“If you can grab them for me?” Jude ruffled his curls. “I’ll drive myself to work. Best not to stir suspicion just yet.”
“Yeah. Sure.” Warren cleared his throat. “I’ll get your bag. Bathroom’s opposite.”
“Thanks.”
Warren fled the room, pulse pounding, checking instinctively down the hall. Empty. Naomi hadn’t dropped by in the night. Good. He still had time to breathe, to plan his briefing, to figure out what the hell he was going to tell his handlers without handing them Jude on a plate.
Downstairs, he set the kettle boiling, thumbed open the burner phone drawer. Nothing. No calls. No demands. Relief mixed with dread. Silence could be worse than orders.
Floorboards creaked above. Then the low rush of the shower.
He spotted Jude’s keys on the table, grabbed them, and headed out to the car for his bag. When he returned, he dumped it on the bed and noticed the neat pile of towels folded on the chair. All of them. Still there.
“Bollocks.”
Jude wouldn’t have taken one.
Warren snatched one up and rushed back down the hall, knocking lightly at the bathroom door. “Jude?”
No reply.
He knocked again. Louder. Nothing.
So he cracked open the door, meaning only to drop the towel inside. Just leave it, walk away. But his body locked solid when he saw Jude through the steamed glass. He stood with his back turned, head bowed beneath the spray and water coursing over him, over pale skin and down the sharp line of his spine, collecting in the ink low on his back before sliding lower still, disappearing between the perfect cut of muscle and bone.
Warren’s throat went dry.
Heat surged low and fierce, a hunger he shouldn’t feel. Not now, not here.
He should turn around. Close the door. Walk away. Instead, he stood, transfixed, watching water map the places he’d only imagined. Desire burned through his restraint, tangling with guilt until his chest ached with the weight of it.
Jesus Christ, he was in trouble.
Because he wanted Jude. Wanted him in ways that tore holes through cover stories, protocol, and years of hard-won discipline. And the worst part, the part that scared him more than anything, was how, despite all that, he couldn’t look away.
Jude lifted his head, and their eyes locked through the haze. Warren’s pulse hammered, a primal beat drowning out every reason he had to walk away. And Jude…slid the shower door open, leaving it wide.
An unspoken invitation.
Warren should’ve walked away. He knew that. Every instinct screamed to turn, to shut the door, to salvage the tattered remains of his self-control.
But Jude stood there like temptation come to life.
And Warren was lost.
He stripped fast, careless, and stepped inside, steam curling around him as he eased forward, chest meeting the line of Jude’s back. His body fit to Jude’s as though it had always belonged there. Black on white. Yin on yang. His cock thickened, sliding into the deep curve of Jude’s arse, hunger gnawing the hard streams of his restraint. And Jude must have felt all this heady rush too because he reached back, dragging his palm along Warren’s thigh, igniting him and burning through the last shred of control.
Instinctively, Warren bent low, softening his lips to the hollow between Jude’s shoulders before fastening hard and tasting the rush of water as it spilled into his mouth. The taste of skin and steam and salt had him dizzy. Then Jude tipped his head back on Warren’s shoulder, baring his throat, parting his lips in a soundless plea, yielding to him.
Warren stopped fighting it.
He reached around, wrapped his hand firmly around Jude’s cock, stroking in ruthless pulls as he moved his mouth to Jude’s neck, sucking hard enough to bruise. The weight of him filled his palm, hot and urgent, every pulse of need shooting straight through Warren’s gut.
Heady. Greedy. Intoxicating.
“Fuck, you feel good in my hand,” Warren rasped into his ear, voice unrecognisable, torn raw by want.
The reply Jude gave him was soft, broken whimpers and it pushed Warren to hear more, every moan a hit of something he hadn’t known he was starving for. He wanted him undone.Neededhim undone. To hear what Jude sounded like when he fell apart with nothing left to hide. So he tightened his grip, relentlessly stroking him, dragging him higher and higher until Jude bucked helplessly into his fist.
