“Didn’t sound like a mistake,” I snap back, climbing into the tub like it’s a fortress from him and his world. “Sounded like a plan you’ve been sitting on for a while.”
“I didn’t say it because I expect anything real.”
“So, you’re admitting you’re delusional?”
“Sienna, come out.” I don’t respond. “Don’t make me kick the damn door down.”
“No, thank you.” I reach for the showerhead. “Leave.”
“Last warning.”
I’ve got one hand on the showerhead and the other on the knob to turn on the water, but I don't even get the chance to scream when the door bursts open and slams against the wall.
I aim the showerhead like a flamethrower, spraying cold water across my bathroom.
He doesn’t even flinch.
Instead, it’s ripped clean from my hands and thuds against my tub.
His hand shoots out, his grip firm around my wrist, and before I can squirm away, he’s got me pinned to the wall. He pulls my wrists over my head and holds them with one hand.
I suck in a sharp breath. The water is hitting my side now, and his body is just inches from mine. Heat radiates off him like fire.
He doesn’t just stand there in it; heownsthe chaos, soaked from the face down.
“What the hell is wrong with you!?”
“Letgoof me.”
“Tell me you’re going to go,” he says, low. “Right now.”
I blink up at him, my throat dry despite the water raining down.
His eyes are locked on mine—a steady, unblinking dare.
Like he knows I won’t say it. Like he’s gambling everything on that.
My heart hammers against my ribs, loud enough to bounce off the tiles.
This is real.
And he just showed me he’ll do anything he wants to make it happen.
“Tell me you’re going to go.” His voice is raspier now, his thumb brushing just slightly over the inside of my wrist.
It shouldn’t feel intimate, but it does.
“Let me go,” I whisper, but it doesn’t come out sharp like I want. It sounds breathy.
Weak.
“You’re dangerous like this.” He leans in just close enough for his chest to skim mine and the towel to shift higher up my thigh. “I don’t chase women, Sienna. I’m done fucking around.”
“Then leave.”
He leans closer, and my breath hitches when he looks down at me like he wants to do something about the electricity crackling between us.
I hate how my skin lights up like a live wire. I hate it even more that he smells like clean soap and heat and something darker and more sinful.
