He stepped into the shower, the hot water pounding against his shoulders, muscles relaxing as he ran a hand through his damp hair, exhaling for what felt like the first time since she’d started her little game at breakfast.
The past hour had been torture—her teasing smirks, the way she’d dragged her fingertips across his skin like she wasn’t fucking with him, like she wasn’t already winning.
And now?
Now, he had space.
Now, he could breathe.
He reached for the shampoo, lathering it into his hair, closing his eyes as the heat eased the tension in his body.
And then—
He heard it.
The faint sound of the TV turning on downstairs.
Good.
She was occupied.
Which meant he could take his time, clean himself up, clear his fucking head.
He worked the shampoo through his hair, fingers dragging over his scalp, muscles finally unwinding, every inch of him sinking into the bliss of solitude.
Until—
Until he felt it.
A hand.
Small. Soft. Warm.
Gripping him.
Chase’s entire body went rigid, his pulse roaring to life, his brain struggling to process what the fuck was happening—
Then?
Then he heard her.
A soft, satisfied hum.
Wicked. Knowing. Dangerous.
His eyes snapped open just in time to look down—
And fuck.
There she was.
On her knees. In the shower. Looking up at him with those big, dark eyes, the steam swirling around her like she belonged in some goddamn fantasy.
The smirk on her lips said everything.
This was payback.
And Savannah?
