A quiet giggle slips out as I turn away from him, the steam twisting around us. The water beats against my skin in a steady rhythm, and I reach for the soap—rewashing my face, letting the lather glide down just to keep from thinking too hard. I move slower this time, letting the heat seep into my bones until my whole body feels weightless.
Did I really just fucking giggle? God, I need to get it together. But how am I supposed to when these two sexy-ass brothers break down my walls every time I’m with them.
I glance over my shoulder to find Cairo watching me again. Water trails down the ridges of his chest, tracing over the dark ink stretched across his skin. My mouth curves before I turn fully, stepping into his space.
“Your turn,” I say softly, the words rolling out like a dare.
My hands trace up his arms, over the thick muscle beneath my palms, before gliding to his shoulders. He tips his head back, eyes shutting, letting me explore him like he belongs nowhere else but here—with me.
A slow smile spreads across my face as I work my way down, tracing each line of muscle, my fingers dragging just enough to make his chest heave faster. “Does this feel good?” I whisper breathless.
His eyes open, pinning me still. “You have no idea,” he rasps. “Your touch drives me fucking insane.”
I bite my lip, stroking his chest with my palms. “Good,” I breathe, leaning closer until my lips hover near his ear. “Then maybe I’ll take my time.”
He growls low in his throat, his hands sliding up my hips as he leans in. “Take all the time you want, baby girl,” he rasps. “Just don’t fucking stop.”
We step out of the shower, steam still clinging to our skin. I grab the towel first, running it over my arms and legs before tossing it back to Cairo. My hair hangs drenched and heavy, water dripping in slow trails down my back as I walk toward the bedroom without bothering to cover myself. Cool streaks slide over my skin, but I don’t care.
Cairo steps behind me, the towel resting low on his hips, barely hanging on. Since we used the same one, I let him keep it over his prized possession while the rest of him stays exposed. His sleeve glistens—smoke inked so real it looks alive, skulls in all shapes breaking through it, each one demanding attention.
I catch myself staring, wondering what it all means. The skulls look less like decorations and more like memories he refuses to bury. A part of me wants to ask, but I don’t think I’m ready for the version of him that comes with those answers. But whatever the reason, they look good on him.
I glance back with a sly grin. “I’ve got nothing Arina hasn’t seen before,” I say with a shrug, unbothered by my naked walk to my room.
He chuckles low, his eyes dragging over me. “Yeah,” he murmurs, “but she’s never seen you like this.”
I open a drawer, grabbing an old shirt to wrap my dripping hair. Just as I start to twist it up, his voice cuts in. “Don’t,” he demands, waving his finger. “Let it air dry.”
I let the shirt slip from my fingers, my damp curls spilling over my shoulders. Satisfied, he closes the distance, his arm circling my waist as he pulls me toward the bed.
We collapse together, our skin still carrying the warmth of the shower. The TV flickers to life, and I lean against his chest—wet hair and all—as he flips lazily through the channels, fingers tracing idle strokes along my stomach.
“What do you even watch?” I tease, my voice muffled against his skin.
“Everything. Anything really,” he says too easily.
I roll my eyes, laughing as I smack his chest. “That’s not an answer.”
He smirks, landing on some random movie neither of us will probably watch. “Oh well. Can I ask you something? What’s one thing people always get wrong about you?”
I tilt my head back, surprised he would ask something so deep. “I guess… that I’m stronger than I come off as. People think nothing gets to me because I’m smiling or always joking. But I feel everything. I just don’t show it the way most people expect.”
He hums, his thumb brushing lazily over my belly button. “Yeah… I get that. But you don’t fool me, baby girl. I can easily tell when you get irritated.”
“Is that so? And how’s that?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“Your eyebrows,” he says, dead serious.
I laugh, looking up at him. “Really? My eyebrows?”
“I’m serious. Every time something annoys you, your eyebrows scrunch up and you twist those sexy ass lips of yours. Even when you try to catch yourself—I catch it first.”
“Okay, okay. I’ll give you that one.” I nudge him with my shoulder, smirking. “Damn, you really be watching me, huh, green eyes?”
He grins. “Can’t help it, baby girl. You’re one of the most beautiful girls I’ve been with.”
I find that hard to believe, given how many women he’s been around. But maybe that’s why I should believe him—out of everyone he’s seen, he’d know who stands out. That’s the problem, though. He only sees what’s on the surface. I just hope he feels the same once he realizes how broken I really am.
