Definitelynotindifferent.
Her thumbs hovered at the waist of her underwear, waiting — and something in my chest pressed tight, because she looked like she was daring herself to keep going.
“Only if you want to.” I said it low, meaning every word.
She took in a breath. Deep. Bracing. “I wantyouto.”
Without pretense, I dropped to one knee in front of her, the old tile cold against my skin, and hooked my fingers in the waistband of the soft cotton. My pulse thudded in my throat.
I didn’t look at her body — not really. I looked ather.
The faint tremble in her stomach, the way she bit the inside of her cheek, almost as though she didn’t quite know what to do with her hands.
“Breathe,” I whispered, mostly for her, maybe a little for myself.
I eased them down inch by inch, slow enough that she could stop me if she wanted.
She didn’t.
She just stood there, trembling in the soft steam and the quiet candlelight, until I’d slid the last bit of fabric free and set it neatly aside.
And before she could shrink under the weight of it, I pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist — light, reverent.
Her breath hitched.
“Your turn,” I said, voice low, half-rasped. Because if this was about trust, then I had to give it back.
Her hands were shaking when she reached for me — not from fear exactly, but from something gentler.
She slipped her fingers under the waistband of my boxers, hesitated — looked up at me like she needed to make sure I meant it.
I did. I nodded once.
And when she pushed them down — careful, slow — it didn’t feel like undressing.
It felt like surrender.
Like two people setting down every defense they’d ever built.
When it was done, she whispered, barely audible, “Now what?”
And I — trying not to ruin it with the wrong kind of want — just smiled and reached for her hand. “Now,” I said softly, “we get in the bath before we freeze.”
Steam curled around us, waiting for this exact moment. The tub was too small, the water warm and fragrant, but all I could see was her. Colette. She looked ridiculous and perfect all at once, hair plastered to her forehead, cheeks pink from the heat, eyes wide and alert, like she was measuring me the same way I was measuring her.
I slipped in behind her, careful not to jostle the water too much, though my chest brushed her shoulder almost immediately. That tiny, involuntary contact sent a sharp, stupid thrill through me.God, she’s warm.
“Careful,” she warned, voice small. I could hear the nervous tension beneath the teasing.
“Relax,” I murmured, voice low. “I can manage.”
Her hand brushed mine as she reached for the soap. Just the tips of her fingers, but my thumb traced over hers almost instinctively. Heat blossomed in my chest, a slow, steady burn that had nothing to do with the water. She gasped softly. I noticed.
I didn’t pull away.
The room smelled faintly of pine, soap, andher. Everything about her wastoo much. Too bright. Too alive. And I hadn’t even touched her properly yet.
She splashed water at me — little droplets — but I countered, flicking water back in a playful, calculated way. She squealed and laughed, and the sound made something in my chest twist. I wanted to draw her closer, just to feel her weight against me, but I had to be careful. She wasn’t mine to claim. Not yet.
