe I’m not as feral as I feel.”
My breath catches. It’s such a deep, intimate thing for him to share. And I’m honored he trusts me so much. I slide my arms around his neck, pressing my slick, wet body against his. “You’re only feral in the good, sexy way.”
He playfully growls and nips at my neck. “Oh yeah?”
“Yes.”
“Turn around. What are we doing here?” He runs his hands over my wet hair.
“Washing it. But you don’t have to—”
“Which one of these many little bottles?”
I pick up the shampoo and hand it to him. “Sorry, I’ll take them all with me when I’m done.”
There’s the soft click of the cap opening and his slick hands rubbing together a second or two before scrubbing into my scalp. “Serena, leave whatever you want here. Maybe bring bigger bottles, though.”
What a sweet way to casually remind me our relationship is more than a few sleepovers to him.
After a thorough and generous scalp massage, he uses his big hands to capture the water and rinse my hair free of suds. “Next?”
I pass the conditioner over my shoulder, and step back from the spray. Something hard bumps into my back.
“Can’t help it,” he murmurs. “Got a sinfully beautiful woman, wet and naked in front of me.”
Reaching behind me, I wrap my hands around his cock at the same time his fingers work the conditioner into my hair.
He hisses in a breath and stops moving for a second. “Let me finish.”
“Oh, I will.”
This time he turns me so my back’s toward the water and rinses my hair clean. I pick up the small bottle of shower gel and squeeze some into my hands. “Your turn.” I lather it into a foamy mass and slide my soapy fingers over his shoulders, to his chest.
Our eyes lock and there’s an undeniable hunger simmering in his. “I wasn’t finished with you.”
His low, raspy words double my heartbeat. I can’t tear my gaze away. Blindly reaching for the soap, I hand it to him, then continue my exploration.
He groans when I step closer, pressing my breasts into him. He wraps his arms around me, letting his hands run up and down the length of my spine. I dig my fingers into the muscles of his back down to his firm ass.
“You’re done.” He leans down and kisses my cheek. “Get out and let me finish.”
“Rude.” I pout at him.
He slides the door open and steps aside.
Slightly confused, I grab one of the towels he set out for me and wrap my hair, then use the other one to dry off. Securing the towel around me, I step out of the bathroom and find my backpack. My gaze darts around the living room.
Bedroom. Get dressed. Finish making dinner. Worry about whatever happened in there later.
I grab my clothes and take them with me. In the bedroom, I unhook the towel and finish drying off.
I’m about to step into my flannel pants when Grayson nudges the door open. “What’re you doing?”
“Getting dressed so I can finish dinner.” I infuse a teasing lilt into my voice. “I don’t like to cook naked.”
He closes the door behind him. My gaze narrows on the towel wrapped around his hips. Drops of water zigzag down his chest. The urge to trace every single one burns my tongue.
