I step into the bathroom, twist the taps, and let the tub fill. Steam curls up into the cold air, fogging the glass, blurring the edges of everything until the world feels quieter. The rush of water is steady, grounding. I scan the counter for anything useful—soaps, detergents, whatever these guys use.
Well, notbadshit.
They probably clean up on TripAdvisor.
Stupid, sexy, brothers.
Hallmark-looking motherfuckers.
Somewhere between the bubbles and my brain fog, I realize I’ve got my phone out—scrolling, flipping throughRaya.
No response fromTaylor.Scarlet’sa no go. Everyone’s coupling up, and here’s me running a bath for a nun on the run.
The tub’s filling nicely now—bubbles foaming to a respectable level, no risk of flooding. My hands keep busy, so I don’t lose another few grand messaging inactive celebs.
It’s notjustabout distraction, though.
It's about her.
Taking care of her in the only way I can right now—making sure she’s warm, safe, looked after.
She deserves gentle.
But my depraved ass wants more.
I test the water, adjusting the temperature until it’s perfect. Behind me, I hear her move—the soft rustle of fabric, the whisper of breath.
I glance up at the mirror and catch her reflection; curled into herself on the bed, robe clutched tight, copper hair spilling in waves around her pale face.
Fucking hell.
I swallow hard, the lump in my throat held hostage by my Franken-cock. My dove.
Too fucking pure, innocent, for the things I’d do if I let myself.
She’s not yours, you dumb fuck.
Then she glances up, catches my eye in the mirror, and gives me this shy little smile that damn near knocks the air from my lungs.
What is this? This fucking spark in my chest, this excitement that feels way too dangerous?
I force my eyes back to the water, jaw tight.
No. A kiss is all I’ll ever take.
Anything else and I’ll break her.
I want to break her.
Well, that’s fucking wrong.
No, but like…in a sexy way.
Oh.
Ohh.Yeah.
I clear my throat and stay busy.
