For a quiet moment, we both just leaned back, letting the heat of the water and the nearness of each other fill the silence. My eyes kept catching hers in the mirror, reflection hazy with steam, every subtle shift of her shoulders, the way her lips parted slightly. My chest ached.
“I could get used to this,” I murmured, voice soft enough that only she could hear.
Her small laugh was all the answer I needed. And yet, the ache in me deepened — not frustration, not longing, not desire exactly, butall of it at once. She was intoxicating. Dangerous. My pulse hitched with every brush of skin, every tiny, casual touch that somehow felt like a promise.
She teased me, playing with the water. She had no idea how badly I wanted to pull her closer, how badly I wanted to feel her pressed fully against me. My hands itched to do more than just hover near her, to trace the curve of her shoulder, the small slope of her neck — but I couldn’t.
I had to let her lead.
And so I leaned back, letting the warmth of her press into me. Watching her. Listening. Feeling everything — heart, pulse, breath — fold into hers.
For once, I could let the world go. Let her be the only thing that mattered.
I tried to focus on the soap, on the water, onanything, but she kept moving just enough to make my hands itch. Fingers brushed accidentally — or maybe not — against mine. The little gasp she made every time a droplet hit her shoulder, every time I flicked a stray stream back at her, made something low and dangerous coil in my chest.
She laughed, tilting her head back, hair damp and curling over the edge of the tub. God, she smelled like winter and mischief and something I couldn’t name, and it had me swearing softly under my breath.
“You know,” I said, leaning close enough that my lips hovered near the curve of her ear, “you’re completely absurd.”
She nudged me with her shoulder, playful but deliberate, a sly smirk teasing her lips. “I think you like that about me,” she murmured.
My pulse spiked; my chest tightened. I wanted to grab her, hold her, anchor myself to her heat, but I had to be patient. I wanted hertowantthis too. To know that giving in wasn’t just a surrender, it was a choice.
Her fingers grazed my thigh, light but enough to make me shift in place. My breath hitched. My mind spun. Every line I’d written, every story I’d crafted over decades, none of it had prepared me for this. For her. For how alive she made me feel.
“Stop teasing me,” I murmured, though my tone was soft, teasing right back. “I can’t?—”
“You can,” she whispered. Her hand lingered, brushing against the swell of my thigh, daring me, promising me everything without a word.
I groaned softly, resting my forehead against the top of her shoulder. The heat of the water, the closeness, the impossibility of her — it all wrapped around me, tight and sweet. My hands itched to explore, to map the lines of her body with intent, to pull her impossibly close until we both forgot anything else existed.
She leaned into me, small, playful nudges of her hip, fingertips trailing over my arm, teasing me in ways I wasn’t sure I’d survive. And then she leaned back just slightly, breath warm on my chest. The ache in my chest grew, dangerous and delicious.
God, I was undone.
And I had no intention of pretending otherwise.
CHAPTER 27
Silas
The warm waterlapped gently against our skin as we sat in the large bathtub, the bathroom light casting a soft glow over the room. Her eyes met mine, a mix of desire and hesitation swirling in their depths. I wastryingto give her space, letting her set the pace despite the palpable tension between us.
The steam rose in lazy curls from the hot bath, wrapping around us like a secret. Colette sat between my legs, her back pressed against my chest, her skin slick and warm from the water. My arms draped loosely over her shoulders, fingers tracing idle patterns on her arms just to feel the smoothness there.
We sat there, both of us quiet, thekindof quiet that hummed with unspoken tension. I could feel her breathing, steady but a little quick, her head resting back against my shoulder.
I shifted slightly, my cock stirring against her lower back, half-hard from the heat and the closeness. She didn't pull away, but her body tensed just a fraction. “Silas,” she murmured, her voice soft, almost testing.
I leaned in, lips brushing her ear. “Yeah?” No pressure, just waiting. My hand slid down her arm, fingers intertwining withhers under the water. She squeezed back, hesitant, like she was deciding.
The water lapped gently as she turned her head, her lips finding mine in a slow, exploratory kiss. It deepened, tongues touching tentatively, and I felt her relax into me. My free hand moved up, cupping the side of her breast, thumb grazing the underside. She gasped into my mouth, arching a little. “Is this okay?” I whispered, breaking the kiss.
She nodded, eyes half-closed, and guided my hand fully over her breast, letting me feel the weight of her, the nipple hardening under my palm.
I squeezed gently, rolling the nipple between my fingers, pinching just enough to make her moan. Her back arched more, pressing her ass against my now fully hard cock. The friction sent a jolt through me, but I kept my focus on her, kneading her breast, then switching to the other, tugging and twisting the peaks until they were stiff and sensitive. She writhed subtly, her hand releasing mine to grip the edge of the tub.
This was different. This wasn’t a lust-fueled haze or sloppy kisses driven by the heat of a moment or a rush of a laugh.
